Well, Blow Me Down...

You don't hear expressions like that any more... "You could have knocked me down with a feather." Another one. They belong to a bygone age where surprise was expressed more inventively, more eloquently than the current trend for short sharp expletives. But judging by the way in which, if you live long enough, you see cycles in history, in fashion and in politics, we will no doubt eventually see a return to more decorous speech.
So in the spirit of reviving a trend, I will say,"My giddy aunt! Did you read about the school in Buckingham banning teachers from using whistles to signal the end of playtime?"
Staff at St. Monica's Primary School have banned the whistle because it is "too aggressive", and children could be "afraid of the noise". More stuff and nonsense.  Apparently teachers will wave their hands above their heads to indicate the end of play.
I very much would like to see that in operation. There will be numbers of helicoptering teachers experiencing vertical take-off as they frantically whizz their arms around. The shrill cries of the poor little darlings will mask the sound of the overhead flapping; all attempts to terminate playtime will be purposefully ignored.
It reminded of me of my abbreviated training as a Drama teacher. Before my first teaching practice, I was told that the way to get a class's attention was to ding a triangle or shake tambourine. At the age of 18, I knew instantly that this was a duff directive. There was no way I was going into a class with either. I would use the power of my personality and my best authoritarian voice to achieve command.

With no experience whatsoever, I was abandoned by the Drama teacher who could only see a double period fag-break in front of her, and left with a class of thirty Year 8s in the school hall. They were running riot in seconds. Swinging off the curtains on the school stage, and even kicking two footballs around.
It was a nightmare. As I finally got them sitting down, holding a football under each arm, the bell went and I was released from purgatory.
I can remember very clearly the name of the main miscreant, even now, and my written assessment of the lesson.
"It was a complete disaster. I only gained control of the lesson once I'd confiscated Noel Edwards's balls."
Sometimes desperate measures are required. If only I'd had a whistle....

This one is an absolute champ..