I like my new year ten class. They're nice kids (most of them anyway - I'm not so keen on the one who put her hand up in class today to ask: 'how old do you have to be to cum?') and want to do well.

However, in today's lesson one asked: 'how old are you? Miss Bronte (Head of English) says you're only eleven so we should be nice to you'. Well I suppose you can't expect an English teacher to be able to count higher than perhaps seven so she can be forgiven for this misinformation. And afterall, it was well-intended. This question was followed up with: 'are you a timelord?', presumably something to do with having regenerated hence my youthful appearance. Though interestly I am trying to get my hair to look like David Tennant's - spooky.

Whilst it's all well and good looking so fresh-faced it does mean that amongst female members of the school community I provoke one of several unwelcome responses. Girl pupils seem to love me or hate me with very few in between and older female members of staff want to mother me. You'd imagine - and I'd have hoped - that the young female members of staff would fall somewhere in the middle and be just right, ala Goldilocks with her porridge. But it doesn't seem to work that way and I always get the sense of being seen like a little brother. Albeit one of the nice sweet ones not the annoying pain-in-the-neck ones.

Sigh