It Shouldn't Happen to a Teacher

You get bored of the same kids week-in and week-out. You know that Susie will work hard and complete the work you set within two minutes, just as you know that Bobby will call-out and ignore everything you say to him. You get stuck in a rut. You turn up, you teach, you go home. Days and weeks merge in to one.

In June I went camping with the year sevens and it blew the routine apart. All of a sudden I came across kids I'd not seen before and they seemed so polite. It was like they were from a completely different school. It was so refreshing to not be yelling at some little brat to sit down and shut up or to worry about anyone chewing. I didn't even mind showing off my ineptitude at climbing, though was a bit embarrassed that all the kids were better than me. All-in-all it was nice to be reminded that teaching doesn't always have to be about curriculum and tests and discipline and blah blah blah.

Being told your inadequate is sure to bring up feelings of, well, inadequacy. When I was observed by the deputy head in April I had a nightmare lesson. The kids didn’t understand the work, the behaviour was worse than normal and I felt like jumping through the window and never coming back. At least then I would have scored highly for acrobatics – an important aspect of any maths lesson I'm sure you'll agree.

I’d been complaining just before that I didn’t like getting ‘satisfactory’ on my lessons observations because it’s such a banal word. I guess it goes to show: you should be careful what you wish for.

At number 5 we have getting my year tens through their coursework. I put in so much effort to get them good grades. In some cases I virtually did it for them because they put in bugger all effort. Which I suppose is why they're scrapping maths coursework next year. Me getting an A* twentysix times over doesn't prove anything much, except that it's not all the kids' own work. The trick then is to get them the best results possible, but nothing too good or it might look suspsicious.

Nevertheless I gave it my all. Some nights I went to bed at midnight and was up again at four in the morning as I analysed each piece of work in detail between lessons and wrote advice to the pupils on how they could improve it.

Did they appreciate it? Of course not. One pupil read what I put and said that it didn't help him at all and what was he supposed to do with his work. I had one suggestion for somewhere he could put it and seeing how tired I felt I am amazed to this day that I managed to resist.

It was worth the suffering though because my set two got virutally the same results as the top set.

Perhaps I overdid it slightly.

On Friday we had a end-of-year buffet. This gave opportunity to embarrass any departing staff. References were made to underpants, dodgy pictures were shown on powerpoint presentations and the deputy head declared her love (presumably platonic, but who knows?) for the Advanced Skills Teacher.

The biggest leaver was the Head who had announced his retirement back in December. You could tell that everyone felt a bit sad about it and it's going to be difficult for our new head to fill his shoes. You could tell from his speach that he was a little sad to be going himself.

The other speaches were mostly quite funny, back to the underpants. Though given the amount of in-jokes it left a lot of us feeling a little bemused, though humoured nevertheless. The head of technology gave a more serious and thought-provoking speach. She'd been teaching for thirty-nine years and still clearly had so much passion for her job. If I'm half as enthusiastic when I retire I'll be very happy indeed. She talked about not counting down to her retirement which made me feel a little guilty about counting down the days until the summer holidays. And she said something about the job not being about the teaching but being about the kids. She meant that we should take every opportunity to get involved, which includes things like camps and after-school clubs. I'm sure there's something more subtle to what she was saying too, but I can't quite pin-point what it is.

Regardless it was nice to hear other people talking about teaching. There is a tendency to switch off unless speaches are grabbing your attention and making you laugh but I find it amazing to hear people talking who have been teaching since before I was born. I was feeling a bit sad earlier this week because it felt like things were coming to an end. No longer an NQT and looking back on a difficult year. But I now realise how lucky I am because it's all ahead of me and I've got so much time. I left school that afternoon feeling a strange sense of tranquility, already looking forward to going back in September.

Only forty-four more days until I get to teach again.

I was tidying up my desk drawers the other day and came across all the unclaimed items I'd confiscated over the year. These were: a mirror, three marbles, some lipgloss, a picture of Liverpool goalkeeper Pepe Reina, a phone top-up card (you'd think someone would want that back), a lump of metal, some water bombs (unfilled), twelve pence and the potential for a reference to the penultimate episode of the last series of Doctor Who.

Unfortunately they don't forget about things like phones and MP3 players. Pity.

I received a letter from an investment company today which included the words: 'Having sampled the advantages of xxxxx Wealth Management you may want the full service. This service is open to those with a minimum of £250,000 to invest and...' Let's stop there. I've checked my wallet and I'm about £249,990 short. If I had £250,000 the only way I would invest it would be on beer, women and a fast car. Oh and I'd probably buy lots of card and laminating pouches to make tons of funky teaching resources because I'm such a geek. Besides my idea of wealth managment is putting ten pound notes and five pound notes into the different sections of my wallet.

Tomorrow as part of the end-of-year shenanigans we all have to bring in some food for a buffet. The trick is thinking of what to bring in. The obvious choices are sausage rolls, pork pies, mini cooked sausages etc... Whilst looking round Sainsbury's for something I started to think it would be funny to bring in some hundreds and thousands. But then I thought that it wasn't funny really. If anything it would be quite sad that my life was so pathetic that something so banal could amuse me. I decided that my life isn't that pathetic, well not quite, so in the end I opted for some cheese and biscuit biscuits. Technically they're called biscuits for cheese but I think cheese and biscuit biscuits sounds more aumsing. Again, not funny really...

Now there’s a sentence any respectable young teacher would feel a little nervous about, and not one as geeky-looking as I would ever expect to say. Today after sports day I was holding the door open as the kids brought back inside the chairs they’d been sat on. Most kids said well-done to me for competing in the staff race or made some quip about my bucket handle breaking off. It might be a little egotistical but I swear that the deputy head’s daughter was checking me out in my PE kit. Added to the fact I once overheard her saying to her friends that she thought I was in fact. Well obviously not because it is of course very flattering but it’s also a little frightening. Well, maybe more like terrifying. I suppose it makes sense though because her mum fills me with terror too, albeit for very different reasons.

My plan is to ignore the problem and hope it goes away. Genius.

It’s the day every fat kid dreads. Having to run in front of the entire school. And it’s the same for teachers. There’s only one rule you need to worry about: don’t come last.

This afternoon we were blessed with golden sunshine, making it the first such afternoon all year in our rain-hit town. This meant sports day could go ahead, albeit on the astro-pitch rather than on the boggy marsh that used to be known as the field. We whizzed through the kids running races and got on to the serious business of the day: the teacher’s fun-race.

I was one of six competitors and having seen some of the others running in the relay races felt quite nervous. There was a theme of ‘how clean is your house’ and the course was: pick up the bucket at the start, run to put on an apron and a hat, pick up a mop, put on some rubber gloves run round a cone and back past the finish line. Simple. It was great at the start as the kids nearby chanted my name. I really enjoy that almost celebrity nature of teaching; it’s nice to feel important. Though I did struggle to fit my head inside my car to drive home.

In the end the female science NQT won. Beaten by a girl. The shame. You can insert your own ‘a woman’s place is…’ joke here. Though in all fairness the handle on my bucket did break off somehow. But to be honest I was just glad to not finish last.

Today there was an afternoon tea for the surviving NQTs from this year. Ten out of the eleven of us who started had made it through. It was at a plush hotel and it was the NQTs along with the senior members of staff.

We did one bit where we were each saying the best and worst things about our years, plus an embarrassing moment. I went for my year nines and year tens as being both the best and worst things because they've given me nightmares (literally) but they've done great on SATs tests and module tests. For the most embarassing moment I wussed out of talking about the time I thought I was free and was merrily walking around the school, stopping for quick conversations and generally taking it easy. Only to walk into the staffroom to check my pigeon hole and find a little yellow cover slip peeping out. I was only twenty minutes late to an hour long lesson. I decided that this wasn't really embarassing so much as incompetent so perhaps wasn't the best story for senior management to hear. I instead talked about my most spectacular moment which was when a pupil set their bag on fire. I'm not going to forget that in a hurry.

I've been proud of my attendance record this year. Several bad colds have failed to put me off turning up to teach - albeit phlegmily and badly. My voice has been shredded on numerous occasions to the point where I thought I was eating sandpaper. I even made it in through the snow; only to be told that the school was closing for the day.

But last night was too much. I set a personal best for the amount of times thrown up in the space of a few hours. I got to see what cabbage looks like after several hours in a human stomach - worrying this is exactly the same as it looks like on a plate.

I tried to get ready for school. I really did. But with the only thing remaining to put on my shirt and tie I came across my breakfast for the second time. Never a good sign. I called in sick and set cover work for my classes.

Given that the room appears to be moving around me I think I made the right choice. I'd probably be telling my year nines to stop swaying in their seats and would have fainted by the time I got to period five. At which point my year tens would have probably started kicking me in the ribs - they don't like me very much.

So here we have a bonus blog entry - a one-off school day special. I've not had a day off sick for anything in ages so am incredibly bored. I can't imagine why anyone would ever pull a sickie. I'm sorely tempted to start teaching my cats to solve equations. I even wish I was about to teach my noisy year nines... Good God. I must be ill.

I've officially passed my NQT year. People keep asking me how it feels to have made it through but I wasn't really sure at what point it happened anyway. Was it when I had a meeting with the deputy head? Was it when my mentor signed the assessment form verifying that, yes, I do meet the required standards for QTS? Was it when a butterfly flapped its wings somewhere in the South Pacific?

Whichever I'm now heading towards the end of this year feeling much more confident around the school. Yet more people are congratulating me on my year nine's SATs results and I'm not even scared of the senior management anymore. Okay, maybe a little, but not the crippling stammering fear I had at the start of the year. These forty-somethings don't look quite so old anymore and boy do next year's year sevens look tiny.

And I think people are noticing the change in me too. The head of English commented that I looked different in briefing yesterday morning. Well, it was a non-uniform day but I don't think that's quite what she meant. I think the main difference was that I didn't look like a little kid anymore. So it's official: I'm a 'proper' teacher now.

Just need the leather patches on my elbows now.

The maths department is a little isolated from the rest of the school so I miss out on all the juicy gossip. But today I got filled in on the seedy truth about the staff. Everyone seems to be either going out with another teacher or sleeping with another teacher. In some cases both with different members of staff. Very naughty. In other words: they're at it like bunnies. Suddenly those notes I confiscate off my year tens seem rather tame. I feel all pure and virtuous by comparison though am well aware that if you paint yourself as whiter than whie you very easily get splattered.

There I was thinking everyone was spending all there time planning lessons.

Our school runs an activity day for pupils from years seven, eight and nine during the summer term. This magnificent event occured today with my posting being to a swimming pool. Though that term sells the place short. It was a gargantuan complex of rapids, flumes, wave machines and general wetness.

I'd been a little unsure about having to go there. Anything that involves the pupils seeing my happy trail cannot be good. I couldn't help but notice that the 'in' teachers got to go to Alton Towers. I'm not saying that there was any favouritism going on, but let's face it: there was.

Fortunately one of my NQT buddies was sent there too so it turned out to be a really good day. And because of some rain anyone going to Alton Towers would have got wet too and would have spent horus miserable and soaked to the bone. I guess we had the last laugh because we had a great time.

And none of the kids were sick on the coach. Bonus.

Last night the school invited parents of next year's year sevens for an evening to see their little darling's form tutor and find out a little more about the school. This is a fantastic idea and one I'm sure the parents really appreciated. Unfortunately it produced high levels of anxiety amongst the relevant tutors. I can cope with talking to the kids with no stress at all but I find parents difficult. Especially en masse.

Each tutor had half an hour talking to the parents of their form all at once and it was hell. I suddenly felt very small and as though my throat was about to set a record for being the thinnest thing ever. It was like all my worst observations had come at once. I somehow survived with a little help from a Key Stage Three progress team member.

The highlight of the night was bumping into a parent of one of my year nines who congratulated me on my class's year nine SATs result. What a nice lady, I thought. Though seeing as her daughters a real star I suppose it wasn't much of a surprise. I hope my form will be as nice.

I met my form for the first time this morning as they came in for an induction day. I had butterflies fluttering round my stomach in the same way you get nervous about meeting anyone. In fact it wasn't just butterflies. It was giant mutant butterflies. On crack. So many questions ran through my brain: Will they like me? Will I like them? Which bright spark's idea was it to put me in charge of twenty-five kids?

I saw them for the first time waiting with another form in the dining hall. I spotted the spitting image of one of my idiot year eights. Please let him be in the other form. Please! My wish was granted.

I spent the first two lessons of the day with them before they went to do some 'proper' lessons. I have to say they seemed nice enough, though there was one boy who I've spotted who could cause problems. I plan to ritualistically wear him down into submission and hope that will be a lesson to the rest of them. It was nice to have a class full of kids who were prepared to listen to me. The contrast between them and my year eights in the afternoon was horrific.

I gave them an activity where they had to come up with something they were looking forward to at their new school and something they were nervous about. I gave them some examples of things they might like or not like such as: joining a sports club or getting lost. The result was twenty-five kids all wanting to play football or netball and looking at their maps with startled paranoia in their eyes.

Later that day I came across some of this year's year sevens. They asked about my form and said that they liked me. Well why wouldn't they? I have to say that at the moment I quite like them too. The trick is going to be keeping them nice and sweet and lovely for as long as possible.

Tomorrow I'll get to meet the form group I'll be in charge of next year. It's a terrifying prospect. Not because I'm scared of a bunch of eleven year olds but if I find out that one (or more) of them is a pain-in-the-neck then I'll know I'm stuck with them for the next five years. Unless they get expelled for cutting my throat with a knife after I put them in detention a hundred times.

I hope they're nice. I hope they're nice. I hope they're nice.

We got our year nines' SATs results back this week. I was fortunate enough to not have to worry about getting the all-important level 5s as I have a top set. As it happens my class did very well and achieved fourteen (fourteen!) level 8s. Which is odd because they've been pains-in-the-neck all year long.

So people have been congratulating me on this success all week. It's nice but I reckon some of those kids could have got level 8s if they'd been taught by a slightly above average intelligence chimp so I feel a bit of a fraud.

I'm having an emotional rollercoaster ride these past couple of weeks. I've had pupils asking me if I'm going to be sacked, I've had a meeting with the deputy head - as have all NQTs actually - and this afternoon I had the fright of my life.

The phone rang in the maths office this afternoon and I picked it up: 'Can you come and see the head for a few minutes.' I nearly screamed down the phone. I think the head's secretary could probably detect the panic in my voice. What had I done now? Had the CCTV caught me swearing at the photocopier and shaking my fist? Can you get sacked for intimidating office equipment? No matter what your position in a school is - pupil, teacher, garden snail - a request to go see the head is sure to induce mild terror.

I approached his room with my legs turning to jelly. My heartrate leapt up. I suddenly felt the urge to run for the hills or seeing as the school is based in a hilly area, run away from the hills.

I entered his office and he invited me to sit down. Is that a P45 on his desk? Is that an execution warrant?

Well no. Obviously not. It turns out he wanted to ask me about a meeting I'd been to a few weeks back to do with a teacher 'professional support' service. I managed to start breathing again.

I'm not sure how much more of this sort of thing I can take. I'll be jumping at shadows - or year sevens - soon. On the plus side I am at least emerging unscathed. During my meeting with the deputy head she described me as 'not an inadequate teacher', which I was actually quite pleased about. Another NQT had been saying how the deputy had sung her praises but after the trials and tribulations of the year I was happy with her comment that even though I suck at managing behaviour, my classes' results are good so I 'must be doing something right.' Praise indeed.