Hello. My name is Clement Snide, and I'm Harry Palmer's Science teacher. The little blighter forces all of us here at St Brutus's to give him far more attention than he deserves, so it is only reluctantly that I direct your thoughts toward him in the present circumstances, but I think in doing so a greater good will be served. In that spirit, I hereby announce that the true story of Mr Palmer's nefarious doings is now officially available.
I think it's poetic justice (though I'm a man of science, as I mentioned) that the book chronicling the misdeeds of this wart on the body politic has been released on Friday the 13th. He's truly a nightmare on any street he happens down. Don't get me wrong; the long years he inflicted himself upon us here at school have not left me bitter. The pharmaceutical industry has created far too many effective - one is tempted to say magical - remedies for that. But a master of Public Relations once said (when he was preparing to release another, somewhat different sort of scourge upon the world) that you don't roll out new product in August, and we can only hope that by being foisted upon us now, the tale of Harry's exploits will be consigned to the profound obscurity it so richly deserves. (I say this even though I narrated about a quarter of the book, the rest being given in the omniscient third person. This otherwise inexplicable editorial decision was taken simply to sow confusion among any of Mr Palmer's delinquent associates who may attempt to read it - that is to say, those of them who are not, like Palmer himself, subliterate sociopaths.)
It's a pity I can't stay and chat, but the nice men are coming to wheel me out into the garden where they always give me a treat and I take a nap. Many of Palmer's other teachers live here as well; perhaps I can talk one into having a word with you while we feed the ducks.