It was third time lucky in my quest to find a job. Cue much joy and a not inconsiderable amount of relief.

On the phone I could only managed to blurt out: 'fantastic, wow, brilliant, superb, thanks...' etc... It was a real supercalifragilisticexpealadocious moment and the head of maths had to ask: 'does that mean you accept the job offer?'

I keep expecting them to ring me up and and say that they made a mistake when they rang yesterday - they got confused and said: 'we'd like to offer you the job' instead of: 'sorry, but you haven't been successful' due to some bizarre slip of the tongue.

I also feel very guilty to have got the job ahead of the other people there, who were all quite a bit older than me and probably wiser by an even geater degree. But, it's hard to imagine them talking with wide-eyed enthusiasm in their interviews about the amazing and slightly disbelieving feeling of having thirty teenagers listening (or at least pretending to listen) to your every word.

So it's official: I am employable. I would like to thank: my family, my colleagues on placement, the school who I first interviewed at for pissing me off by rejecting me - giving me that 'I'll show you!' feeling, and of course, all the little (some not so little) people we call pupils, without whom there would be no logical reason for being a maths teacher.

I know for sure that I was (was?!) thick when I was in the years between thirteen and twenty and I don't think I'm alone.

During schools days between lessons I sit at the top of a stairwell. Often pupils will choose the bottom of the stairs as a place to 'hang' (I'm down with the lingo. Today i got called a spoff - answers on a postcard please). This usually results in me getting out of my seat and in a very deep and serious tone issuing the command of 'outside' or if I'm feeling particularly sarcastic they might receive a 'just passing through are we?'

However sometimes the pupils' conversatiosn intrigue me and I let them stay so I can eavesdrop - oh, Professional Values and Practice be damned! Today was one such instance.

Boy number 1: 'She was being all sulky on MSN and saying that she didn't realise why I was pissed off with her.'
Boy number 2: 'Did you tell her?'
Boy number 1: 'Well I was saying that she'd really annoyed me yesterday because she kept hitting me.'
Boy number 2: 'Yeah, she's so immature, why does she do that?'

It took every ounce of my strength to stop myself from jumping up from my chair and shouting down the stairs:

'IT'S BECAUSE SHE FANCIES YOU AND WANTS TO GET YOUR ATTENTION, YOU DOZEY LITTLE SOD!!!'

Teeangers - when will they learn?

During lessons I often find myself humming the Arctic Monkeys' song Mardy Bum - presumably as a consequence of yet another teenage girl sulking after:

a) she can't do the work
b) she's had a row with her boyfriend
c) she's stuck in school on a sunny day listening to a semi-competent student teacher who looks barely old enough to be in year eight, let alone teach it
d) all of the above

Take out the bit in the song about cuddles in the kitchen and it works amazingly well - I clearly do care otherwise I'd have quit teaching the first time someone said 'But you're rubbish at explaining it' Or after the second time, or the third time, or the fourth time...

Maybe I should take a hint.

My second interview took place yesterday, resulting once again in a disappointment, though a much happier one than the first, seeing as I was actually capable of more than incoherent ramblings during the interview proper. Highlights included:

"And there was this time when one of my pupils said 'I can't do algebra because I'm blonde'" (it seemed relevant at the time)

"Well as a 'proper' (use of my fingers in that annoying way that is supposed to signify inverted commas) teacher..."

And of course I asked them what programme of induction they offered NQTs - not that I actually have a clue what this question means. I just read it somewhere as a suggested question to ask at interviews and wanted to sound like I knew what I was on about.

Oh well, third time lucky perhaps.

Today I discovered the joys of being ill (a really really nasty virus that would have killed lesser individuals... okay, okay, it was just man-flu) in school. The result of this killer-bug was a decrease in vocal responsivity - in other words my mind said 'Be Quiet!' but my vocal chords said 'bleugh'. The irony was that due to this sudden inability to say anything more comprehensible than expected from a Radiohead track I was forced to use the names-on-the-board method of behaviour management, which in turn led to one of my most abley controlled lessons with Year 9. Maybe I should try being phlegmy more often.

My Year 8s were sympathetic - more so than my colleagues in fact - asking if I was okay and commenting on my nose being the colour of a tomato, before renaming me Rudolph the red nosed maths teacher in a typically pleasant and endearing way that few teenagers can manage.

The downside was one pupil pointing out that a member of my previously mentioned teenage fanclub was also ill and saying, 'hmmm coincidence' in a tone of voice that suggested it was anything but. What exactly was she trying to insinuate? Well, to be honest it isn't a coincidence seeing as it's probably a bug going around school, though that's not really the point. Not wanting to make a fuss over it but not wanting to just laugh it off, I settled for a good frown and walked away as Rudolph the slightly embarrassed and red faced maths teacher.

I taught my year eight class a lesson about the Golden Number - a very special number that supposedly defines beauty. I used a worksheet with pictures of beautiful people including Cheryl Tweedy, David Beckham and Keira Knightly.

I really should have thought more carefully about this. Hormonal teenagers - some of whom are a little too keen on getting my attention - discussions about beauty, that Friday feeling... it was a recipe for disaster.

Credit then to them for not just causing havoc, though they came close:

I point the the picture of Cheryl Tweedy on the worksheet and ask who it is. One of the girls puts her hands up and says: 'Me!' um... not quite and thanks alot for ruining my Girls Aloud fantasies - all of a sudden I can't think of any reason to use Google ever again.

It's all in a day's work!

I felt rather sorry for the girls at my current placement school today. Seeing as it is now officially 'summer' they are being forced to wear their summer dresses. They're awful dotty creations (the dresses not the pupils, though it's a close run thing sometimes)Frankly, they look ridiculous - it makes me wonder what they did to deserve such a fate. Whilst driving home this afternoon I had spots in front of my eyes.

I try my best to be a serious teacher who the pupils respect and work hard for, but they make it so hard sometimes:

Pupil 1: Sir, why do you want to be a maths teacher?
Me: Because I want to share my enthusiasm for maths. (half ironically)
Pupil 1: But it's so boring!
Me: I can't be doing a very good job then!
Pupil 2 (speaking well within earshot but talking to someone else - slightly aggressively): No you're not!

My reaction was initially of shock at the bare faced cheek until I realised what had happened - though this didn't match the pupil's look of horror and confusion at the whole situation.

How on earth am I supposed to keep a straight face in scenarios like that?