It was a usual February half term. The students had departed, there was homework to mark and the breeze prowled around in a bracing hold. Miss Hardbroom didn't mind it at all. What she did mind was the occurrence that she walked in on. The staffroom was decked out in flower garlands. Badly made flower garlands, she noted with a sniff. Her colleagues were reclining in various positions she thought highly unsuitable in public. Miss Bat was lying on the floor, head on Miss Drill's lap, giggling away to the sounds that damn transistor radio that Constance had confiscated off Ruby Cherrytree. From it, emitted an odd tinkling melody that sounded like it was being tapped out by cutlery and crockery, underlaid with a steady low thrum of a beat that made her eye twitch. Miss Drill was blowing bubbles with that silly plastic wand and Miss Bat was trying to catch them, cooing about how pretty they were.

'WHAT is the meaning of this?'

She heard Miss Cackle clomp through the door and turned around in indignation. Her mouth opened to form words but none happened. Miss Cackle wore a lopsided flower crown and was loudly humming a sea shanty. She clutched a bottle and grinned cheerfully.

'Ah, Constance, welcome to the party' she exclaimed merrily.

Constance stared at her, trying to think of how to approach this. Clearly the headmistress was mildly intoxicated at a level that was usually reserved for Yuletide celebrations.

'Party? I was not aware there was one' she eventually said. 'Was that planned?'

'You can't schedule fun' called out Miss Drill. She received a glare for her troubles.

'Actually, you can' the deputy stated.

'Now is not one of those times' interrupted Miss Cackle. 'It's half term. Let's relax and enjoy ourselves eh Constance?'

Miss Hardbroom frowned. She wasn't fond of impromptu activity. It tended to unsettle her. She perched on a chair and observed her colleagues. Miss Crotchet seemed to be sorting out Miss Bat's cupboard. It would have been sensible but for Miss Bat's insistence that it was kept the way she liked it. She spent a long time in that cupboard. Liked the smell of mothballs.

Lavinia dumped a pile of stationary on the table and started sorting them out methodically. Into shapes.

'A spaceship?' Enquired Amelia.

'A platypus.'

Amelia tilted her head and considered it for a moment. Constance sighed. She didn't believe in messing around with outer space. Let alien lifeform be, there was enough to discover on earth.

'Have a biscuit.'

She took one under sufferance and nibbled. Lavinia abandoned a half formed giraffe and took out her tarot cards. She and Amelia started bellowing out another sea shanty, something about someone called Wellerman. Constance winced. She was of the opinion that sea shanties were for the drunken and uncouth. She was well aware that Miss Cackle could pass as an ordinary in a common bar. Finding that out hadn't been one of her favourite experiences.

'Have a drink.'

'At this time in the afternoon?'

'It's past lunch' Amelia reminded her. Constance sighed as she poured out an inch of elderflower wine. Sipped and stared out of the window. She had no interest in tarot cards. The last time Lavinia had drawn them for her, she couldn't understand a word. None of it and all of it came true did in a most vague way. It was too imprecise for her. She looked around at the giggling group. Imogen had a vase of soapy water she kept refilling her bottle with for an endless supply. The bubbles floated past her in flurries and bursts. Constance zoned out and concentrated on nothing but the bubbles and the lo-fi music. She conjured up a mirage of soft swirls, rainbow shimmer and the slight scent of liquorice. She frowned. Reality swam back into life as she sensed something odd around her. She swivelled round to her suspect.

'What did you put in the wine?' She asked severely. She wouldn't touch a drop more until she knew.

'Nothing, nothing.'

'Davina. What did you put in the wine?'

Imogen confirmed the nothing.

'Is there nothing in the wine?' Mumbled Amelia through a mouthful of crumbs. She'd drunk half a bottle and thought it tasted better than usual.

'Nothing' trilled Davina, trailing her hand through the bubbles above her head. 'It's in the shortbread.'

Amelia stopped nibbling. Constance dropped her biscuit.

'WHAT is in the shortbread?'

'Some of that stuff from the cupboard.'

'Which cupboard?'

Davina was too far gone to hear the warning tone.

'The potions cupboard.'

Constance was incensed.

'What were you doing in my potions cupboard?' She hissed.

'There was something named syrup. Syrup of something. We had a little baking session' said Davina dreamily. 'Weeeeeee!'

Constance looked at her in horror. She couldn't recall which bottle that had been poached but syrups were not her usual mixture. Amelia looked at her enquiringly.

'Syrup of…?'

Contance felt discomfited.

'How should I know? These mixtures are not to be interfered with. I haven't tested them out properly yet.'

She looked down at the half empty tin of shortbread. She looked at her colleagues. Imogen was now hanging off the armchair upside down and waving her arms about like an octopus, warbling out a French song in a halfway decent accent. Must have learned it from Serge, thought Constance. Lavinia had her ear to the transistor radio and was tapping it, asking it what it wanted for supper. Davina was hanging out of the window swaying and chanting in a most outlandish fashion, wrapped around the yak fur rug she brought back from her last summer holiday from outer Mongolia. Constance had a creeping feeling that the suspicious syrup possibly, maybe, might be harbouring hallucinogenic properties. Was it affecting her? She heard barking. Was there a dog in the corridor?

'Hush puppy.'

Constance followed the voice and flickered her eyes to Miss Cackle's prone form now under the table. She was waving her finger about, trying to follow the bubbles. She barked again. Constance sighed. It was clearly going to be one of those afternoons.