The great thing about being a teaching is that I now have an excuse to read Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Narnia etc... I can do this because by reading them I'm getting a better insight into the things that matter to the pupils. By the same reasoning I figure I can now legitimately search on Google for Girls Aloud because most of the kids listen to them. Therefore it's necessary for me to visit websites relating to the group, all the better if they are well made sites with plenty of pictures. It's just research, no?

Tip of the day: Never, never, never let the pupils tell you a joke.

Pupil: "There was this paki..."
Me: "I'm going to have to stop you there."

Another joke finished with the punchline: "No I just can't get up the chimney with a boner."

I advised the pupil that it might be a good idea not to tell any other teachers that particukar joke.

You've heard of Assessment for Learning (or will have if you're a teacher), but in my Year 8 class there was an AyL - Awful young Lady. Here are some of the delightful/moronic things she said to me:

"I can't wait until after Christmas and we don't have to put up with you anymore."

"I'm not talking back!"

AyL: "Do we have you today sir?"
Me: "Yes, last lesson."
AyL: "Oh god!"

"Just leave!"

Me: "Leave the classroom please."
AyL: "No!" Then stands up and walk out.

"You're not a real teacher, I don't have to do what you say."

"I like your new haircut." (I said "thank you" but presumed this to be sarcasm)

I so much prefer the nice friendly pupils who just get on with their work.

With my Year 7 class I played a game of pass-the-parcel to celebrate the end of term. I was using Christmas songs to be topical and it was all going well until The Pogues and Kirsty Maccoll came on:

You’re a bum
You’re a punk
You’re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy christmas your arse
I pray God it’s our last

Oh dear, luckily I think the skids were concentrating on the parcel so were paying as much attention to the song as they do to me.

The other day I was preparing for a Year 7 lesson in the classroom at break time. Some Year 11 pupils were in the room and started using inappropriate (or “inapport” as one of my pupils wrote of his behaviour, at least I think he meant inappropriate. Who knows? Maybe he grew up in Grimsby) language – by which I mean words like fuck and shit, not going over to France and trying to communicate by talking very loudly and slowly (a tactic often used by inexperienced maths teachers to explain algebra to 12 year olds). I turn and look at them and they asked “Are you a teacher?!”. I told them that I was. “Really? You look too young.”

Well, that explains why nobody bloody listens to me round here. I have a problem with the office staff thinking I’m a pupil. On one occasion I politely asked them for a key to a room and was greeted with a rather terse: “What do you want it for?”

“Oh I was planning on graffiti tagging the place then taking a wizz in the desk draw, then maybe chewing some gum and sticking it to the teacher’s chair.” Is the kind of sarcastic response that leads to people failing their “Professional Values and Practice” QTS standard, so I mumbled something about forgetting my bag; too embarrassed to explain that I was actually trying to teach a sodding class.

I really need to get a bit older, but as it happens I was reluctantly planning on doing this anyway.

Had a traumatic incident recently? Realy upset? Want to forget all about it and put it in the past? Not sure you can?

Well you need a student teacher!

Guaranteed to confuse you so that you not only forget why you were upset but also forget that the word "upset" even exists!

Our staff are trained to extract information from minds. Here is a list of recent achievements:

Making a year 8 class so confused that they can no longer do year 7 work.

Inadvertantly making a reasonably bright pupil think that 2x for x = 1 should be 21

Befuddling one pupil into forgetting his name.

Here is what some of our customers have to say:

"You're crap!"

"I got a level 5 in year 7, now I'm only getting a level 4."

"You're not very good at explaining this."

"I don't get it!"

Can you really get by without a student teacher?

The other day I was wondering what the best thing about teaching is. Initially I came up with: the good holidays.

I couldn't think of anything that even came close to rivalling it, but then I got a few Christmas Cards from some of my pupils. Well, that just clinches it doesn't it? Sure, sure it's really quite lovely and all that, but that's not what I mean. What I mean is that I can put them up and anyone who comes round will think I'm really popular and have loads of friends. Just so long as they don't look inside, as they might be worried about the fact that my friends address me in an extraordinarily formal mnanner, write in crayon and spell it "Crissmass".

Unfortunately I think its only cards from Year 7 that I would want to put up as the ones from year 8 might not be suitable. I can't say I particularly want to put cards saying "Die scumbag, you suck you great big loser!" on the mantelpiece.

Why are pupils so obsessed with finding out teachers' first names?

Pupils: "What's your real name sir?"
Me: "You think I'm using a pseudonym?"
....
Blank Expressions
....
Me: "A made up name."
Pupils: "Steve, Barry, Chris, it's Chris isn't it?"
Me (smiling): "Nope" (it really isn't)
Pupils: "Christopher, Oi! Chris!"
Me (shakes head and goes to talk to less nosey pupils)
Pupils: "Eugene?"
Eugene?!?
If only they were so enthusiastic about finding out about maths.

I'm very glad that mapping reading isn't considered an essential skill to achieve QTS as I couldn't find the test centre when going for my Numeracy test this evening.

I feel a bit like the person who tries to leave an interview via the cupboard door. Good job no one was watching.

It had to happen eventually...

Yesterday I said the f-word in front of a pupil. Fortunately the it was in the context of "I fxxxed up" rather than "shut the f*** up, you annoying little sxxx". So at least it doesn't come under the category of professional misconduct, so much as professional brain mis-fire.

"In my weaker moments I almost pity them, but then I remember: they were trying to teach"

Bart Simpson

I think I have issues with authority. I just can't bring myself to refer to the Senior Management staff by their first names, instead always calling them Mr... and Mrs...

I hope I never have to talk to the principal, I'd probably feel obliged to bow.

In the past week I've had pupils swear at me, blow kisses at me and turn up drunk to lessons.

Don't you just love teenagers?

I've turned into my worst nightmare. After initially resisting I've given in and started talking like a teacher:

"Break was twenty minutes ago, you should have gone to the toilet then."

"We're not starting until you're all quiet, and you're not going until we finish."

"What are you doing? What should you be doing?"

Thankfully I've avoided the immortal:

"Would you like to share whatever you find so funny with the rest of the class?"

When a pupil says hello/hi/alright what are they really trying to say?

Polite year 7
Choice of greeting: "Hi sir!"
Translation: "Hi sir! Appraise me! Appraise me!"
Suitable response: "Hiya!"

Polite year 11
Choice of greeting: "Alright, sir"
Translation: "Alright."
Suitable response: Low-key "Alright."

Aggressive Year 11 (male)
Choice of greeting: "Alright?!!?!"
Translation: "I'm hard me, go on, reprimand me, go on, I dare you!"
Suitable response: Crisp but cordial "Morning/Afternoon"

Sexually aggresive Year 11 (female)
Choice of greeting: (sultrily) "Hi Siiir"
Translation: "I want to get you fired."
Suitable response: Run away. Very fast.

Walking across the playground a pupil went past me and said: "I've not done nowt." Okay. That was a not undelicious double negative, implying that he had indeed done something. You have to wonder why he had such a guilty conscience - this anti-confession was completely out of the blue.

I was talking to a pupil in a classroom. "You have to shout at them or they won't listen", he says. Hey, don't tell me how to be a teacher, I don't tell you how to be a pupil. No, wait...

I went to photocopy a worksheet. Seeing as this was the first such occurence I had to ask in the office for assistance. I apologised as they were quite busy. "It's not your fault if they sent you," said the kind lady. I think the she thought I was a student who had been sent by their teacher. Damn my youthful looks! To avoid any embarrassment on either part I didn't set the record straight. Well it's not like I actually lied, except maybe by omission.

There's much of fuss over new freedoms that Tony Blair wants to give schools, with some suggesting that it's a move to something akin to GM schools.

I'm dead against GM schools. I don't think the government should be genetically modifying places of education. Only the other day I saw an infant school walking along the street. "Fine," you say, "it's only an infant school". But what happens when you wake up to find that a secondary school has wandered into your back garden and a bunch of teenagers are standing in your azaleas, smoking and upsetting the cat.

There are enough problems with our schools as it is: poor buildings, dissatisfied teachers and many of them are teeming with children (it's true). Once we starting messing around with their genetics who knows where it may lead? I for one dread the day when I come across a school which glows in the dark or becomes ripe sooner.

In a year 8 class today - in fact in pretty much every class ever - a number of pupils were dicussing "who fancies whom". Their best way of figuring out whether or not someone likes someone was if they could look them in the eye and say they didn't fancy them without laughing. I daresay the system was flawed by half a dozen accusing eyes staring at the situation, making nervous laughter amongst the protagonists inevitable.

Briefly it made think: Oh, teenage capes. What a lark! But then I thought: Hang on! Being a teenager in love sucks. The pain, the heartache, the misery, the "not in a million years freak!", the rejected last rolos.

Sooner them than me.

Personally if I'd been the dog in that situation I would have offered Garfield a choice. Perhaps: "Fetch me my bone or leave."

Having now spent a little time reading about education, at university sessions and in school itself I've started to understand teacherspeak. For instance:

"Neil has low attainment levels" means: Neil is retarded, I wish he was in someone else's class.

"Class 9C are challenging" means: Class 9C are bastards.

"Becky, would you like to explain to the class how you got your answer?" means: I'll be damned if I know what's going on.

"Open your textbooks and work quietly for the rest of the lesson" means: I'm hungover.

"I don't think it's any of your business whether I..." means: Damn! They're on to me!

Walking out of school on Friday I thought to myself how pleased I was with how the first week of my placement had gone. I smiled as I left the gates and headed towards my car parked in the visitors' car park.

I rounded a corner and there stood a dozen pupils smoking, possibly because it's going out of fashion.
"Oh Shit!" they say
Oh Shit, I think. I looked at them completely confused, not at all sure what to do. I don't know how to deal with smokers. I left school a few years ago, maybe they're allowed to smoke, and besides, it's Friday afternoon and I want to go home!
"Is he a teacher?" sneered one particularly unpleasant individual.
Am I a teacher? Oh, God! Do I have to be a teacher?
"Are you a teacher?" he says as he turns his attention to me. Damn! why did I have to park here?
"Er, yeah. Look, is there really any point in me saying anything?"
"Here mate, do you want some?" particularly unpleasant individual proffers a cigarette.
"No thanks."
A girl chips in: "Aren't you gonna do owt?"
What?! Do they want me to?! Is it too late to just pretend I never even saw them? "Er, maybe you should get away from school grounds?" Look how decisive and authoritative I can be!
"We're not on school grounds!" by virtue of his tone particularly unpleasant individual upgrades himself to particularly unpleasant and aggressive individual.
Really? I'm not sure I believe him but this seems a good excuse to get out of here! Let smoking dogs die or some other suitable phrase. "Oh, okay. Whatever."
I walk away to my car. Suddenly my mood's not so upbeat. Man, I hate teenagers!

In our session this morning we were practising using whiteboards. For this we talked for ten minutes on a topic of our choice aimed at a year and set of our choice.

This process of doing this in itself was actually quite dull, but our tutor allowed for one piece of "minor mibehaviour" during each person's presentation. For a group of people training to be maths teachers it's amazing how much difficulty we had in counting to one.

There was the easy misbehavours such as phones going off, chewing gum and the inevitable "he started it!" It was the most fun we've had in ages, though it does make you worry about what to do if pupils start causing you grief during lessons. Put another way, I'm glad that I don't have to teach my coursemates, because they could be a really pest.

Splurged. As in:

Splurge Diagram: Formerly "brainstorm", until that was considered offensive to epileptics, then "mindmap" until that was thought to be offensive to cartographers, then "spider diagram" until that was thought to be offensive to people with eight legs.

To be Splurged: The process by which lecturers explaining how to do assignments makes the whole situation even more confusing. See also "confused", "huh?" and "What do they want us to do again?"

The other day I was talking to a friend who's training to be a nurse. It got me thinking about the differences between the two professions:

Nurses stick needles in patients. Pupils stick needles in themselves.

Nurses take care of people. Pupils "take care of" each other.

Sexy nurses are popular. Sexy teachers are unemployed.

Nurses help victims of violence. Teachers are victims of violence.

Today me and my coursemates invaded a school. Metaphorically of course, we had the bad kind of school trip (one where you go into school not far away from school). We all devised brilliant games involving fractions. Me and my Study Group colleague came up with the genius idea of "Fraction Busters" (okay, she thought of it, I just nodded at all the right moments): a sadistic maths version of the popular TV quiz show, "Blockbusters". Unfortunately the cultural reference was lost on the pupils who thought of Blockbuster as the place to get DVDs from.

Note for the future: Don't make references in class to gameshows created before the pupils were born.

From feeling really quite old (all of 21 years of age) in my final year as an undergraduate, I'm suddenly a little baby cast into a scary PGCE world where my peers have "husbands", "wives", "partners" or "children" (the little things that make a lot of noise). I didn't expect everyone to be straight out of university, but nevertheless it's something of a culture shock seeing as the most important things in my life are ordering that new CD from amazon or watching Hollyoaks. I'm guessing this means it's time to be a grown up. Damn!

We have to write letters to our mentors. Oh, surely this should be no problem for an accomplished (ahem) blogger. Yeah right! How am I supposed to write four, maybe even five whole paragraphs without using phrases like "Yeah right!" I can't go four lines without some attempt at a gag.

To keep up the balance: "What did the biscuit say when it got run over? Crumbs".

It's the curse of the blogger.

Apparently it's not possible for to become a good teacher simply by copying tried and tested techniques.

Rats.

Plan B it is then.

Went to a talk by the people from IT services. This included encouraging people not to look at "inappropriate material" (low quality on line wool sellers?) or eat in the computer rooms. The reason for this was that the next person to use the computer wouldn't want a sticky keyboard. Priceless. genuine proof that there are people out there who are just like spoof characters from a Peter Kay show.

After applying through GTTR I enrolled for my PGCE where I was told about QTS and TDA, handed in a form for the CRB, filled one in for the TTA (having sent one to the SLC from the LEA), got my NUS card and joined the NUT, ATL and the NASUWT.

It made me VC (Very Confused not Viat Cong).