Homework excuses are legendary. And yes, the dog did eat mine once. I never confessed, and somehow the teacher never caught up with me, but I spent the rest of my many years in secondary school living in dread of being discovered.
The excuse today was so unbelievable that I nearly laughed. History homework for the last month or so has been to create Tudor house in some shape or form. So we've had exquisite paintings, hand-crafted wooden houses, complete with furniture, tapestries, fireplaces, chimneys, gardens... cardboard houses with highly effective lattice windows made out of some kind of bandage, beyond its use by date (mum works at the hospital), even a 'net' of a Tudor house downloaded from the internet and reconstructed in heavy card. Wonderful.
But T didn't bring his house in. He lives on a tiny island a short boat ride away, commuting backwards and forwards at the weekend. Apparently - and I have to believe him, he is honesty personified -the wind blew his house out of his hand into the sea, as he was getting off the boat this morning.
"The sea ate my homework." Hmmm, doesn't really sound quite right, does it?