The first season episode The Great Outdoors never fails to have me in stitches. I found myself wondering what, precisely, did happen on that bus trip...

Enjoy, and reviews are more than welcome!

Miss Drill stood with hands on hips and glared at the handful of girls she was taking camping. "Now, have we got everything? No magic, so you can't simply conjure something you've forgotten."

"Magic is not to be used for selfish or trivial ends, Miss Drill," Ethel Hallow said primly.

Imogen Drill rolled her eyes. These girls could say what they liked; she knew that they could, and did, use their gifts for very selfish and trivial ends when they thought they could get away with it. "So I keep hearing. Are you ready to go, people?"

"Yes, Miss Drill!" the girls responded. Some looked and sounded excited – Mildred Hubble was almost bouncing up and down on her heels – whilst the lack of enthusiasm on the faces of Ethel and Drusilla was matched only by Miss Hardbroom's expression of utter disgust.

Miss Drill nodded with satisfaction. "Excellent. Remember, girls, magic is NOT to be used on this trip." Her pupils nodded with varying degrees of glumness. "All right then. Let's go and catch our bus. I'll lead if Miss Hardbroom can bring up the rear."

Miss Hardbroom nodded, stiffly, and Imogen sighed as she led the little procession down the Academy drive towards the bus stop. Couldn't the woman unbend, even a little? She stood with her customary rigid posture, garbed in a black gown that was totally inappropriate for an active few days in the Great Outdoors. Never to mention her pointy witch's hat. At least Imogen had finally persuaded the older woman that carrying a broomstick and a pointy hat on public transport in the middle of spring would guarantee a number of funny looks at best and a one way ticket to the nearest asylum at worst.

"Is it far to the bus-stop, Miss Drill?" Drusilla asked two minutes after they exited the gates of Cackle's Academy.

"Not far at all. Fifteen minutes or so," Miss Drill returned cheerily.

Drusilla and Ethel groaned. "That's ages, Miss," Drusilla complained.

"Flying is much more efficient," Ethel added, her aristocratic little nose in the air.

Imogen sighed and reminded herself that physically harming students was generally considered a bad idea. In her considered opinion, broomstick flying and that apparating-whatsit that Constance Hardbroom was so frighteningly good at did nothing but encourage a lack of physical fitness amongst witches, young and old alike.

"Don't be such a drip, Ethel," put in Enid Nightshade bracingly.

I couldn't have put it better myself, Imogen thought.

Ethel turned to glare at the other girl, failed to look where she was going, and quite naturally walked into a tree. "Ouch!" she wailed, clapping her hand over one eye. "That hurt. Miss, do I really have to do this?" She turned her good eye to look pleadingly towards Miss Hardbroom, who had placed herself behind Mildred. "Miss Hardbroom, can't I return to school? I'd really much rather spend the holiday in the potions lab."

The deputy headmistress left Mildred to look after herself and came forward to examine Ethel more closely, and it was Imogen's turn to groan as she saw her colleague's pinched lips. "I'm afraid you must stay where you are, Ethel, if Miss Drill says so. She is in charge on this trip and not I."

"But it hurts. And it's going to get worse, I know it is."

"A little physical activity never hurt anyone, Ethel." Imogen knew she was gaping as Miss Hardbroom continued. "Healthy bodies and healthy minds, that's what I always say. Now, come along and I'll heal that for you before the bus comes. We don't want people to think we're hitting you at Cackle's."

No, just freezing them, starving them, zapping them, and randomly turning them into frogs, Imogen thought. What's a little slap in comparison to all that?

"Is that the bus stop over there?" Maud Moonshine asked suddenly, and Miss Drill turned to follow the girl's pointing finger.

"Indeed it is! That's very observant of you, Maud."

"Someone is already there," Miss Hardbroom pointed out from beside Imogen, her tones dripping disapproval even more than they usually did. "What's worse, it is a man."

Imogen was certain she heard smothered splutters behind her, but determined to ignore them. "I'm sure he won't say anything, Miss Hardbroom," she said soothingly as she checked for oncoming traffic. Experience had taught her that her colleagues could be remarkably impractical about little details like that. "Cross over now, girls!"

"And the bus is coming!" Mildred squealed once they were safely lined up beside the young man who had preceded them.

Imogen smiled at him rather stiffly as she noticed the way his curious gaze lingered on herself, her pupils, and finally, almost unbelievingly, on the incredible figure of Constance Hardbroom.

"Where're you off to then?" he asked conversationally through a mouthful of what seemed to be chewing gum once he'd managed to stop gawping.

"The forest park. We're going on a camping trip, you see!" Mildred told him, not being overly afflicted with shyness.

The young man beamed at Mildred, but his smile quickly faded when he saw Miss Hardbroom pull the girl back and give her a ticking off.

"Bit of a tartar, is she?" he whispered in Imogen's ear with a meaningful jerk of the head, just as the bus drew up with a loud hoooonk.

She managed a weak grin. "Just a little. But her heart's in the right place." Or so Amelia keeps telling me.

He returned her grin, helped her place the luggage under the coach, and then finally ushered the girls onto the bus until only Miss Hardbroom and Imogen herself were left. He bowed slightly towards Miss Hardbroom and extended a hand. "Up you get, then, old love."

Imogen knew she was cowering, but she couldn't help it. Constance Hardbroom was practically emitting sparks of fury, and she wasn't known for her reticence in such matters. With one sweep of her hand, the witch propelled the young man from the front of the bus to the back, before making her way to a seat that was plainly labelled FOR DISABLED PASSENGERS ONLY and settling herself down with an air of complete indifference, pointy hat and all.

Her colleague seriously contemplated banging her head hard on the bus-stop pole. Or turning around and returning to the known madness of Cackle's, which would be comparatively peaceful at the moment. Or just walking and walking and not stopping until sore feet or low blood sugar forced her to do so. With a supreme effort she climbed into the bus and sat down next to Miss Hardbroom, feeling guiltily aware of the accusing stares levelled in her direction. It didn't help that as soon as the unfortunate young man had recovered from his impromptu trip down the aisle, he'd goggled at Constance, squeaked in horror when she glared at him, and (from what Imogen could see) fell down the steps into the tight corner that was the loo entry. She winced as a door slammed; the poor guy had locked himself into the toilet, she was certain.

Imogen sighed.

Miss Hardbroom sniffed. "That was both unnecessary and inconsiderate," she said severely.

Imogen let her head thump back against the window with such vehemence that it hurt. It was going to be a long trip.