Bedtime Stories with R.A. Spratt

Friday Barnes and The Case of the Smashed Statue

April 15, 2020 R.A. Spratt Season 1 Episode 8
Bedtime Stories with R.A. Spratt
Friday Barnes and The Case of the Smashed Statue
Chapters
Bedtime Stories with R.A. Spratt
Friday Barnes and The Case of the Smashed Statue
Apr 15, 2020 Season 1 Episode 8
R.A. Spratt

When Friday gets a D for art because her statue exploded in the kiln she suspects foul play. It's especially suspcious because her nemesis, Ian Wainscott's statue was destroyed too. She is determined to get to the bottom of the mystery no matter how painfully laborious the process may be.

Show Notes Transcript

When Friday gets a D for art because her statue exploded in the kiln she suspects foul play. It's especially suspcious because her nemesis, Ian Wainscott's statue was destroyed too. She is determined to get to the bottom of the mystery no matter how painfully laborious the process may be.

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Hello and welcome to bedtime storeys with Mei are a sprat. Today's storey is Friday Bonds and the case of the smashed statue. So what was that we were working on today? Asked Mr Director, the new art teacher sculpture, sir. Said Peregrine We finished them last week. You were going to fire them over the weekend? Oh, that's right. Said Mr Brecht. I wanted while so stifling hot in here this morning, I suppose we should take a look. The whole class followed, Mr Director. After the kill, he swung the handle down, unlocking the door and pulled it open. It was an impressive sight. 20 small statues stared back out of them. Most of the statues were ugly and poorly made, but there was something about having 20 statues staring at you at once. It was like being faced with an army of garden gnomes. Oh, dear, said Mr Brecht, someone's has exploded now. He pointed it out. Everyone looked at the bottom of the kiln, which was covered in shattered pieces of baked clay. Did someone put explosives in their sculpture? Asked Patel. Everyone turned to look at Ian. It was a type of thing. He would do. He had a track record for imploding things. It wasn't May protested in. It probably wasn't anyone except poor workmanship, said Mr Brecht. If there's an air bubble in the clay that could make a sculpture explode, that's probably what happened. Whose was it? Come on, everyone, step forward and take your sculptures. We'll see whose is left Mr Breck past the sculptures out with students stepping forward to take their own. At the end, there were three students standing empty handed Friday in and Mirabella. One of you probably had an air bubble, and when it exploded, it took out the other two said Mr Brecht. That's not fair, wailed Mirabella. What are you complaining about? Set in. It's probably your sculpted, the blue ours up. How do you know that? Demanded Mirabella, Because Friday and I aren't as lazy as you city in. Did you hear that? Said Melanie. He paid you a compliment. I'm sure there's a but coming said Friday, but it doesn't matter City, and it'll be a nice change for Friday not to get top marks in something. Well, one of you better sweep this mess out of the kiln, said Mr Brecht, I'll do it said Friday, sticking her head right into the kiln so she could get a better look. It's electric powered city in. There's no point sticking your head in. Ah Ha said Friday she wasn't listening something about the damage pieces, did not look right to her Friday, fetched a dust pan and brush and carefully began sweeping the pieces out. She lay a large sheet of butcher's paper on a spare table at the back of the room, then tipped out one pan full of pieces after another until the kiln was clean. What are you doing? Asked Mr Directors. He came to the back of the room. Why you laying all the pieces out on the bench? Why don't you put them in the bin? What's wrong with you? This classroom is messy enough already. I want to reconstruct the statue, said Friday. What asked Mr Brecht. There's plenty of craft glue in the store room, said Friday leaders and leaders of the stuff. I want to use it to glue these statues back together your pathetic, said Ian. You can handle just once not getting top marks. I want to do it said Friday. But it take you hours to put them back together? Said Mr Brecht. If you can it all, there are three different sculptures. How are you going to tell which piece goes in which sculpture Friday looked at her watch? This is the last class of the day. I don't have another class until 9 a.m. Tomorrow. That gives me 17.5 hours to give it a go. You're bonkers, said Mirabella. It's just a statue. No, it's more than that, said Friday. It's the principle of the matter. I want to know what happened. All that's it. Is it set in? You want to work out which sculpture exploded first? This's some sort of forensic investigation for you. Well, it's much more interesting puzzle than anything Mr Greg set us for maths homework tonight said Friday. Mr. Brecht shrugged. If that's the way you want to spend your time, that's fine with me. The class moved onto charcoal drawing while Friday set up the back. Going through the pieces at the end of the class, she'd made note visible progress. She hadn't even fetch a bottle of glue yet. Are you really sure you want to do this? Barnes asked. Mr Brecht, there's no shame in a day I got plenty of them at art school are now just one of my paintings would pay the wages of five of those stinking teachers. Then why did you take a teaching job? Ask Melanie. Why not just do a painting? Mr. Breck scaled. I've got Painter's block. I didn't know there was such a thing, said Friday, although I suppose it makes sense if writers Khun get Writer's block that painters Khun get Painter's block two physicists ever get Physicists block. Ask Melanie all the times that Friday. That's how they spend 99% of their careers not quite being able to figure out the thing they're working on. Well, I'll leave you to it, said Mr Brecht. If a more responsible member of staff comes by and asked why you're in here, do me a favour and tell them you broke in to steal something. Don't let them know I gave you permission. I could just imagine the bleating night have to endure of the headmaster found out It's all right, said Melanie. The headmaster's used to Friday not being where she's supposed to when she's supposed to. The rest of the class filed out, and Melanie came over to sit next to a best friend. You can go, too, if you like, said Friday. Oh, I can nap here just as easily as I can back in our dorm room, said Melanie. Besides, it's toad in the hole for dinner tonight. You don't miss out. I could go up to the dining hall and fetch is both a plate. And so Friday said toe work, as promised Melanie when a fetch dinner and then later a midnight snack and then breakfast in the morning. It was eggs, Benedict says, certainly worth the effort. All while Friday tirelessly examined on, put together one tiny piece of broken statue after another at nine o'clock. When the class filed back in Friday was bedraggled and exhausted, she had dried glue all over her fingers, hair and brown cardigan. There were dark rings under her eyes, and she was slumped to one side, clearly on the verge of collapse. Melanie look much more presentable. Her clothes and hair were immaculate as she lay sound asleep on the floor under a blanket of cartridge paper. So how did you go Barnes said in Did you reconstruct your masterpiece? No, said Friday, although I did reconstruct yours. I like the way. Use distorted shapes to represent your distorted feelings towards authority. Figures. What's it in? It's just a statue of a football player, it is said Friday. Oh, that explains a lot. I thought his leg was in the air in some sort of demonstration of rebellion against societal pressures. He's kicking a ball set in. Oh, said Friday. Well, I still like it. You stuck my statue back together to exclaimed Arabella, I never asked you to do that quick. Smash it again before Mr Breck gets here. Too late. I'm here, said Mr Brecht. They turned to see the art teacher stepping through the door. What's going on Friday reconstructed are statues that Ian, which is totally unfair, said Mirabella. Nobody asked you to. You gave me a D yesterday. You can't take it back, sir. Mr. Brecht appeared at Mirabella statue. I can see why you'd be concerned, said Mr Brecht. It's rubbish. The worst statue I've ever seen. I've seen cow pats that amore expressive three dimensional forms. But you promised me a deal, whaled Mirabella. I'll tell you what said Mr Brecht. I'll promise to give you a D again if you promise to smash. This assumes classes over it degrades art, just exist in Oh, yes, sir, said Mirabelle happily. So why did you reconstruct Ian and Mirabella statues, but not your own asked Mr Brecht. Is this some sort of performance art? If so, I'm going to give you an F because I can't stand performance art. Anything that Yoko Ono does has a black mark against it for May. I didn't reconstruct my own statue, said Friday, because I couldn't on. The reason I couldn't is because the pieces weren't here. Where could they have gone? Asked Mr Breck. They can have been vaporised by the kill. They were stolen, said Friday. Right, this is it. She's finally snapped City, and she's so deluded about her greatness that she thinks someone was still broken pieces of her Pottery Pottery Centre party, said Melanie Yawning, and she woke up on the floor. I have not gone potty, said Friday, although I do think someone stole my statue, but not the broken pieces. They stole the intact statue, then smashed the other two sculptures to hide their crime. But why would anyone do that? Ask Mr Brecht. I don't remember. Your school should be and so astonishingly good. Ah, modest bust of a middle aged woman If I remember rightly, it was my tribute to Rosalind Franklin, the mother of genetics said Friday. And you think it was stolen by another fan of the history of genetics as Melanie, please, as if there'd be two people. That sad city in the clue to who took my statue lies with the two small pieces they didn't steal, said Friday, holding up two fragments of clay on the palm of her hand. They chipped off part of the title of my piece, the words the on off genetics. So it was someone who doesn't like the early history of genetics? Asked Melanie, wishing she was still asleep because she was already hopelessly confused. No, I doubt the thief has any regard for science at all, said Friday. They stole the statue and chipped off all the words except one mother. I think someone stole my statue to give it to their mother, who would do that? Ask Mr Brecht. It sounds ridiculous. I'm guessing a boy said Friday. The male gender has a tendency to wildly underestimate the value of giving gifts to women. Traditionally, husbands and fathers leave Christmas shopping until Christmas Eve. They totally forget wedding anniversaries and birthdays. So I imagine the thief is a boy who forgot to buy his mother a birthday present. He didn't get her anything at all. And then at the last minute, realising he's about to see his mother, he just grabbed the first thing that would do. And that was a statue by you asked in. Well, the school doesn't have a gift shop said Friday. They haven't got Internet access, so we can send family members gifts. Really, whoever did it was trying their best. It's still not much of a present, said Melanie. Unless it was a boy whose mother looks like Rosalind, Franklin said Friday, Peregrine gulped. Did you have something to say? Peregrine House Friday, Peregrine shook his head. He's lying, said Melanie. How can someone be lying when they're shaking their head? Asked in. I don't know, said Melanie. And yet they can, Peregrine said Friday, sternly. Is your mother a short haired brunette, 37 year old woman para Graham burst into tears. Yes, I didn't understand why you made a sculpture of my mom. I thought you were taunting me. I thought the mother of genetics thing was just a reference to her being my mom who I got on my genetics from. Why on earth would I do that? Ask Friday. I don't know. Said Programme. You're so smarter than away. Do anything you do. Did your mother like the statue as Friday? I'll sort off, said Peregrine. She didn't hate it. She just said she would have preferred a bunch of flowers. Well, I hope you learned your lesson, said Friday. Oh, I have super grin. Next year I'll steal some roses when Mr Pilch or isn't looking. And so the case was solved. The end. Thank you for listening to support this podcast. Just go to your local bookstore or favourite online bookseller on by. A book by May are a sprat. There's lots to choose from across the Friday Barnes, Siri's nanny begins and pesky kids Syriza's well until next time. Goodbye