We had another non-uniform day today. We seem to have so many that maybe we ought to make a big deal of the days when the kids are actually dressed in uniform rather than the other way round. We call these days 'dress your best', but really it's more like 'dress your chaviest'. If it were the day's winner would be the year 10 who chose to match a white top with white trousers. It's a good job it wasn't snowing because she'd probably still be lost now.

I was talking to the English NQT I like before briefing today. Even though it was only a quick snatch of a conversation this meant that by the time I made it to my lessons I had endorphins swimming round my brain like it was an Olympic swimming pool. So I wasn’t fully responsive, cognitively.

During registration a pupil asked if I could rub my tummy and pat my head. Whilst proving that, yes, I could rub my tummy and pat my head the head of year walked in behind me. Perhaps she just thought I was explaining about kinaesthetic learners.

My year tens were doing a mock test so I wasn’t particularly doing much, allowing my imagination to run wild about some cross-curricular NQT fun. They must have wondered why the hell I was walking round with a big grin on my face.

After school I went to the pub with some colleagues and whilst pulling into the car park I managed to reverse into another car. Doh! Fortunately I was going about as quickly as my year eights think so it didn’t cause any damage, except to my pride. Must remember: my car is one of those technologically advanced ones with those mirror things.

Some children worry you greatly. Two boys in the form had a bit of a squabble the other day and the smaller of the two ended up biting, yes biting, the other. Now what exactly is that about? Sometimes year sevens can seem pretty dormant during maths lessons but I’ve never considered that they might actually be the un-dead before. I really shouldn’t watch Dawn of the Dead on a school night – it makes you paranoid.

Two girls from the form came to see me the other day because a boy had kicked a football in one of their faces. Clearly this is unpleasant and it’d be nice to deal with it but when your only leads are that it was a boy, who must like football, possibly in year ten, possibly not, quite tall (relative to a year seven girl) with dark hair and a jacket you don’t have much to go on as you’ve narrowed it down to about three hundred suspects.