High School – Middle Age Fanclub

Teaching: Back once again for the renegade (school) master…

So here we are again. Summer now feels like a distant memory as I’ve been back at work and into a new academic year for the last couple of weeks.

It’s my 26th year of teaching and I’ve reached the grand age of 53, so as I’m sure you’ll understand, regardless of holidays I’m permanently knackered. For me there’s no longer that fresh feel to every September. Not only will I still be tired, but I’ll have seen and heard more or less everything that’s going to be thrown at me between now and late July many times before. It’ll just have been given a new trendy name. And be delivered by someone with way more enthusiasm than me…

I wanted to write about a couple of new things though, as well as something that feels like it’s as old and predictable as time.

Neither of the new things are entirely new. One is in the setting that I now work in and the other is an old idea that has now resurfaced with a new name. Both are challenging me in different ways.

As part of our role as teachers, we all get a couple of duties to do per week; supervising on the yard at break, that kind of thing. This year I had to rub my eyes when I saw what my new duties would entail. Even when I looked again, they were still there and a couple of months later when a new rota was sent out, they remained. Let me tell you, I’m not impressed. This year I have toilet duty…twice a week.

Now, I have to say that I’m lucky as our student toilets are in fact very modern. Glass fronted, lots of cubicles, one big hand wash station in the middle and some fancy hand driers off to the side. These boys have never had it so good! But, they’re still toilets. So two of my breaks are now spent managing the queue outside of the toilets, while trying to keep the flow of ‘customers’ going inside and watching out for any suspicious vape activity too.

On my first duty last week I had been there all of 6 seconds when one of the smaller boys was sick near the front of the queue, which really does just typify my luck! While he stood there unable to work out what to do next, the other boys were either pointing it out to me or screaming and squirming about it. Meanwhile, I had to find someone with a radio who could get in touch with a caretaker, while simultaneously getting the boys to not walk straight through the sick as I kept the flow of the queue going! Talk about juggling plates!

It wasn’t long before a caretaker arrived on scene, coned the area off and cleaned everything up, but not before some of the queue had managed to ignore my warnings and walk straight through it all! You could say it was a baptism of puke…

Since then things have been a bit less eventful. Queues are pretty orderly and nothing dramatic has happened. The smell however, well that’s another matter…

Many years ago Year 11 students who we didn’t think had the ability to follow the GCSE English course would do a course called Entry Level Certificate, which concentrated on the basics of written communication and meant that those students would at least leave school with some kind of English qualification. These were kids with complex special educational needs, learning delays and sometimes even those that could barely read or write. It worked really well, doing much for the self esteem of kids who’d never before felt too comfortable with the study of English.

In their wisdom, the education gods took Entry Level away though and so every year we were left with a cohort of students who would really struggle to access the content that they were being given, however it was pitched.

As is the way with education though, it was eventually brought back, revamped and given a new name and now I have a group of Year 10 students who are doing that course, bringing back many happy memories of teaching it before. It’s taking a bit of getting used to and because there’s no existing work for it at our school I’m having to do lots of planning, but I have to say that it’s actually really enjoyable.

One thing that certainly isn’t new is how fussy Year 7 students can be. I’m blessed – sort of – with two Year 7 classes this year, although one is only for one library lesson per week. Regardless, I think I’m already developing a nervous tick.

At time of writing I’m two weeks into the new academic year and so have taught these groups only a handful of times. Still, they are proving to be quite painful! Maybe it’s the grumpy middle aged man in me, but they just seem to be a constant stream of often irrelevant questions, fuss, a lack of listening and a way too much stationary!

Today we did a reading test in a computer room. The instructions were clear as day and repeated by not just me, but our librarian who was running the tests, at least 4 times. And yet still, I found myself drowning under a deluge of the same type of questions – “Sir, what do I do now?”, “Sir, how do I log on?”, “Sir, what do I click on?”. In situations like this I find any kind of professionalism that I may possess being tested to its very limits!

However, the best was saved for later in the lesson, when bored of having to answer questions on the test, one of them asked our librarian “Miss, how many questions are there?” Rather than tell the individual student, she stopped the group and addressed them all, telling them that the programme was measuring their reading age and thus there were no set number of questions; it would end when the program had got a reading age.

Two minutes later came the same question. And again seconds after. And again a few minutes after that.

As we were packing up it was all I could do not to ask the question myself. However, looking at my colleague I decided that I valued my life more than a valued a cheap laugh!

Anyway, only 36 weeks more to go!

Teaching: I’ve been on a course…

This week, as a work thing, I did something that I haven’t done for years. So long in fact, that I really can’t remember how many years it’s been, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if it’s been well over a decade. I went out on a course.

I’ve long had an aversion to courses. I’m not good around new people and really can’t be bothered trailing to anywhere different with all the navigation issues that it can create. And that’s before you get to the chaos that going out on a course can create. You leave behind a classroom full of resources and a day’s worth of classes doing – or simply not even attempting – all of the work you’ve spent time creating and then setting for them. So basically, your room is at the mercy of whoever’s covering your lessons and a load of students frothing at the mouth at the prospect of you not being there. A course you say? I’ll just stay at work, if it’s all the same.

There was no avoiding this though. Firstly, I’m at a new school and so keen to make a good impression. But secondly, this was a course for mentors and I needed to be there in order to learn how to use the software that I’ll be working with as mentor to a new teacher or an ECT as I’m required to call them nowadays.

I started the day by making the kind of mistake I’ve previously laughed heartily at in others. Yes, I didn’t check the dress code, meaning I was the only person to turn up in a shirt and tie! Oh, the horror as I walked in! I almost wore a suit though, so I was relieved that I could just quietly rid myself of my tie and not look too stiff in amongst the sea of hoodies and jeans.

There were plusses though. I got to leave the house later, meaning more time to lounge about over breakfast, the course didn’t start until later than work, we got a free lunch and then we were treated to an early finish, so it turned out to be not so bad.

However, the whole experience left me with a number of questions as well as wanting to share a few observations too…

The first thing that occurred to me was the name of the thing. They’re no longer courses, apparently. No, now we go on conferences. So when did that change? And why? It’s clearly the way things are these days, with academy chains running things like businesses and referring to people on courses as ‘delegates’. Ridiculous, really. I mean there were around 30 of us sat in a classroom watching and taking notes as two presenters talked us through some slides. It didn’t feel like what I imagined a conference to be. I thought conferences were about ‘networking’ (perish the thought and pass me the sick bag) and maybe standing around drinking wine and being waited upon with nibbles. I got to sit at a desk and settled for jacket potato with cheese and beans for dinner! Not even a warm plastic cup of chardonnay in sight!

The school we were at was one that I used to drive past daily for a decade. I actually imagined that one day I’d work there. It was a short commute for me and had a name that conjured up far more positive and idyllic images than the reality. Now though, following some dark days for them, they’ve knocked it down and rebuilt the place and I have to say, it was an impressive building. It’s nice to see that money is being spent in education…if only we could recruit more teachers.

Even a brand spanking new building has its drawbacks though. For about the first hour of being there, every few minutes the sound of gushing water would interrupt us. No one had any idea where it was from, but boy did it sound close. Very off-putting, I can tell you! I was sure that we were going to get soaked at any time! And then there was the school bell. I say bell, but it sounded like the kind of alarm you expect would signal an approaching apocalypse. And it just seemed to go off so often! A ‘conference’ with the threat of drowning or zombie panic. It’s no wonder it’s taken me so long to get back out there!

While watching our presenters go about…well, presenting, it struck me that this was the kind of job I’d have liked. I love the showing off aspect of my work and have always loved giving assemblies or running training for staff, so I’d like a bit of that there presenting I reckon. But then, it occurred to me that I’d be very worried about the amount of questions I’d have to fumble an answer for and that I’d probably really just want to be telling stories and doing dad jokes – not what your average ‘delegate’ wants in these corporate heavy days of education. Maybe I’ll stick to the classroom after all!

The two presenters we had were very good and yet still my abiding memories of them talking to us revolved around their language choices. No sweary Marys, don’t worry, but just using phrases I’d either never heard before or just hadn’t heard in years. Firstly, one of them kept saying ‘Hell’s Bells’, which I thought had died out years ago and then the other referred to students as being like ‘giddy little kippers’, which really threw me as the only kippers I’ve ever encountered were dead and being offered up as part of guest house breakfasts. So, not giddy at all. But all was forgotten and forgiven when one of them kept using the word ‘twiggle’, which I’d never heard. Going on the context of use, I worked out it must be a verb meaning to change something slightly, like to ‘tweak’. But twiggle seems like a great word and I’d encourage all 14 people who read this to start using it immediately!

In the afternoon though, an old ghost returned to haunt me. Every so often in teaching someone latches on to a person who’s had an idea and set themselves up as some kind of guru. It’s particularly irksome, because almost every idea is recycled from years before and these people aren’t reinventing any wheels. Anyway, just after dinner, there he was smugly standing there jabbering on about something I wasn’t listening to on a video. I won’t mention his name (it’s not even a proper name), but suffice to say it soured those few minutes until he disappeared again!

Overall though, despite my reservations, I had a pretty good day and actually learnt some stuff. Best of all? It was the compliments. I genuinely think that I’m a hopeless mentor and yet still the presenters told us on several occasions, “you are all amazing” as well as referring to us regularly as “special”. I must remember to tell my wife!

Teaching: The Reading Test.

I wasn’t planning to write anything at all on this topic. Far brighter people than me have written far more incisive commentary about the importance of reading and the struggles that young people have with it. And anyway, this was just a baseline test; a straightforward reading test done in class with (hopefully) minimal stress. But, in teaching sometimes it feels like nothing is ever straightforward.

September and baseline testing for Year 7s go hand in hand. Not always merrily skipping down a corridor, but hand in hand all the same. So, it should be straightforward, right? Read the texts, read the questions, answer the questions using the information from said texts. And as a bonus, take your time doing it as we can use a little chunk of next lesson too. Easy? Well not for all, naturally. But straightforward, surely?

Of course, if you’re a teacher or have ever worked in education, you know the answer to the question above. And of course, the answer is a big fat NO! As I mentioned earlier, nothing ever seems straightforward in education and some days everything can feel like a battle.

Which brings me to my topic. Reading tests. Or rather, the reading test that I’ve just done with my seemingly delightful Year 7 group.

Now previous readers might already know that I’ve recently taken up a new post at an all boys school. Suffice to say, as you might well expect it’s pretty tough at the moment. On top of a shedload of entirely new and sometimes alien systems and routines, all my learners are boys and therefore full of the ‘challenges’ that boys can bring! That said, it’s a very supportive environment and I feel like I’m getting on top of things and coping with anything that gets thrown at me…metaphorically!

In amongst my cohort of somewhat rowdy boys, my Year 7s stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. I’m new, they’re new and we’re in this together. They’re keen to get on and eager to please and of course, full of questions, as we probably all were at that age. They all say a cheery ‘morning, sir’ at the door and many of them tell me to have a ‘good evening’ or even a ‘good weekend’ when they leave, depending on the day.

So, today’s attempt at a baseline reading test was a timely reminder that there are always hitches, irritations and curveballs in teaching. Okay, this one wasn’t the biggest deal, but it reminded me of the need for patience and also the need to always make sure that everyone in the room is sure of what they’re doing.

The problems started as I gave out the texts. One reading booklet with texts to read from and an answer booklet…where you put your answers. First off, I asked my class to fill in the front of the answer booklet with the necessary information. In this case that was first name, middle name, surname, date of birth and school name. I explained what was needed and also that, if they didn’t have a middle name, then they didn’t have to write one. And this was when the questions started.

“Sir, where do you put your name?”

“Sir, what if I haven’t got a middle name?”

“Sir, what if I don’t want to put my middle name?”

“Why do I have to put my middle name?”

“Why do they need my date of birth?”

Eventually, we got there, even adding my own name to the front of their answer booklet just in case it was misplaced. At least someone would know where to find me.

Next came instructions about time. I’d been told that it didn’t matter if the test didn’t get completed in the hour – we could use next lesson too. So, I made it really clear that the boys should take their time, look for accuracy rather than speed and that we’d have this lesson and the next if needed. It wasn’t a race. You can guess what came next…

“How long have we got, sir?”

The first time they asked, I just repeated myself. Same with the next. And, with a slightly more irritated tone, the next too. By the time the same question had been asked about 8 times in 10 minutes or so however, I felt like steam might be coming out of my ears!

Then, it was time to give a bit of guidance. The answers they needed were in the texts that they were going to read, they should read the texts first before attempting the questions, the paper would tell them which text questions were referring to and so on. But before I’d even got halfway through what I was saying, the hands were going up. I asked them to wait; I might answer your question before you get the chance to ask if you wait until I finish. Still, the hands stayed up like this was some kind of endurance test. And then, when I’d finished…

“Where will the answers be, sir?”

“How do I know what text the question is about?”

“How long have we got, sir?” Just kidding with that one; they’d got the point by now!

Once those worries were seen too, again, I gave a final warning. Treat the test like an exam. There should be no talking and while they should ask if they had a question, I couldn’t just give answers and they’d be better off just reading the text again. And with that, I told the class that they could begin writing.

Seconds later, a hand shot up to ask a question, while the boy sat in front of me started reading the first question out loud.

I give up!

Teaching: New school year, new job…help!

This September I start a new job. This shouldn’t be a big problem for me, yet I’m more than a little anxious about the change.

As I said, it shouldn’t be something that’s too alarming. I mean for a start, this was my choice. Furthermore, I’m entering my 25th year of teaching – what’s that, you wouldn’t know it to look at me and I should get out of town, you say? It’s true though and in my head that should mean that I’ve seen it all before and that a change like this shouldn’t really have an effect. But it is and there’s quite a lot that’s bothering me. But rather than write about it in a “pick me” as my kids say, kind of way, I thought I’d try to make people smile a bit. Let’s play this for laughs, not for sympathy.

Let’s start with how it all came about. I’d been at my last place for 9 years, most of them blissfully happy ones too. I was appointed as a Lead Practitioner and although at first it felt like the school might not know what to do with me, it was thoroughly enjoyable and I felt like I was contributing a lot. Over the years I felt like I was really helping out at the school and affecting change in my own small way. I’d occasionally run whole school or departmental training. I’d do morning briefings about various things, taking the lead on reading and oracy in particular with the emphasis on getting my ideas across while also giving people a bit of fun at the start of their day. I’d also do fairly regular assemblies. In short, I felt like I was good at my job. Apart from mentoring; I was shit at that.

Three years ago though, I was told that my role was no longer viable for whatever reason and that was that. Unless I wanted to apply to be in charge of KS4 English, I’d be back as a teacher of English only. The KS4 role just wasn’t for me and so I went about my business as a teacher. Sure, I sulked a bit but overall I was professional and did my job to the very best of my ability. The cut in wages and lack of challenge never left me though and I decided that I’d be leaving, as much as it would hurt.

Then, two years ago, I got ill. My heart decided not to bother working properly anymore and it resulted in me having 4 months off work. When I returned, nothing felt the same and I spent large parts of last year feeling really unhappy. Now, I’ll be honest, I probably look unhappy most of the time anyway, but this was different. Inwardly and outwardly, I just wasn’t smiling.

Luckily for me another chance presented itself and with a touch more luck, I got the job. So, just what is it that’s worrying me then?

I’m someone who likes to have fun at work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a professional first and foremost, but I’ve loved being class clown for a long time too. For me, teaching is largely just showing off.

One of the ways that I like to have fun is via email. Childish, I know, but I love a daft email. Now though, I find myself worrying about how that first email will go down. At my last place, my first really silly one involved asking everyone in the department what music they’d have as their walk on music, if we could bring in such a thing. It’s the kind of thing that I daydream about in meetings. If you must know, I’d have a burst ‘No Limits’ by 2Unlimited, followed by a bit of ‘The Power’ by Snap before finishing with the drama of ‘One Voice’ by Barry Manilow. Genius, I know. I’d look fabulous as well, by the way.

Anyway, after 9 years at my old place everyone was more than used to this type of thing and most seemed to enjoy it. But how will it all go down in a new setting? I’m heartened by the fact that I know some of the people in my department, but still, I don’t want people to think of me as a complete knobhead. Not until they get to know me, anyway.

On a much more serious note, I’m anxious about creating relationships with my classes. It’s always hard and having been at the same school for 9 years, it’s not something I’m used to any more. Sure, I had new classes every year, but this year barely a pupil at the school knows me. I know that after a few weeks they’ll be used to me and I’ll be used to them, but the fact that it can be such a gruelling process is still a little daunting. I’ve never been one of the ‘don’t smile ’til Christmas’ brigade and want students to enjoy being in my lessons so for me relationships are key.

It’s a similar story where relationships with colleagues are concerned. As I said earlier, I already know some of my department having worked with them before, but as for the others, I don’t even think I’ve met them all. I’m really quite a shy person. In my recent leaving speech I joked that probably only 40% of the people present actually knew who I was, but I might not have been too far wide of the mark! Hopefully though, I’m able to come across as far less of a tool than I actually am. I might even try to chip in with some useful comments in meetings, just to smooth the way! Best to get some brownie points in the bag before that first email, I guess!

Learning names is also something to fret about. I’ve never been the best in this area of my job. With students I’m usually quite good, just because I see the same names on a register time and time again, although there’ll always be one or two that slip the net. However, it’s staff names that I really struggle with. There are already a couple of people that I’ve met where I’m unsure of their name. It’s a particular blind spot with me and although there’s always ‘Miss’ and ‘Sir’ to rely on, I always feel guilty about this particular flaw. A whole fresh start with an entirely new staff suddenly feels like an accident waiting to happen. I’m never far off an ‘alright Dave’ situation when I’m talking to a Mike or a Paul and it’s inevitable that I’m only weeks ago from a misnaming faux pas!

Almost a quarter of a century of teaching has seen me acquire quite a lot of ‘stuff’. And finding it a home makes me anxious too. I’m yet to see my classroom and so don’t know if there’s space for all I’ll bring. Further to that is the fact that it’s going to take loads of trips back and forth from my car to get it all in too. I deliberately left quite a lot behind and have even culled some of the stuff I brought home. I mean, I took around half a box of spare worksheets and paper resources that I had knocking around in my old room before looking at them in my front room and realising that, having not probably used any of it for the best part of a decade I’d probably have no need for it anyway! It’s odd the things that you cling on to. Luckily, there are probably only around 7 boxes worth to transport. And then some bags too! Someone help me!

My new job is at a boys school. The first same sex school I’ll have taught in and although I know exactly what to expect (lads, lads, lads, I suppose), it unnerves me a bit. I know it’ll take a bit of getting used to. I know that I’ll spend the first few weeks looking at my class thinking stuff like, ‘There’s something not quite right here’ and doing comedy double takes at the fact that ‘THEY’RE ALL BOYS’!

And then, and by no means finally but I have to end somewhere, there are the little things. The ones that will probably turn out to be nothing, but will almost certainly keep me awake the night before it all begins.

Firstly, I haven’t got my pass yet. And what are we without a lanyard, eh? I mean, a chair of governors once wrongly accused me and a couple of others of turning ours around deliberately at an open evening in order to avoid parental questions, so I’m envisaging a horde of riot police charging at me when I turn up without one. But also, how do I get in to the building? What if no one comes to get me? And then, when I finally get it what do I do if the picture is one of those where my smile is on the wane, so to speak? You know, like it’s sliding off your face? What do I do then?

There’s also the bit where you have to introduce yourself to the whole staff. Sure, it’s just a stand up and wave thing, but if anyone’s going to trip over his own feet on the way up or miss his chair on the way back down, it’s me. My brain has a terrible habit of either making me say stupid stuff or do something even stupider. So, I’m really looking forward to winking at a hall full of people while pointing my fingers or doing a peace sign like some cheeseball gameshow host and all the while not having a clue how any of it happened.

Furthermore, I’ve never parked in the actual car park. I’ve always been in a handy visitor’s space. So what if I park in the wrong place? It’d be just like me to park in Big Tony’s space (the bloke who everyone fears and no one knows what he actually teaches – every school’s got one). I’m not a young man anymore; I could do without all of this!

All this is running round my mind and I haven’t even got to the usual expected raft of IT problems that have haunted me for years. The board that only works on days with an ‘e’ in their name, the forgetting of my own password, wrestling with a more advanced version of ClassCharts than I’m used to and then of course, my nemesis…the bloody visualiser! We still used a telly on a trolley when I first started, so it doesn’t take much in terms of IT to put me in a flap!

Changing jobs has made me feel ludicrously inexperienced again, before I’ve even started. I’m finding myself worrying about things that bothered me as a newly qualified teacher back in the late 1800s. Anyone that knows me will also know that none of this is an exaggeration either! Luckily, I know that really it’s just a case of getting the first month out of the way before I’m into some kind of routine and things are pretty much falling into place. Give it a year or two and they’ll have stopped talking about the amount of times I locked myself out of a building, the ridiculous resources I brought or even my inevitably ill fitting high viz for duties too.

Wish me luck! I think I’m going to need it!

No planner, a chimp, naps and IT problems: It’s Back to School ’23/24

September is not my favourite month, it’s safe to say. It’s the end of one generally lovely part of my life and the beginning of something very different. Time for a lot of us to turn what has become a rather pleasant routine on its head. Time again for early starts and rainy commutes. Time for what seems like constant noise where there had been solitude for much of the days that had spread out in front of us. Yep, these last couple of weeks have meant that it’s been time to go back to school.

For once, I didn’t get the full treatment in terms of ‘The Fear’. Of course, I didn’t want to go back and thoughts of chaos in the classroom seemed to permeate almost everything I was trying to concentrate on. My mood worsened and I was ranting and grumbling even more than usual. As usual, I tried to turn the return to work into a positive by doing stuff like taking the occasional trip to the shops to search out some new shirts, as even if I may not actually look good, I think it’s important to at least try and kid myself that I do. However, for once, I didn’t suffer with back to school nightmares where I’m standing in front of a class who simply aren’t listening and are talking over me, whatever I say or threaten them with. So that was a blessed relief and a nice change.

However, when I realised on the afternoon of the last day of the summer holidays that I still hadn’t ordered a planner, it became clear that I just wasn’t really that organised or even slightly ready for what was to come. Still though, despite their attempts to take over the world, Amazon proved its worth and with a few clicks I had exactly the same planner as last year on order. It wouldn’t arrive until the Tuesday, but I’d muddle on through…

If you’re a teacher reading this I’m sure you’ll share my absolute hatred and horror at the first INSET day. If you’re SLT reading this, then that last sentence was for comedic effect; we’re all delighted to be there and hanging on your every word. But maybe, on that particular high note, you should stop reading now.

Few things in teaching can feel as futile as the first INSET day. A friend tells me that he’s rarely listening that day and that he often finds himself hating three quarters of the people in every room that he enters. Apart from his own department, who are all wonderful. I’ll keep him anonymous, because that’s quite a bold statement, but just so that we’re clear, he’s definitely not me, but a friend.

Our set up dictates that we all head over to the lead school in our academies trust for the morning and so, on the first Monday back, I was in a car share chatting to a pal, while listening to The Smiths and wondering why the people in the back had definitely just mentioned that someone they knew might just be a swinger. It’s the kind of 20 minute journey that feels like it takes 4 hours and almost every road is about 6ft wide and undulating. And this year someone was talking about swingers.

On arrival at our INSET day, it’s a bit like being a pilot as numerous ‘important’ people in high viz jackets attempt to steer you into exactly the right parking space, as if parking where you want would represent a level 9 security breach, whatever that is.

Then, it’s breakfast with staff from every other school in the trust – I estimate that we have 804 schools by the state of the canteen as we walk in – and my compliments to the chef have to go to the individual who served up my orange juice and pain au chocolate as it made me feel like I’d just arrived at a luxury spa in rural France…sort of.

I’ll spare you anymore great detail of the morning, but suffice to say it was a delight to share reading strategies that I introduced to the staff of my own school around 4 years ago as well as those from partner schools and see them greeted with the kind of enthusiasm that indicated that no one had been listening four years ago. I’ll look forward to see someone else introducing them as their own some time soon and resolve to try very, very hard not to scream or shout obscenities.

There was also mention of Steve Peters, the psychiatrist made famous for his work with many of the UK’s top athletes. It reminded me that it’s entirely possible that I only have the chimp part of my brain that functions. And if you haven’t read the book, that won’t mean anything to you. Basically , Dr Steve says that it’s the chimp part of your brain that makes you do stupid stuff. Don’t worry though; it’s not a real chimp.

Looking round at lunch I noticed that one of our new starters didn’t get the casual dress memo; a lone young man in shirt and tie while everyone else in in jeans, t-shirts and the like, which is always brilliant and I also spotted the worst deputy head I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with, as he now seems to be employed by our trust. A number of years back I had to be restrained by a friend to prevent me having ‘a chat’ with said deputy after he simply forgot to turn up for an observation I’d spent untold hours preparing for. So, it was lovely to see him again.

At the end of that first day, I left work late feeling exactly the same way as I do every year – unprepared for the rest of the week and wishing that someone would grasp the importance of giving teachers time on these kinds of days rather than just workshops and speeches.

The rest of the week actually wasn’t that bad though, although I’m teaching three different subjects this year and would relish the chance to warmly thank our government for their assistance with this development. Without your ineptitude and inability to fund the creation of attractive working environments that might attract and keep new staff year in year out, I wouldn’t get to challenge myself with bottom set Year 9 PHSCE, so thanks for that. It wouldn’t be the same just being an experienced English teacher tasked with just teaching English.

One irritation about the rest of the week was that it was conducted through a heatwave, which if you’re a teacher you’ll know is exactly the same thing that happens every year, without fail. Five and a half weeks of rain followed by weather that would be more at home in the outback. My classroom is air-conditioned, so it’s quite nice, but it’s never fun when every class that comes in gives you a weather report, then points out that my room is lovely and cool before giving it ten minutes and informing me that they’re too cold.

It felt like a long week and I must admit it was a struggle in terms of tiredness – I nearly wrote fatigue there, but it was 5 days, for goodness sakes – and as I adapted to my routine for the 24th year, there were a few late finishes.

Happily, I managed to fit in two impromptu naps – don’t worry they were at home, not at work – so perhaps it’s right what they say about every cloud as it was a joy to re-discover my ability to fall asleep while reading. It may not be a skill to add to a CV any time soon, but it’s definitely something that I excel at and am really quite passionate about.

More joy came with the number of students who pointed out that I now had a beard. It was great to be reminded of this fact, especially as I’ve had said beard for around 9 months now and would have paraded it in front of almost all of them for several of those months last year. So, if anyone wonders of it’s a problem for teachers to get students to retain information on any number of complex subjects from Shakespeare to trigonometry, that might just help with the answer.

There have been the usual snags over the last couple of weeks. Every teacher surely knows that every photocopier in the building will break within 24 hours. And we’ll all still try to fix them or use them, despite the sign telling us they’re knackered.

In further technology news, my board is still making the same noise (it literally goes ‘doodly doo’ loudly and repeatedly) at random points of every lesson as it did in July. A temporary fix was put in place then; so temporary that it just never worked and the noise just continued. I was promised it’d be fixed. I was also promised that the wire that runs from my computer to my board would be replaced as it meant I had to hurdle it to get around that part of my classroom. Reader, I’m still hurdling.

There have been the delights of shared classes too. This year it feels like I share 94 groups, although it’s only three. But this still means the need to locate your books when needed as well as the sheer nightmare of working out where each class has got to while they’re with the other teacher. Often, this is just solved with an email, but it never fails to make things awkward! It also means that for the umpteenth year running, I’m an entire class’s least favourite English teacher and I get to hear that ‘Miss doesn’t do this’ or ‘Miss is nice’ at least 14 times a lesson.

Finally came a personal snag highlight in that where I park there are a few trees and it’s at this time of year that they seems to shed some kind of white sap. So, for the last two weeks, I’ve been possibly quite unique in being the only bloke driving a black and white polka dotted Mazda through West Yorkshire for the last two weeks.

As we edge towards the end of the second week I at least have reason for some optimism. My desk is roughly two metres wide and 1 metre deep. As I type, I think you can still see actual desk over approximately half of that area. Knowing that the piles of paper and books will inevitably grow, that 50% of desk is very much a reason to be cheerful!

Teaching: That first week back.

I’ve been a teacher now for 22 years. It’s a job I love – despite the fact that I fell into it, rather than approaching it as some kind of vocation – yet a job that causes all manner of stress. And one of the biggest causes of stress is the first week back after summer.

If you’re a non teacher, I see the irony in that last statement. You don’t get 6 weeks off in summer and therefore probably think it’s decidedly ungrateful to feel stressed about going back to work after such a long break. Truthfully, I don’t really care what others think. It’s how an awful lot of us feel and probably not something that can be understood too well if you’re not in the job.

Some teachers are seemingly full of enthusiasm for the first week in September. I’m still not convinced by this enthusiasm though. To me, it seems simple; you’ve been on full pay for six weeks during summer and within reason you can get up to whatever takes your fancy. A wonderful way to live one’s life and the closest some of us are ever going to get to some kind of carefree celebrity lifestyle (albeit it as decidedly Z list celebrities). But then someone orders you back to work and all of the early starts, late finishes, politics, behavioural issues , meetings…children and everything else that comes with being a teacher. What a pain in the arse!

I thought I’d write a post reflecting back on some of my experiences in the first week back this year. I feel sure that any teachers who read, or indeed anyone who works in education will recognise at least some of what will follow.

The first day back used to be a time for easing yourself back in and just generally getting things sorted out. Then someone had the brainwave; the brainwave that became known as an Inset day! In my experience this started out as having to endure a couple of hours of various members of SLT talking at you about results, routines and – shudder – mission statements. There’d be some graphs that you didn’t really understand, but smiled through anyway because you knew you’d be released back to your classroom soon enough.

Gradually, this developed into things like lectures and group activities, often prompted by the dreaded phrase, “You’re going to work together” while you gawp at the people from different departrments that, if you’re me, you don’t know the names of. One of the worst of these was on some Head of Department training over a decade ago when we had to develop strategies for what was called a marketplace activity where students work in groups and then ‘teach’ other students via the presentation on their ‘stall’. I can still hear a woman bellowing “Roll up, roll up!” at the top of her voice in an affected cockernee accent as she got deep into character and it still makes me want to crawl under the nearest rock.

This year, our first day back was spent in two locations. Make of that what you will. We started off at the lead school in our trust for what felt like 36 hours before returning back to the more familiar surroundings of our own school later on for more briefings and I think 8 whole minutes of our own time to prepare for the next day when the kids came back. At several points during the briefings I snapped back to reality faced with the fact that I’d probably just been staring blankly at the person speaking for what could have been 7 or 8 minutes. I was finally able to leave work at just after 5pm, almost organised for the next day, only vaguely aware of my own name and already knackered.

Staggered returns have become a new way of thinking since I started in the job. So now, instead of Year 7 being plunged into big school, with all of the other enormous, scary students they’re given a bit of grace and allowed to come in before everyone else. Depending on the school, this might be for a few hours or a full day. We gave them half an hour (!) but then kept them in forms for most of the day to preserve their innocence for a little while longer. This was a particular delight for this grizzled old English teacher who has never been a fan of year 7s. By the time the whole school went to a token lesson for the last period I was delighted to see my Year 9s, having worn out my fake smile and Disney teacher voice and grown tired of repeating several variations of the phrase “If you’ve got any problems come and see me” with my fingers crossed behind my back. At least the later start allowed me a couple of precious hours of planning time, even if I couldn’t remember how to get my board on, leading to a call to IT support who then came down and, much to my shame, made it work by plugging it in.

Wednesday brought our first full day. By this point, the 6am alarm was taking its toll and my body had gone into a state of shock. My brain wasn’t coping well with the fact that both of own kids didn’t start school until Thursday, either.

My second lesson of the day was with our alternative curriculum lads in our internal PRU. I’ve never taught them before in this setting, but had taught several of them in mainstream school, so in a way I knew what to expect. They didn’t disappoint! Thus, after much calling out, the odd piece of bad language and every last one of them moaning about doing any work, they waited until I walked to the other side of the room and ignored them a bit before just doing the work. Wasn’t it Robin Williams who in his role as an inspirational teacher in ‘Dead Poets’ Society’ said, while standing atop a desk, “kids, even in a non mainstream setting, are funny little buggers”? Well, he was spot on.

Thursday and Friday passed in a blur with Friday being all the more memorable for having to fend off the ‘we’re getting two weeks off school because the Queen died’ rumours all day. I told them that they were very wrong; it was three.

Friday also brought me into contact with a brilliant new Year 8 groups. They’re a very low ability group of only 8 students, with low literacy levels and a cavalcade of complex stories between them. Fifteen minutes in, I quickly emailed the friend that I’m sharing the class with to tell her that I wanted to adopt them all. I wanted to take them all home and cook them a nice, hearty meal before letting them watch telly for as long as they wanted. Every so often you get a group like this, who regardless of ability, you just adore. I am going to absolutely love teaching these kids!

And that was that. First week done, eyes barely open having zombie-walked through 5 whole days and done the commute on auto pilot, 4 trips to the supermarket because fatigue and stupidity made me miss something every time I went, sore feet and a Friday where I wore a black tie to somehow pay my respects for a lady who I never knew, but whose death shook the word. And while I remain convinced that I wasn’t born to work for a living, I’ve found out once again that it’s strange the way that you can slip back into the same routine as if you’d never been away.

Poetry Blog: ‘The Quiet Class’

A simple one today; a poem about a quiet class. A silent class, in fact, but not in a good way!

Now, if you’re a teacher, you’ll know all of the anxiety that such a class can cause. You’ll know that just as you’ve prayed for your groups to work quietly, when one of them just isn’t giving back it can be the worst feeling that you’ll have in a classroom. And it will invariably happen when someone else walks into the room, leaving you to imagine all manner of things that they’ll think – or worse still – write down about your ability to foster a relationship with your classes!

So, here it is; my poem dedicated to that very strange phenomenon, the quiet class.

The Quiet Class

When faced with the class that's just not giving back,
the front of even the most familiar room can be the most isolated place in the world.
Silence ensues from the very start, aside from the shuffling of paper,
the turning of pages and the scratch of a pen on the page that seems to creep furtively around the space.
Even a starting gun would fail to rouse such a group,
and yet, today you are charged with just that.
Questions are met by ever longer silences whose shadows stretch further and further across the dewy morning grass,
as if answering would result in almost certain death.
Eyes are frantically averted, darting around the room,
like those shoals of tiny fish that children chase in the shallows at the beach,
before the resistance of the waves sees them crash face first into the sea.
And this is your fate today,
where every request is met with a room sized helping of nothing.
Today is a day to jump the waves, corner those fish and fill the room with noise.

To be blunt, I didn’t want to bang on too much about the subject matter in this poem, so I kept it short. It’s a quiet class after all and a niche market for all but the teacher, really. But a quiet class can make life very difficult. I mean, you’ve heard the saying about getting blood out of a stone, right? Well, when you’re faced with an hour – or sometimes more in post Covid teaching – in front of a class that’s just not giving back, it can be an exhausting process! Obviously there are strategies that we can use, such shining the spotlight of doom and just nominating people to answer or offer an opinion, but I personally don’t always like that type of thing to be rolled out within the first ten minutes! Hence the feelings that led to the poem.

Hopefully, you enjoyed reading this one. However, whatever effect it had on you, feel free to leave a comment as I also enjoy reading them and it’s nice to interact with people about what I’ve written.

The Last Day of Term

I’m starting this blog at break time, which is mid morning on the last day of our half term. Some of you will know this already, but I’m an English teacher in a high school. Normally, I wouldn’t do this, but the day starting as it did I felt I had to in the interests of sanity. Some of you – fellow teachers – will read this at the very least with a knowing smile on your face, while others will have their eyes opened at least a little bit about what can happen in a classroom.

It’s been a tough half term. We’ve been busy preparing classes for GCSEs, which is taxing to say the least, but obviously then you’ve got all your other classes and day to day dramas on top of that. For me personally, it’s been a stressful week; three sets of assessments to mark, pre-exam sessions with my Year 11, after school sessions too and the sheer unadulterated fun of a fairly vicious fight happening in my form out of absolutely nowhere!

So today, the last Friday before a week off, should be about tying up loose ends relaxing at least a little bit. So why am I finding myself so wound up? Well, let me tell you a story…

I teach a lovely Year 7 group and they are the start of my worst day of the week, which is Friday. Friday’s timetable is book-ended by my Year 7s and my nice Year 8s. In between I teach my bottom set Year 10s twice and then my bottom set Year 8s. Both provide, shall we say interesting lessons.

However, today it seems even my Year 7s have been sent to try me!

It should be simple. Today we’re improving on a recent assessment; a process we call EPIC time. Basically, using feedback given on their assessments the pupils improve on a new topic, but the same type of writing. So their assessment was a newspaper article on one topic and now they’re doing one on a different topic. Simple, right? No actually. You’re wrong.

I start by getting them to copy down the date, title and learning purpose. I tell them to do it in purple pen, adding more than once that everything we do today should be done in purple. Cue the first question.

PUPIL: “Sir, do we write that in purple” ME: “Yes, like I said, everything” PUPIL: “Oh. I’ve written it in black.”

And so it begins. I must have been asked about purple pens at least 8 times after this. It felt like it would never end, despite the fact that every so often I’d remind them that EVERYTHING should be written in purple.

A similar theme emerges when we have a couple of small worksheets to fill in; one as a recall Do Now task (we stick them into books every lesson), the other a checklist for the task. These small loose sheets need to be stuck into books. I tell them this. I tell them again…oh, you get the idea. Still, they ask if they should stick them in. One even informs me that they’ve stuck one of the sheets next to their assessment, which must be 4 pages further back from what we’re doing today.

I’m beginning to think that today is going to be one of those days…

Having completed their assessment a couple of weeks ago, it means that the class will have to turn back some pages if they need to refer to it. So I tell them the date that we did it. Friday 13th May. Maybe I was asking for trouble, eh? Still some can’t find it, but they eventually do, leaving just one who is adamant that it isn’t in his book. After much to’ing and fro’ing about the date I head across to his desk, where I promptly find said assessment. The assessment is on the page that has the date Friday 13th of May on it. I resolve that these things are sent to test us and move on…very quietly grumbling to myself.

With 35 minutes of the lesson remaining, we’ve covered all of the input into their task and it’s time for them to write.

I am able to relax for approximately 4 minutes before, despite trying to encourage their independence since September, a barrage of questions. I’m asked what emotive language at least 3 times. I’m asked to spell every word in the dictionary, despite the fact that they’d all been given a dictionary as part of their equipment about two weeks ago. I’m even asked what my favourite cheese is? Not really, but it wouldn’t have been a surprise.

My next two English lessons are with the same group – my lower ability Year 10s. They’re what you might refer to as ‘hard work’ and although there are only 12 of them, they’ve kicked hard against Macbeth for the last month or so. Behaviour has not been good and at times I’ve ended their lessons exhausted.

Today, I decide we’re going to do a big timeline of important events in Macbeth with key quotes added. We’ll do it via my whiteboard, which is actually three put together. The students will contribute via questioning and hopefully a bit of their own volunteering of information. It’s quite demanding doing it this way because as the teacher you’re driving everything forward, doing lots of writing, prompting with questions, key words and hints, while hoping that they don’t notice how hard they’re working and how much they’re writing. And you’re doing it with your back to the room for large chunks of the lesson, which with this group is a bit of a risk. Especially if one of them’s brought the darts again. Just kidding.

To my great delight it works. Have a look for yourself.

However, it’s not without its hitches. I have to stop within about 5 minutes as two students have copied what’s on my board exactly. So not only has their A3 sheet got a big timeline horizontally, but they’ve also copied the edges of each board – remember there are 3 put together, so my one big board space has two vertical lines down it. Rather than a timeline they’ve got a grid and when I ask why they tell me it’s what I did. They’re staggered when I tell them it’s the edges of two of the boards. They’d thought that I’d drawn on the vertical lines and despite the fact that they’d always been there, they hadn’t noticed them in almost a whole academic year! As horrified as they are and as amused as I am, it only takes a fresh couple of sheets of A3 and they’re good to go again.

By the end of the two hours though every student has an A3 timeline chock full of Macbeth flavoured goodness. They’ve enjoyed doing it, they’re telling me that they understand the play more now (even if it’s just what happens) and they have a good 15 or so quotes to learn/ignore. Maybe the day is taking a turn for the better?

After some dinner I face up to an hour with the class that is easily my worst behaved. Another low ability group, this time Year 8. They’re finishing off some non-fiction work and will ultimately design a poster persuading people to stop using single use plastics. There are too many ‘events’ to go through here though, but by the end of the lesson they all have a poster which consists of the word PLASTIC (their choice) in bubble writing done by yours truly and some facts about single use plastics scattered around. We’ll file them under the heading ‘Last Day, Not Very Good’.

Four hundred hours later – give or take an hour or so – it’s time for the final lesson of the day. Again, it’s Year 8, but a different group. Again, they’re working on an EPIC of an earlier assessment, so we’ve come full circle, which is nice. Workwise, they’re great. But our rewards system provides a couple of interesting moments.

Good work, behaviour, telling me they like my socks or that I’m just generally great is rewarded with tokens. Tokens can be placed in a box marked with whatever whole school reward they want at the end of the half term. Most tokens wins. Today, every kid is getting an ice lolly during the final period of the day. They’re delivered by a member of SLT called Emily Smellyfartpoo (Her 2nd appearance in one of my blogs and once again I’ve changer her name; she’ll never know it’s her). Her real surname is Shittyarseface. It’s not, I’m just kidding. It’s dafter than that.

Anyway, I’ll leave you with two gems that come out of the mouth of the same student as a result of an ice lolly. Firstly, when he takes a nibble from the lolly he literally screams before declaring ‘It’s cold!’. He’s really not messing around. This is genuine shock. I mean, the clue’s in the name, kid. Then, while everyone else is managing to keep working while they eat their lolly he claims that he can’t eat it with his left hand, so must do so with his right, his writing hand. He ends up spending a little bit of time with me in a short detention at the end of the day!

So there we have it. That last day is never as easy or straightforward as you’d like it to be but I hope you enjoyed the end of term as much as I did!

Poetry Blog: ‘A week to go’

It’s that time of year again. Us teachers are exhausted and conflicted. Year 11 are about to leave and we’ll benefit from the time that leaves us, so yay (!), but there’s also the shadow of ‘did I do enough’ hanging round. That particular weather front will keep popping back until late August and even then it’ll be immediately replaced by Storm ‘Could I Have Done More’ and Hurricane September!

Despite my vintage as a teacher – just over two decades and counting…not that I’m counting – this time of year doesn’t get any easier. I won’t lie and tell you that I’m not glad to see the back of my Year 11s though. We’ve got to that fractious stage together where we’re all pretty much sick of the sight of each other now, but it doesn’t stop the worry. Add to this the fact that my own daughter is also taking her GCSEs and it makes for a very tense and very tiring time. I’ve said this before about several things, but I think I’m just too old for all of this nowadays!

I wrote this poem – as I did another this time last year that can be found on the link below – while patrolling my classroom during a two hour pre-exam session while my class were working.

Poetry Blog: ‘In a Perfect World’

This year’s group are a set 2, so bright and capable, but watching them work all that came across to me was just how vulnerable, tired and disheveled they looked. So, when I got a little bit of time that evening after they’d gone, I began to scribble down the notes that would become this poem. As ever, apologies for the title; crap isn’t it? I wish I had more imagination when it came to naming my poems!

'A week to go.'

The latest in a long line of young adults are about to step out of the building for one last time and see what the weather holds.
The inevitability that you've been warning them about for years has dawned and the story is frighteningly familiar.
Everything is out and ready for their arrival,
yet still it takes two minutes to enter the room - some things never change -
and even when I think they're in, several of the flock have wandered off.
I guess there's always a willful one or two that will find their way into someone else's field in spite of the fences, just because they can.
They arrive seven minutes late, quietly apologise, then,
having received the same instruction as the rest,
proceed to bleat idly to a fellow latecomer as if everything in this world was just perfectly zen.
Oh, for just a tiny dose of this carefree youthful optimism, this lack of knowledge of the world for just a few more days.

Functional stuff dealt with we attempt to power on,
there's one week to go,
nothing can be left to chance,
no stone left unturned.
While they work, I wander somewhat aimlessly,
now adopting the roll of the lost sheep,
occasionally taking sharp inward breaths as if to speak,
but always holding back, telling myself to savour the silence,
let them work.
Outside, an ill wind blows ominous Shakespearean clouds across the horizon
and I wonder, is this a sign.
Maybe, maybe not. This is the north after all, where clouds are nothing if not ominous.

Averting my gaze, I take in the sights of the classroom once more,
looking for more positive signs.
One is slumped over the desk, writing, one shoe discarded perhaps for some kind of aerodynamic reason,
one wears tracksuit bottoms - more Sports Science in action, or more likely the result of what was lying on a darkened bedroom floor approximately 6 minutes before his lift arrived.
Several are conducting a tiny rebellion; dyed hair, trainers, no ties, shirts untucked. I smile and hope that this sense of rebellion and experimentation grows and grows until it bears fruit, lightens these lives.
I wonder though, what they're rebelling against, hoping that the answer would be 'Whadya got' but fearing excuses about not being able to breath with a tie on or school shoes breaking, giving up the ghost just at this most convenient hour.

Rebels or not, for now all are working,
minds hopefully being emptied of every quote, every interpretation and perhaps,
if we're lucky a skewed version of some contextual nugget, a view of what life was like in the dark and distant past.
Pens race across pages, wrists are shaken in order to bring new life,
before the pen returns to the page to pour out more in one last effort.
And then, time stops and for a wonderful moment it occurs that I might have done enough...
Still, I think, a week to go.

It seems clear to me that there are a wide selection of attitudes and approaches to the exams and the final few weeks or so of high school among the students we teach. This was something that I was trying to get across in the poem, as well as the worry that we teachers can feel. So the bits about uniform and hairdos (and hairdon’ts in some cases) were supposed to reflect that. Sometimes I think that the exams take second place at this time of year because it feels more important to forget your tie and flaunt your new, casual look. I don’t think I’ll ever figure out why though!

Popular opinion sometimes seems to think that teachers only care about results the students’ results affect our pay – they don’t. What matters to most teachers – I can’t say all because I’ve worked with some that seemed to utterly despise what they were doing – is that we’re able to make even just some small difference to the lives of those that we teach. Certainly, when I look at my Year 11s around now I find I worry about what’s next for them, hope that they get what they want out of life and that they can just put enough work into getting these qualifications, all the while knowing that there’s not a lot left that I can actually do.

Anyway, whether you’re a teacher or not, I hope you enjoyed the poem. Feel free to leave a comment as I always enjoy reading what people have got to say about what I write; especially the nice comments!

Teaching: The Worst Things About Christmas Half Term

Recently, I wrote an article about the fact that this time of year is nothing short of arduous and painful for us teachers. I know it’s difficult for a lot of people at this time of year, but having done other jobs in my time, I’d definitely say it’s tougher than most places in education. I haven’t worked down a pit or anything, but I’d hope you take my point. With this point in mind, I got to thinking about the kind of things I dislike the most about my job at this time of year. And so, in no particular order and with more than a hint of sarcasm and tongue firmly tucked in cheek, here you go!

The constant question – “Can we just watch a movie?” For starters, we call them films where I’m from, so no, we can’t. However, from week 1 right the way up until the last week before Christmas, at least one of your classes will think that the time is just right for watching a film. They’ll cite the number of days until Christmas, the terrible weather and tout the blatant lie that all the other classes are watching films…anything that might just make you budge. And the cherry on top of this particular cake is that when you finally do put on a DVD – on the last day, bosses – your students will generally sit and talk through it! Well my wonderful students, I’m afraid you’ve just met DVD Scrooge and instead we’ll be doing that far more traditional English Christmas half term activity of writing lots and reading a bit. Bah humbug indeed!

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com

The other popular question – simply because the first question wasn’t annoying enough, students will then turn to another, genuinely more offensive question. And all in the name of Christmas. And it’ll often be the first thing they ask as they walk through the door. In fact, sometimes, as a Christmas treat, they might ask you it before lesson as you’re passing on a corridor. The question? ‘Are we doing anything fun today?’ Now there are several levels of offensiveness to this question. Firstly, is there a veiled accusation here that our lessons aren’t fun? Task-wise, I might take their point here at times. Maybe writing an analysis of how a writer creates tension isn’t that much fun in a world where we have the internet, X-Box, Love Island and erm…fidget spinners (look it’s spinning on my finger…), but we’re in an English class; what did you expect? Secondly, I try to run a relaxed ship. I like a little bit of a lighter atmosphere and a bit of a joke now and again (a bit of ‘daft carry on’ we’d call it where I’m from), so the suggestion that my lessons aren’t fun is actually a personal affront. Or maybe I’m just not that entertaining? *Dismisses such a ridiculous notion with a smug little chuckle and moves on.* And of course there’s the fact that the study of English has been pretty much a constant in my life. It was an important GCSE for me, then an A-Level, then I did it as my degree! Fun? Bloody fun? Bollocks to fun, pal. Appreciate my expertise! Feel my love for the subject! Then get your 18th analysis of the half term written up! And look forward to re-writing it, in PURPLE PEN no less once it’s marked and I’ve demanded improvements! Then, if you’re really lucky, you’ll get to write a diary entry from the point of view of one of the characters in the play we’ve been studying! Don’t worry though, I might just dress up as a clown and do some juggling for you if the fun’s really getting ramped up as well. (I won’t. Ever.)

Christmas Cards – it’s not that I don’t love getting them; I do. I think it’s a lovely traditional gesture and I always enjoy taking them home to put up round the house. However, I am utterly rotten at remembering to write my own and send them/bring them in to school to give out. Cue a cringeworthy few moments every time I get one while I meekly explain that I keep meaning to write mine, but I’m an utter shambles of a man. Cue also me rushing around on the final morning of the half term delivering my cards – if I’ve remembered to get them out, write them up and then put them in my bag – like some kind of apologetic, pathetic Christmas loser. Oh, the yearly shame!

The final lessons before the Christmas break – it’s not the lessons themselves. They’re fine. Granted, I’m practically on my knees by this point, exhausted and steeling myself for finishing work and heading home to face the onslaught of pre-Christmas jobs that will inevitably only get finished some time mid morning on the 25th. No, it’s the fact that even though I’ve finally relented on the film question, my classes are still not satisfied with such wonderful Christmas benevolence. And why? Because my colleagues – God bless them, every one of them (to paraphrase Dickens) – have brought in snacks – snacks I tell you! – and are holding some kind of bloody party in their rooms! Well sorry kids, but ‘The Ghost of that Shit Christmas When All You Got Was Socks and Pants’ here didn’t get that memo. You know the drill…altogether now…Bah Humbug!

Christmas Jumper Day – or as I see it, the chance to look like a tw*t for a full day. That might not be everybody, by the way. Some people can look quite cool in their Christmas jumpers. Allegedly.

Can you turn the heating on?/It’s so cold! Another question that makes my internal, scarcely dormant volcano start to rumble. Not a day goes by at this time of year when I don’t have to go through my early morning in-school routine with a class. And they’re always told that the very first thing I do when I unlock the door and come into class is to put the heating on. If only they could remember. They also always fail to notice that the heating is actually on, despite the lit up display which again, is pointed out to them every day. Come in at 7.45am kids, I’ll allow my room to demonstrate cold for you! As for the fact that it’s cold; of course it’s cold. We live in northern England and our school is on the top of a great big hill; of course it’s cold!

So there you have it. The bane of my life at this time of year. Just as I’m feeling like I could sleep for a week, tweens and teens are busily digging the same old ways out in order to make all of our teaching lives just that tiny bit more stressful. Christmas can’t come soon enough!

I hope you enjoyed the blog and if you have any irritations at this time of your work year, whether you’re a teacher or not, feel free to let me know in the comments.

I’ll end on a big thankyou to the friends who got in touch to remind me of some of their own personal lowlights of teaching at this time of year in order to help with this blog. It’s late in the year, I’m tired and was flagging in the ideas department. Not for the first time the English Department at our school helped me out. I work with some truly wonderful people (although they always forget to bring me cakes and biscuits when they’ve been left in the staffroom as a reward for our hard work), so once again, cheers!