Yesterday we had an in-school training session for us NQTs on behaviour management. It was interesting hearing other's experiences and successes, though a bit demoralising hearing people talking about getting 'outstandings' for lesson observations when it takes me my greatest effort to manage a simple 'satisfactory'.

I could feel a little more sympathy for some of my pupils who struggle in lessons as I listened to the other NQTs talking about things that they do well; I could see why they sometimes play-up. If you can't be good at it, then you might as well try your best to be bad at it. One task we had was to name one thing we're not very good at in the classroom. My response of 'teaching' got a laugh from my fellow NQTs but a funny look from the person taking the training session, I don't think my self-deprecating and somewhat sarcastic 'wit' (ha) was well-understood. Oh well, I probably helped make some of the other NQTs who are having a tough time as well feel a little better.

We got a number of handouts from the day, including a booklet called 'the core principles for behaviour management'. This contained several things that were completely new to me, which begs the question: if these are the core principles why the hell didn't my training provider teach us any of them instead of convincing us that we need to use lots of coloured bits of card every lesson?

I did at least have a chance to discuss some of the problems I'd had with my year nines this week and came to some useful conclusions over what to do when I next saw them about 'repairing and rebuilding' relationships. If only I hadn't bumped into the girl I'd had to send out on Thursday in the corridor on the way to the toilet straight after, making her one of about three pupils I'd see all day. It was one of those awkward moments where you catch someone's eye and there's that mutual sense of 'of all the people to bump into...'

Santa posted a letter in our department's pigeon holes this week asking for our three wishes for Christmas - anything we wanted, no matter how fanciful or unattainable. Whilst racking my mind for my wildest fantasies what did I manage to come up with? A Ferrari? A life-times supply of Rocky Road Sundaes from Sainsbury's (other brands exist)? A night in a hotel with Kimberley Walsh from Girls Aloud?

No. My responses were: time, a magic wand for sorting out bits of paper and some shelving in my classroom. The best thing I can think of would be to become Doctor Who. He has all the time in the world, could use his sonic-screwdriver for tidying up and the TARDIS has plenty of space for shelving. The conclusion I've come to is that teaching is draining my capacity to dream/think of anything other than teaching and all the periphory that goes with it.