My first interview was, shall we say, unsuccessful. This being an appropriate euphemism for 'fuck! that didn't go well!'

My lesson was excellent apparently - well, duh! I am getting pretty good at this teaching lark - but I was let down by my inability to answer interview questions without wondering what the hell was going on.

The trouble I have is with questions that start off fine:

'What do you understand to be the significance of the role of a form tutor?'

Okay, no problem I can answer that. But then:

'And taking this into account what is the average wing velocity of a fully-laden swallow?'

Well, maybe I'm exaggerating slightly but it didn't seem far off. Bloomin' adults and their sub-questions and complicated codes of language. No wonder I look forward to lessons during lunch time - it's the only opportunity for a sensible conversation - even if it is about favourite colours, easter eggs and my collar being too small for me to be able to do up my top button (contravening school rules).

I suppose it was inevitable. Sooner or later the situation was bound to arise in my classroom, especially as the weather is starting to get warmer the further we head into summer term.

And on Thursday it finally happened:

'Arrrrghhh!! Sir there's a wasp!! Don't let it sting me! Dont let it sting me!!!'

Much commotion followed in my normally relaxed 7 set 1 lesson with pupils leaping out of their seats and hiding under desks. Anyone would think we were under siege from militant year 11s, or seeing as this is a Cathlic school perhaps the four horsemen of the apocolypse had just galloped past.

I eventually diffused the situation by suggesting that the wasp wouldn't sting anyone who was working hard. And you know what - because they're only 11 or 12 years old and incredibly niave they actually believed me. Easy.

For some strange reason a school I applied to for a job has asked me for an interview. Poor fools.

I'm now obsessing over my lesson plan for the day - including for the first time ever spell checking the damn thing. I think I might remove the box that says: 'Personal Intentions' as writing 'Get the bloody job' might sound desperate.

I'm not sure what advice to follow regarding interviews. I think the 'imagine them in their underwear' advice might be ill considered and extremely disturbing when teaching the obligatory lesson.

I've already done a trial run of the route to the school and found that it was at the top of a very big hill. Let's hope my car's feeling in a good mood on the day, not to mention the interviewers.

First days back at school are charcterised by the pervading sense of wanting to be somewhere else.

You've forgotten half the kids' names, the lesson you planned three weeks ago and where your first class is. They've forgotten their homework, how to behave and the fact that you're a teacher, twenty two years old and so fall into the category of 'people not to flirt with'. I'm not even that pretty.

It might have been my imagination but I'm sure my pupils have aged a helluva lot over the Easter holidays, mind you, between them they've age some 250 odd weeks - the best part of five years. Or maybe they've just had haircuts.

Award for the most peculiar statement/question of the day goes to the girl who asked me: 'Have you grown sir? I'm sure you look taller'

O! To be back in school.

I'd considered my training provider to be as somewhere towards the less competent end of a scale of competence of Higher Education Institutions.

In the letter inviting me for an interview, sent last June, they told me the interview date was 21st April 2005. Seeing as I'm not a timelord this was decidedly out of the question.

On Thursday I went to hand my assignment in and found the place all but shut up. I waited around for an hour before some kind person (nothing to do with the handing in of assignments) offered to take it off me and see that it got to the right place. The most worrying part about this was after he'd torn the receipt off the cover sheet he handed the assignment back to me, instead of the aforementioned receipt.

Oh my.

As a young teacher I have many issues with age. How do you get the pupils to respect someone only a few years older than them? How do you talk to fellow colleagues without getting nervous because you're talking to an adult? It doesnt help being ID-ied in supermarkets.

I was purchasing my weekly shop at the checkout of a well known chain.

'Have you got ID asked the checkout lady?'

My initial reaction was one of confusion as I wasn't buying any alcohol. 'What for?!' I blurted out. Has egg mayonaise sandwich filler suddenly become unavailable to under 17s because of fears over high levels of cholesterol among Britain's youth?

She held up my Team America DVD: 'We have to ID anyone who looks under 21'.

A few things to note:
1. Team America is a 15, even if I look under 21, how could I possibly be 14? Does this mean that I'll get ID-ied for any film that isn't a U? If I tried to buy the latest Harry Potter DVD would I have to produce ID in spite of pointing at Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson and screaming 'But I'm much older than they are!'?

2. I was buying the Times Educational Supplement, which 14 year old in their right mind would want to read the TES?

3. I was using a sodding Nectar Card (whoops, giveaway).

The best part about it was handing over my driving licence and the cashier spending a few minutes checking my date of birth (Think about it).

This might explain why half the girls in my year 8 class fancy me. They probably think I'm only a year older than them so reckon they have half a chance.

Being ID-ied for alcohol is one thing, but when it's for a film which I was old enough to buy seven years ago it's plain insulting. I'm just glad I don't live in my school's catchment area and any of my pupils were there to see it.

As with most schools my current placement has a report system where misbehaving pupils must get their report signed every lesson so their behaviour can be monitored.

In the top corner of these reports is a list of reasons why the pupil could be on the report - this includes 'appearance'.

Don't get me wrong I don't want to teach a load of scruffy looking little oiks but I think putting pupils on report for being ugly is a bit harsh.

The thought of it made me chuckle in the middle of my Year 9 class's mock SATs exam - how embarrassing. They probably now think I'm insane or was laughing at their futile attempts to add fractions.

Either way, whoops.

Last Friday we had a non uniform day in aid of 'school funds' - so that would be tea and biscuits in the staffroom. Much as I enjoyed not having to wear a tie (I hate wearing ties), in the words of one of my pupils, I looked 'like a sixth former'. I believe a number of teachers shared this view as I got plenty of cold looks when i walked in to the staffroom to do some photocopying - I was relieved that they didn't actually ask me to leave.

Of course, non-uniform day provided great opportunity for my Year 8 fan club to harrass me at any given opportunity.

'That's a nice hoodie sir. Where did you get it from? The colour really suits you.'

'Can we have that sweatband? Where did you get it from? Can you get me one? Do you want to swap it for my paperclip bracelet?'

And as you would expect the fashion snobs were out in force.
Girl: 'God, everyone's wearing converse today!'
Boy: 'What's converse?'
Girl: 'Ha! You don't know what converse is?!' As though the boy in question had just confessed to some terrible sin, possibly being a young conservative would have been less of a faux pas.

All of a sudden I'm massively in favour of school uniform.

It's amazing what you find out from reading the back of the pupils' books. You also get to read petty little, poorly punctuated, written squabbles between pupils. You find out their silly nicknames for each other which can be tremendous fun to drop in during whole class discussions. You find out who fancies who, and if you're feeling particularly childish you can add 'IDST'.

You've got to make fun for yourself whilst marking somehow.

In my first placement I wrote on occasion of my difficulties with my Year 8 class, try as I might I could never stop them crawling under the tables, shouting abuse at me or on desperate occasions manage to get them to write as much as the title from the board.

Now a veteran of, oh, six months teaching things are going well with the Year 8s at my current school. Or perhaps too well.

There's a group of five or six girls who can't go five minutes without wanting my attention. It's very flattering but isn't really what I'm in school for. I can barely get a moment in the lesson without a hand going up and being faced with endless questions and comment, from the inane to the slightly disconcerting:

'Are you married?'

'Can I have your sweatband?' (It was non-uniform day on Friday)

'Do you have a girlfriend?' (Now, why would you want to know a thing like that? I declined to comment for fear of a follow up question along the lines of 'are you looking for one?')

'How old are you?'

'Are you long-sighted or short-sighted?'

'You have to stay until the end of the year because we love you!'

'What's the answer to question 3?' (Wait, that's a normal sort of question to ask)

'Do you live on your own?'

'Am I special?'

'Do you prefer pink of purple?' (Purple as it happens)

'Which supermarket do you shop in?'

'Do you love me?'(!!!)

Not only that but it's accompanied by lots of giggling and bizarre attempts at getting my attention including turning their blazers inside out, brushing their hair in front of their faces or plain simple yelping like a dog.

The ironic thing is that when I was a year 8, try as I might, I couldn't have gotten any girls to so much as look at me. But now that having teenage girls chasing after me is that last thing I need I have a whole fanclub. Typical.

I was cut down in my blogging prime by a sinister plot to stop me spreading the word about my life in school. The 'man' didn't like what I was saying so decided to take drastic measures to silence me by making it impossible for me to login.

Or possibly it was merely a computer based glitch.

But I'm back now.