Tuesday, 20 January 2009

One of those days

Sometimes a lesson can crush the spirit of even the most hardened of teachers. An hour where logic does not exist. Where previously angelic young students act as if they have been smoking crack and hungrily pouring over the worn brown pages of "How to mentally destroy your teacher vol 10" in the bogs at break.

The classroom becomes tiny. The troublemakers even though you move them away from their neighbours seem to be able to span the gaps with ever growing ease. Your hard earned behaviour management tactics and tricks all prove fruitless.

You are f*cked.

I had one of these last period today. Year eight monsters. It left me feeling like I was right back at the start of my training again. Like the past year had been a dream and I was starting all over. I felt totally depressed afterwards and once again questioned why I chose to do this for a job. It gives you a real crisis of confidence.

Still I came home and a black man was elected as the President of the United States of America and that cheered me up a bit.

Then I had some of my wife's homemade soup. Things were looking up for sure.

I sit here now some five hours after the event and can turn to the reason why I started this blog. These days happen. These lessons happen but some things that the kids do make things better.

I remembered a year seven class I had last week. On that day they were tiny little bundles of joy and hilarity.

They were doing some sketching in their workbooks and as I walked round the room I saw one of the boys ask to look at his neighbours book. He then jumped off his seat and loudly exclaimed "oh man that is sick bruv. That is well gangster!"

Intrigued, I approached to examine further the source of his rousing approval.

I'm not sure gangster would have exactly been the first adjective to cross my lips.

I guess that's the funny thing about these kids. When I am off school for half term or summer holidays in my mind the troublesome ones begin to seem massive. Towering hulks.

Then you come back and they are so small.

Things come out of their mouths and they sound like adults but they are still just little kids. Tough kids but kids nonetheless.

So just like Obama said tonight I'll pick myself up, dust myself off and head back in tomorrow to start over again.

Posting the poo

The weight of public demand has been pressing down on my slim shoulders for weeks now and I have finally had to give in to the torrent of comments from two people and post that poo.

So here it is. The flexible party poo in all its glory. Enjoy...

Saturday, 17 January 2009

F*ck off.

I had a chance to look through some year 10 GCSE Food Technology coursework the other day. As part of their folder work they need to come up with a new and supposedly exciting meal, research it, make it refine it and evaluate it etc.

As part of their research some of the pupils in this class had decided to write letters to celebrity chefs to get their advice. I say decided but it was clear from the standard of these that it was an idea thrust upon them and not one made of their own free will.

One pupil was creating a Pizza suitable for teenagers. Now I am not sure what's wrong with normal pizzas and actually come to think of it what would a "Teenager Pizza" have on it. Euuurgh. I'd rather not think any further on that subject.

Anyway the student had written a letter to celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay and the opening gambit was as follows:

"Dear Gordon Ramsay,

Can you please advise me on how I can obtain a high grade for my GCSE food technology project."

They continued with some other waffle but basically not so much a question about food but about the intricacies of the AQA marking scheme.

The title of my e-mail is my prediction of his response should he be able to tear himself away from being on the telly and chefing in about 8 restaurants.

Jamie Oliver it appears is also in line for some interesting mail in the future.

Thursday, 8 January 2009

Long live the Queen.

A teaching assistant in a few of my lessons overheard a conversation in one of my year nine classes this week.

It seems the lads were having some form of political discussion...

"Who's the Prime Minister then?"

"erm....George best?"

"George Best!!!
It's Gordon Brown you donut!
Who's the mayor of London then Freddie bleedin' Mercury!?"