The year nines were doing a business, enterprise learning activity... day... thing. I would have been teaching my class third lesson of the day but instead was in the sports hall 'invigilating' a session. It was quite sweet because they had to get dressed up all smart in shirts and ties, unfortunately for me this meant I blended in.

There were two blokes running the day. They had this slightly strange good cop, bad cop thing going on, with one the amiable smiling kind and the other looking more like a typical cut-and-thrust businessman. He shook my hand when I went in to the room, rather too firmly I think. They were talking about interview techniques later in the session and how it's important to have a strong handshake. Okay, yeah, sure, but I think if someone's handshake is too firm it's because they've been practising gripping something else with the hand a little too much. They gave examples of good things to do and bad things by making up two people - the obviously unemployable one was called Lesley and the guy used the phrase 'don't be a Lesley' - cue childish giggling from several year nines. And me.

I think the day was quite good over all - I was only there for an hour but the kids seemed to be enjoying it. Though I was a little concerned when they were talking about puncutality and how time = money. This clearly doesn't apply in my job so I wonder what my time equals? Learning? Development? Bugger all? I also don't like them giving the idea to the pupils that things are only worth doing if there's some material reward at the end of it - as if it weren't hard enough to motivate a bunch of fourteen year olds.

If nothing else it served to remind me why I like teaching - it's a job where the rewards are actualyl meaningful. And so I can feel smug about doing something that's supposedly worthwhile and condescendingly look down my nose at people earning twice as much as me. Why else?

Apparently the year sevens are doing a Room 101 lesson in English this week. One of the little angels I teach has decided to nominate me to go in. On the plus side at least if I was in Room 101 I'd be a long way from the said pupil who was nominating me.

I think I've done a great job of polarising the pupils' opinions of me - they do seem to either love me or hate me. One of my form spotted a scribble on a desk saying that I w*** off sheep: 'A lot of people don't like you sir'. Gee, thanks.

Of course if they really wanted to get to me they'd try harder than that. It'd take an extemely niave individual to actually think that the graffiti was factual. They ought to come up with something slightly more incisive and cutting. For instance: 'Mr *&812 doesn't wash his hands after going to the toilet' or 'Mr &*&"" likes to catch tadpoles and squeeze out their insides.'

All this stuff about sheep and w***ing - it just lacks imagination.

'Shall we ask sir if he is gay?'
'No let's just ask Basil - he's always bumming him'
'Yeah Basil is such a twat'

The first bit of advice I'd give to you, my dear year tens that I confiscated this note from, would be to never leave a paper trail.

Secondly, if you're planning some mischief it really helps to stay focused. If you want to infer that I bat for the other side, drive on the opposite side of the road, am a bit Graham Norton if you please, then you really need to get on with it or you'll miss your window of opportunity and find me peering over your shoulder wondering if it's the way I walk.

Thirdly, and most importantly, if I see you frantically trying to hide an innocuous looking piece of paper you can bet your cigarette money that I'm going to want to read it. If you thrust it in my face and say: 'sir! Read this!' I'll probably just think you've gone a bit mad and throw it in the bin, or possibly throw you in the bin with it still in your hand depending on what mood I'm in.

My year tens really are just losers. Added to this note I had the I'd-get-it-if-I-could-really-be-bothered-but-life's-much-easier-if-I-don't-try-and-just-blame-my-teacher-if-I-fail attitude from two girls. And another one of them even stole my lesson plan.

Seriously: losers.

I've made a terrible mistake. One of my pupils put their hand up for a high five and I obliged. Trouble is, everyone wants one now. I'm going to have to start wearing gloves otherwise my hand will start bleeding. That and I'm not entirely convinced by the personal hygiene of some of the pupils. On a scale of one to ten I'd approximate my desire to get dysentry as being two with a margin of error of one.

I even had the deputy head's daughter high-fiving me at break. This is bad because I have a policy of avoiding senior management or any of their offspring wherever possible. I'm always worried that they've been bugged so I should watch my words carefully.

As for high-fiving I think I'm stuck with it because it's ahrd to refuse now. Unless I give with one hand and take with the other.

It's only two days since the year ten parents' evening and I am starting to write their reports. This is an opportunity to say exactly what I said on Thrusday, only in writing instead of out loud. The same rules about translations apply. Here is what I wrote about one pupil:

Mildred has done well on assessed work during year ten. However there are some issues with her behaviour that could stop her from continuing to do so into year eleven. These include minor infringements of school rules such as wearing her jacket in the classroom or chewing, which alone are unacceptable but coupled with an uncooperative and argumentative attitude make Mildred a very difficult pupil to teach during maths lessons. I was particularly displeased by the fact that Mildred handed in her coursework late. This was unfair on the pupils who handed theirs in by the deadline as she had extra time to improve her work.
I feel that Mildred is reluctant to actually think for herself and will not put any effort into improve if she struggles with a topic. If this attitude continues then Mildred will underachieve as the course goes on. This would be a great pity as she is clearly able in this subject.

This translates as:

Mildred has done well on assessed work during year ten. However she is a pain in the neck. She's always wearing a chavy pink jacket or chewing like a cow. Plus she's a bitch. And her coursework was late; I felt like shooting her from a cannon but the General Teachers' Council wouldn't let me.
Mildred can't be bothered to use her brain and thinks I should just tell her the answer to every single question. If she keeps it up she will fail and I kind of hope she does.

It's worrying how ignorant my year tens are. Yesterday one of them came out with an absolute classic: 'Sir, you know if you're gay or a lesbian, it's because you've got an extra gene that makes you gay.' There I was thinking that an extra chromosome was the cause of Down's Syndrome - I always get that confused with homosexuality.

And it's no use trying to put them right because apparently their sister got told it at university (the University of Homophobia?) and of course they're cleverer than I am, what with my being a teacher and therefore a simpleton.

I despair.

Teacher often feel the need to behave a certain way around parents - shirts are ironed, cuff-links are worn and firm handshakes are practised - similarly parents must feel the same way about teachers. All of this leads to conversations where everyone is saying what they think they ought to say, but not necessarily what they actually mean.

For instance, when a teacher says 'Bobby is doing fine', they really mean: 'I can't remember who your son is, give me a minute'

'Sarah hasn't always behaved as well as she might', means: 'Your daughter is a little hellian, please cuff her around the back of her head when you get home.'

'I think Brian could try harder', means: 'Brian is a lazy little sod'

'Do you have any questions?' means: 'Please leave now'

'Claire is a lovely pupil' means: 'I can't think of anything else to say so am just trying to pad it out a bit.'

'I'm sure Alice will get an A* in her GCSEs' means: 'Thank f*** not all my pupils are tossers'

'Well, we'll have to see how things go', means: 'I've not got a clue how things are going to go.'

I also think I'm starting to understand what parents are saying, for instance: 'I think it's a personality clash' means: 'I think the sun shines out of my child's behind so can't believe they could possibly be at fault. I also think you're wanker but am too polite to say so.'

'I think my child should be doing the higher paper', means: 'I can't believe my child hasn't won a nobel prize yet.'

It's all too easy to put your foot in it, especially in the last end of the day when you're half asleep and not fully with it. My year tens were discussing their results from a recent bout of exams:

'Sir I got an A* in Child Development'

'Does that mean you're good at developing children?'

As soon as the words had slipped out I realised what I'd said. I hadn't meant it like that. Really. It wasn't even one of the pupils who I reckon practise making babies every weekend.

It's year ten parents' evening tomorrow - I think I'll feel a little sheepish when I see that particular set of parents.

No one likes having a cold. Your nose becomes a sore gooey tap and ceases to perform its normal functions: breathing, smelling and stopping your glasses falling down your face. Okay, I'm exagerating, it can still manage the last one, just.

Teaching with a cold is really bad. I didn't realise the rubbishness of my voice until I tried saying good morning to someone and all I could manage for 'kuh mhoornik', which I swear is Dutch.

My classes noticed my frailty and gave the metaphorical knife a good old twist - I'm sure they were enjoying it. My normally quite nice year tens were a pain in the neck with a few of the girls unable to shut up. I really get baffled by this. I tell them quite clearly: 'unless you can keep quiet when I'm explaining this I'll have to put you in detention.' Two seconds later and 'then he said that she'd said...' and so on. So you put them in detention and they act all shocked. They must have the memory span of a goldfish. There really is no other logical explanation.

And generally my other classes were hopeless. It must have been because of the rain today - they can't cope with changes in weather conditions. Or maybe because it was after a bank holiday weekend. Or maybe because it was a day of the week ending in 'day'. Who knows.

I'm notorious among the other maths teachers for using crazy ideas in my lessons. Some of these result in me landing flat on my face on other occasions things work spectacularly well and I feel all dynamic and smug.

On Thursday I was teaching a lesson about speed - as in motion, not drugs, the kids could probably teach me more than I could them about that kind of speed - and was using a remote control car to demonstrate the point. I set up a circuit using textbooks and the kids did time trials around it.

It actually worked rather well, but to an outsider it would have looked terrible: textbooks strewn on the floor, a pupil playing with a toy car, another using his phone (the official timekeeper) and the rest stood around doing nothing much in particular.

No wonder senior management think I'm incompetent.

We gave our year eights an old year nine SATs mental test as part of their exams. This meant there were several questions on the tape that involved work they’d yet to cover, so they had no real way of working out the answers. I told them to take a guess. I’m not sure they really thought it through though as some decided that the circumference of a circle with diameter = 8cm was ‘apple’ or ‘blueberry pie’.

That wasn’t quite what I meant.

I also worry about their general logic skills. There was a question about comparing prices of toilet paper and they were hopeless at it. They were told that a pack of nine rolls cost £3.90 and a pack of six was £2.50. They had to decide which was better value.

So they worked out that the pack of nine was 43p per roll and the pack of six was 42p per roll. Fine so far.

Unfortunately most then decided that the pack of nine was better because it was only two pence more but you got more rolls.

Good grief. Tesco will be rubbing their hands with glee. I can now see my purpose as a maths teacher – it’s so I can stop future generations blowing their money on toilet roll.

Still they were at least more right than the pupil who said that it was better to by the pack of six because you saved £1.40 and you could try to make the rolls last longer.

Some NQT training sessions are quite fun, unfortunately others aren’t. Friday’s session was one such occasion. The woman leading the session was nice enough, and the activities we did were actually okay, but we seemed to be repeating the same stuff we’d done a hundred times before either at university or on INSET days. Yes we know what a learning objective is, yes we know why we do a starter, yes I know I’m a visual learner: I think I’ve done the same questionnaire on learning styles three hundred times – I could probably tick the boxes blindfolded.

Naturally there was an upside though. I got to miss my ever so nice – when I say ever so nice I’m being sarcastic of course and actually mean pain-in-the-neck, hate-my-guts – year tens and it was good to spend some time with the other NQTs at the school, especially my favourite English NQT. Somehow working in a pair with her made the time pass by more quickly. Though I’m not sure how much I gained from the session as I was stuck in a daydream. I’d be amazed if any boys in her classes ever learn anything because if she has the same effect on them they’d never be able to concentrate.

No wonder boys underachieve at school.

They say that pets are like their owners and I think it's sort of true of forms and their tutors. For example, my form have an endearing kind of hopelessness about them. Other than that cerain forms have reputations that proceed them.

To keep myself entertained during an exam invigilation I attempted to guess which form the pupils were in based on their appearance. I could then check by looking at the name and form on the printed label on their desk.

Mr Tyson is a big scary teacher, I could identify his form members by looking at their eyes and wondering if I could picture them peering at me from under a hood whilst brandishing a knife.

Miss Enco has a special education needs form. I could spot them because they were counting on their fingers.

Mr Sutch's form are notorious for being hellians - they were easy to spot because they were rocking back and forth on their chairs with a psychotic glint in their eyes.

You've got to do something to pass the time.

I'm all for freedom of choice. I think that if people want to eat crap, drink crap and ruin their body's then that's up to them.

But there's a limit.

When one of my year sevens is bouncing off the wall in the afternoon and his excuse is drinking three cans of coke at dinner something has to be done. I urge everyone to take crowbars to the next vending machine they see, heckle newsagents and take drawing pins to bottles in supermarkets.

Not only would it make my Thursday afternoon post-PE lessons so much easier but it would also help fight childhood obesity. Something my year sevens also have views on. They think that bullying is good because by picking on fat people you can help them lose weight.

God help us.

I'd love to be able to send messages to people telepathically. It'd have been very useful when I was invigilating the big two-thirds-of-the-way-through-the-year end-of-year test the year eights were doing this afternoon. I was walking round the sports hall desperately trying to implant thoughts into the heads of the ones I teach: 'the answer is thirty! Thirty! THIRTY!' I've often thought that it's possible to think loudly whilst still not actually making any noise. Today I was positively screaming inside my head: 'BALANCE THE EQUATION! BALANCE IT DAMMIT!'

I'm not sure it worked. I think the not very subtle looking at their answers and smiling or winking if they were correct might have helped though.

As for kids in other people's classes, well, who cares?

I hadn't really meant to volunteer to go on the year seven camp but sometimes things don't turn out as you planned.

This morning my English NQT friend, who has to go with her form, asked if I'd go because she didn't want to be lonely. Okay, so I could try to dress it up as going as a favour to a mate, but to be honest she's so lovely she could probably persuade me to go to Hull without too much difficulty. I put my name forward.

The trouble is we've been put on two different halves of the camp. She's on the Monday-Wednesday half of the year, I'm Wednesday-Friday. Plus I'm the only NQT on that half. Doh! I now need to come up with a great reason why I absolutely have to go in the first half of the week. Quickly.