'Do you like teaching this class sir?' asked one of my year eights.

'Of course! In fact, you're my favourite class.'

Cue the girl then passing this information on to everyone who'll listen.

Sometimes it's just too easy.

Kids are terrible for spreading rumours. The current top three that I've heard about me are:

1. That one of the PE teachers shouted at me to take my coat off in the corridor (we have a rule that forbids the wearing of outdoor garments inside the building). As if.

2. That I screamed like a girl when one of my year eights set their bag on fire. Which is quite annoying considering how calm I stayed.

3. That I was a pupil at the school seven years ago. The kids seem to struggle with the idea that there could just be someone who looks like me. Bizarrely they happen to be the same age as me. Spooky.

After such a miserable day yesterday I faced my arch-nemisis day; on Wednesdays I have no frees, I have a duty at break and run a lunctime club - it's a bit too much to be honest. I felt so tense about it that I was throwing up in the toilet whilst I was supposed to be on my way to briefing. Oh dear, this isn't how things were supposed to be.

Fortunately I managed to to make my way to briefing in the nick of time and avoided to shame of arriving late. Unfortunately I also caught a look of myself in the mirror whilst washing my hands: I looked awful. I hadn't got much sleep at night so had bags under my eyes, add to that the nausic-chic and a feeling of total inadequacy, and I'd arrived at the effect of looking like I'd made my way to work by being blasted there by a cannon.

Somehow I battled my way through the day: my year tens who'd I'd been observed with yesterday were as tough as ever, but I think I know how to win now. If I can be polite and calm no matter what they throw at me then I'll have something to feel proud about come the end of the year. And my other lessons went okay - my year eights were awesome at solving equations: they've pissed me off soemtimes but I'm really starting to like that class. Before I knew it I'd made it through to the end.

The highlight of the day was tackling some pupils in the playground. They'd dropped some litter and were blaming each other when I'd asked them to pick it up. Here we go I thought, another hopeless battle where nobody listens to me. I was on my way to the main office and would be coming back past in a minute so I told them that I would be back in one minute and between them they had to have the litter in the bin when I did. One minute later and I walked past to see a clear floor and the pupils politely telling me that they'd put the liter in it's rightful place.

I love it when they do what i ask.

Some days you can't help but think you'd have been better off if you'd stayed in bed. My observation by one of the senior staff this morning was, shall we say, less than successful - which as understatements go is on a par with 'Houston, we have a problem.'

I won't go into the details but I think it'd have been a betetr lesson if I'd stood in front of the class a recited the lyrics to Y.M.C.A - complete with arm movements, and dressed as an Indian. So much for all my preparation. At least the deputy head was pleasant enough about it - the school is good at having a supportive attitude rather than a 'you're fucking useless' attitude. She even found some positives though they seemed to be a bit like telling someone who's just had their right leg amputated that their left leg is fine.

And as if the morning weren't bad enough I had an afternoon to match. One of my year eights set fire - yes, set fire - to their bag. Well, at least someone can set the world alight in my classroom.

Roll on tomorrow!

In my last post I wrote about the deputy head coming to observe me teaching my foundation year tens, a class that I really like. Unfortunately it turns out that she can't make that time slot so is now observing me teaching my higher year tens who hate my guts.

Rats.

So of my lessons tomorrow I have a lesson for a class that I spent hours planning thinking it'd be observed, a lesson for my year sevens that I had a flash of inspiration for two hours ago so is now all-singing-all-dancing, a computer lesson for my year eights - always nice and easy, and a really crappy dull lesson with a class I have an atrocious relationship with that is the only one anyone will see.

Oh dear - I'm not sure I'm looking forward to tomorrow that much.

It's crunch-time. On Tuesday I'm being observed by the deputy head: my opportunity to show why it was such a fantastically brilliant idea for the school to give me a job, or my opportunity to fall flat on my face and hang my head in shame.

The deputy had asked to observe me a while back but had almost seemed to have forgotten about it, until my mentor reminded her (thanks for that). Luckily I've been given the opportunity to pick the lesson I want seeing, so I'm going for my foundation year tens, first thing in the morning - with the candlestick.

If everything goes well I'll look like a hero. If it all goes to pot then I'll look like an idiot - still. I just hope it doesn't start snowing half way through the lesson, or is really windy, or is really sunny, or really cold, or... in fact any type of weather other then grey and boring.

My year tens are masters of writing notes using text speak (awww & lol. hehe). The weird thing is they seem to think teachers have some sort of mental block that stops them from understanding what they've written: as if 'n she sckd im off' is that hard to decode.

Yesterday I confiscated one such note and decided that seeing as I'd had a long week I was going to have a bit of fun, so kept the pupils back at break to correct the grammar and spelling.

So 'omg. he is such a gai boii. hehe' became: 'Gosh. In my opinion he is a homosexual - I find this amusing.'

I'm not sure it was that effective as a punishment though because the pupils just found it amusing, but you've got to get your kicks somehow.

As part of brain awareness week (which we seem to be extending into three weeks) the tutor groups are making questions for the other forms to answer. Each group makes ten questions and the other grups from the year get a day to research the answers.

However it inevitably comes down to the form tutor to look them up. I went to ask the art teacher who's form had set the questions for today about some of my answers and she looked shocked that I'd been doing my own research. As if I'm going to let the kids do it - they'd only get them wrong.

It’s inevitable that pupils will change over time. Everyone does as they grow up, however it doesn’t usually happen over night.

One of my year sevens was always being a pain in the neck: constant chatting, calling out, silliness, homework not done, very little done in class; but she’s magically transformed into a model pupil. It’s a little eerie, all of a sudden her hand is going up to answer questions and she’s asking for more work. It’s almost along the lines of invasion of the bodysnatchers, in which case hurray for pod people!

Whatever it is, I do hope it’s contagious.

As part of my induction programme I have to go into another secondary school. So today I went to the Catholic school just down the road. It was alright enough I suppose, I saw an interesting science lesson, the kids there were just like the kids anywhere else.

I did find them to be slightly derogatory about my own school though, refering to it as 'the community school'. Which I guess is technically true, but it does make it sound a little backward somehow, as though it's a place for delinquents. And perhaps the kids agreed because when the teacher in the afternoon introduced me to the class and where I was from they said: 'unlucky'.

Curiously some of the kids I spoke to knew some of the pupils I teach, including one asking me if I knew Bobby Bobbison from year eight. Seeing as he's a pain in the neck I diplomatically denied having ever heard of him.

I think I'm settled into a little rut. I'm used to my classes, I'm used to the school, I'm used to the other teachers, I'm even used to the awful smell in the maths block. It's the same routine over and over: pupils won't shut up, put someone in detention, someone's rude to me, someone's chewing, someone gets their phone out and so on. Suddenly it seems slightly dull.

This morning one of my year eights shook up a bottle of a popular brand of fizzy drink then opened it, letting the contents spray everywhere. A few months ago I'd have been wide eyed with shock at the silliness of it all, but today I could barely be bothered to look up. At least they hadn't poured it over my head.

Still, I suppose you should be careful what you wish for, someone will probably threaten me with a knife before the end of the week. That definitely wouldn't be boring.

... to get into trouble.

I had to remove two of them from this afternoon's lesson for being silly little boys. You know, the usual stuff: calling out, singing, saying 'cheese' over and over, drawing on their noses. Nothing that's hangable, more like a constant humming that once you notice it's impossible to ignore.

When they came back in I overheard one telling the other that he'd won. Hang on a minute, what's this about?

I asked the winner what exactly he'd managed to win.

'Bob and Fred were having a competition to see who could get in the most trouble. They asked if I wanted to take part but I said no.'

Hmmm, right. I think I actually saw his nose grow. Apart from fuming at them for ruining my lesson(s? Who knows how long this has been going on?) I felt a little sorry for the boy who I didn't send out. He's not particularly good at his work, and it seems he's not very good at getting into trouble either (except by accident - he's quite good at being a pain normally).

If only they put so much effort into their work.

We had another little NQT training session at lunchtime. There are some things about my school that drive me mad sometimes - such as the fact that the maths block is falling apart or that it's way too far from my house, which to be fair hasn't exactly changed since the interview - but the induction programme has been awesome. We've definitely been well versed in the ways of the school.

Today's was on parents' evenings, but only four out of the eleven NQTs turned up. I don't think the deputy head running the session was exactly pleased but I was laughing because the others there were pretty, young and female. It was also pointed out that going to this sort of thing goes in our professional development wotsit files, so counts for brownie points. This coupled with going to meetings on teaching and learning styles means I starting to show up on senior management's radar but in a more positive way than when I'm confiscating phones or sending kids to the Isolation Facility.

Result!

(I'm such a swot)

I'm an NQT and I have a problem. I can't get my year sevens to behave. I thought it was just me being rubbish - which may still be the case but now I don't think it's all my fault. Today at a year seven team meeting form tutors discussed kids who were getting in trouble alot. Pleasingly, in a way, several of my class were mentioned, including one boy who snuck out of a detention by crawling under a table. He can't concentrate for more than a few seconds at a time, actually that's complimenting him - he can't concentrate at all. In all fairness his brother, who's in my year ten class is the same so maybe it's a not-been-fed-breakfast related issue.

At least now I can start bitching about how hopeless my class are without having the nagging thought that it's all my fault and I deserve hanging for not getting a bunch of little eleven year olds to sit down for two minutes.

My pupils came rushing to the back of the room. 'I can't down there! It stinks! Somebody's farted!' Oh dear. If I wanted to operate toxic outbreak procedures every time someone breaks wind I'd have become a primary teacher. And this was in my year ten lesson - a higher ability group, no less. Actually the though of unleashing lethal toxins in my classroom, and then locking the door as I run out, sometimes seems quite appealing.

It was one of those afternoons.

On Thursday we have a PSHE (Personal, Social and... Heffalumps? Education) day, where the kids learn about things under the broad umbrella of PSHE. Thursday's is about fair trade and exploitation of workers - how is it best achieved? How do you stop the UN from getting on your case?

The rest of my department has been teaching for years, so are cynical about anything that is remotely modern or can be classed as a new-fangled-initiative. Therefore when it comes to PSHE they're a little cynical.

The trouble is it's starting to rub off on me. At the start of the year I was full of wide-eyed innocent NQT-ness but this afternoon I was complaining about how silly some of the activities for PSHE day are, or about how there isn't enough information about the topics covered. One of the lessons involves the pupils making paper bags for a whole hour; for no other purpose than to see how many they can make. The idea is to show them how rubbish working in a sweat shop is, but kids see school as exploitation anyway so it's just another lesson to them. Who'd blame them if they decide to rise up and start revolting? Which is probably not a huge step for them to take because most of them actually are revolting.

The thing is, I actually like PSHE days. All the lessons and materials are prepared for you (and the PSHE type people really do a good job of it too), you just turn up and teach. It probably saves me about five or six hours worth of planning and preparation from a normal day. Even though we're still in school it's effectively a day off. And I'm not even bothered if the kids actually learn anything - and let's face it they never care themselves - so if everything goes to pot (which incidentally is the topic for year ten) nobody really minds.

Wouldn't it be nice if school was like that all the time?

I seem to have picked up a nickname amongst the kids. For some reason they seem to be calling me Harry Potter. I keep hearing them whispering his name when I'm walking along the corridor. I would like to think that this is because they think my lessons are magic, however I reckon it's probably got more to do with my dark hair and glasses.

I took my year eights into the computer room yesterday. I figured it'd be an easy way to avoid any major discipline issues at the end of a long day. However I hadn't counted on one particular boy's, ahem, interests.

For some reason he was looking at pictures of scantily clad women working as mechanics. I wouldn't want to automatically jump to the conclusion that the images were sex-orientated. It would be chauvanistic to think that the women in the pictures couldn't possibly be genuine mechanics, who just so happened to have a rare skin allergy that prevents them from wearing too much clothing. Perhaps the boy is simply a champion of women doing jobs usually though of as masculine.

However I reckon he's probably just got a bit of a fettish.

If it had been normal porn it wouldn't have been so bad, but there was something comedic about the names of the files: 'women fixing cars', 'car babes', 'oil women'. I found it difficult to not burst out laughing because it was so odd. I managed, with great effort, to contort my face into a look of abject shock and dismay before gaining control and looking sombre and disappointed. This was just about good enough.

Until I got into the maths office after the lesson and let the laughter out.

I have a year eight class who, for the most part, I get along fine with. But a couple of months ago a new girl started in the class and now it's hard work because she's always causing trouble.

She was expelled from her previous school, I'm not sure why. Her main crime is constant, and I mean constant, talking. But that's not the sort of thing people get expelled for, unless she literally talked a teacher to death - which doesn't seem impossible.

Today she was on top form: non-stop (one-way) conversation with the girl she sits next to, drawing on her whiteboard when she was supposed to be doing divisions, chewing so enthusiastically that I could actually see the gum and then denying its existance. I can understand pupils misbehaving but I'm completely baffled by them denying obvious truths. I wouldn't expect them to believe I have eyes in the back of my head, but I do expect them to realise I have them in the front.

I had to send her out and she complained saying that she shouldn't have to do maths anyway because her dad says it's pointless. I believe her too. I sort of feel a bit sorry for her because I don't think she's misbehaving on purpose, it's just that she's never been taught why it's wrong. Which means she's going to be in constant trouble at school and grow up thinking everyone's out to get her. Poor girl.

I think I'm turning soft.

My year tens sat a module test this afternoon. It's been a stressful time teaching them, with pupils being not listening, being rude, arguing black is white and trying to get me sacked. But after the exam today the pupils seemed somehow different, it took me a while to put my finger on it but I figured it out in the end: they were cheerful.

Even one of my weaker pupils reckoned they'd got all the marks from one of the sections. I felt a huge weight lifting from my shoulder, both metaphorically and literally as I ditched the past papers they'd been doing into the recycling box.

And now it's onto the next module...

PS: Let's just hope they haven't all come out with Ds.

It's year nine parents' evening on Wednesday. I'm already practising my 'he's a nice enough lad, but I do wish he could keep quiet for more than three seconds' speach. Prior to the year seven equivalent my class were angelic, clearly the thought of their parents hearing from half a dozen different teachers was enough to scare them straight. Pity it didn't last.

My year nines however seemed unconcerned about what I might have to say about them. One pupil even told me that his mum was 'going to have a right go at' me. I told him I was very much looking forward to meeting her to discuss his progress, or lack thereof, in my lessons. I also wonder what her expression will be when she hears his quote. It's times like that I wish I carried a dictophone in lessons.

But the award for the silliest-thing-to-say-before-parents'-evening goes to the boy who I put in detention this dinnertime. When leaving the room told me that he misbehaved because he didn't like me. Honestly, some pupils should go for a career in undertaking: they're just so good at digging holes.

My year tens will be sitting a module test on Monday. When I was at school doing exams I never had a problem with nerves, but now that some of my pupils are taking them I'm really stressed out. I even yelled at a pupil for that most heinous of crimes: being out of their seat sharpening a pencil.

My higher ability group are really well motivated and are trying hard but my foundation group don't seem to care very much. Last Friday's lesson was a chaotic scene of tissues being thrown across the room and plans for the evening being discussed. You'd think they'd be more energised by the looming test but no, Friday-afternon demob lunacy takes precedence.

One pupil said that she would get a dcotors note saying she was ill so she could do the test another time, and followed this statement up with 'I'm really clever me.' I resisted the urge to say, 'no, actually you're thick as pig-shit' and offered a rather more diplomatic: 'yes you are, but that isn't one of your better ideas'.

Some of the class are up for it though, including one boy who upon seeing one of the assistant heads walking by - thankfully during a lull in the madness - asked if he could go show him a practice paper he'd got 40/40 on. As if I'm going to refuse the chance for a senior manager to see how well some of my pupils are doing.

Being a teacher isn't one of those jobs where you can sit down and relax for any length of time. It's all go, go, go - except for all those lovely holidays where it's sleep, sleep, sleep. So, during the average day at school my pulse-rate races goes on a rollercoaster ride.

It's bad enough when the classes misbahave or when senior management walk past my room, but the start of the day is the worst. It's not to do with getting ready to face the pupils. It's because I know I'll see the lovely English NQT in briefing. It's a real problem actually because I always try to eat a banana ahead of the day - something to give me some energy until lunch - but my stomach is so full of butterflies because of even a quick two-minute snatch of a conversation with her that I can't get anything down my throat. As a consequence my belly starts rumbling during period two, I feel all faint and my lessons are hopeless.

I wonder if that'll work as an excuse the next time I'm observed.

Satisfactory - it's not the most inspiring word, especially when you've spent several hours planning a lesson. It's a bit like the girl of your dreams telling you that you're a nice guy, but 'let's just be friends'.

I do wish the teaching unions would step in and force a change in the grading system for lesson observations. Being satisfactory isn't exactly a bad thing, but it conjours up thoughts of just making it, scraping through. I think 'okay' would sound nicer, or if we were Australian: 'jake' - it'd be refreshing to see an OFSTED report describing a school as jake with several fair-dinkum features. Perhaps outstanding could be changed to 'the shizzel' or inadequate replaced by 'Leeds United'. It'd brighten things up a bit.