It's definitely true that kids say some really funny things. I'm sure that I laugh more working in a school than any other job, apart from maybe a laughing gas tester. The only trouble is that alot of children have similar senses of humour. During registration: 'Sir, are you going trick or treating?'. Year nine: 'Sir, are you going trick or treating?' Year ten: 'Sir, are you going trick or treating?' And so on. By the end of the day I was sorely tempted to tell them that I was in fact a vampire and would suck their blood if they didn't stop asking about halloween. But then they'd just start asking what blood type I prefered the taste of or where I kept my crypt.

We’ve only been back at school a few days and already it’s seeping into my subconscious. After using the phrase ‘sitting down with no clothing’ in my year nine lesson (I meant no outdoor clothing) I had a very peculiar dream last night which involved sitting in a lecture theatre listening to a professor talking about the said phrase, which was now a metaphor for something or other. He was saying it’s origins were unknown and I was desperately trying to hide and avoid being found out when the girl in my other year nine class who all the boys flirt with suddenly appears and shouts out – which is definitely true to form - and points at me. I then run off and try to escape via the toilet but find that it’s actually just a great big sink and I slide in and fall down the plug-hole. Presumably to some hell-like dimension where everyone’s in year nine and twenty feet tall.

I think I prefer teaching girls to boys. Admittedly some are pure evil but for the most part girls are less annoying. And generally speaking have handwriting I can actually read.

They are difficult to deal with though. Such as one of my year sevens who started weeping in the middle of the lesson. Come on, fractions aren't that bad surely? I know it's top-heavy but there's no need to cry about it. I tried the whole sympathetic approach but to be honest it's not my strong point. I much prefer it when kids start swearing and throwing chairs about because then I get to show how cool, calm and collected I am. Which is of course utter nonsense. I just don't care.

And they get worse as they get older. In my year nine class there's one girl who I taught last year in a different set. All the boys in that class fancied her and guess what. So do all the boys in this one. It's hopeless because they all try to play up and get her attention. It's almost enough to make you think it'd be better if all schools were single sex. I feel a bit sorry for her because she's not a bad kid but I keep having to tell her to shut up and stop flirting, in not so many words. Afterall I do have sympathy for anyone who suffers from being beautiful, seeing am I'm totally gorgeous myself. I don't think.

Over half term I’ve clearly gained an ability to say completely the wrong thing. During my year nine lesson we were approaching the end and were packing up. A lot of the kids were putting their coats on, which is against school rules, so I say: “I want everyone sat down without any clothing on”.

What I meant to say was: “I want everyone sat down without any outdoor clothing on”. I turned extremely red. The worst part was that the kids didn’t seem to notice, which shows how much attention they pay to me.

Our department decamped to another school today as part of a training day for local maths teachers. The bonus was that it's actually nearer to my house which meant getting up at the leisurely hour of 7am rather than the normal insane 530 I subject myself to each morning.

The headteacher at the school gave the day an introduction. He seemed a decent enough bloke but was trying too hard with the jokes: 'can i just advertise our school to anyone looking for a new job. I'd like to add that the weather is like this every day!' Which would have been acceptable if the weather was warm and sunny but it was in fact cold and dull outside, though I imagine he was at least being honest.

I also got to speak to the woman who'd done a mini-pre-PGCE-placement at our school last year and was now doing a proper placement at the host school. I now teach her daughter so was relieved that she wasn't holding an exercise book and shouting: 'what the hell is this crap you've being getting them to do?!' She's at the same university I went to we could compare notes. Apparently the tutors are still as patronising as ever and the lectures every bit as dull. It's nice to know they paid so much attention to the evaluation forms we filled in.

The actual content of the day was deathly dull with some education consultant talking at us for an hour about... I can't remember what. I was too busy daydreaming. I started to feel a bit sorry for my pupils having to listen to some boring bloke rambling on and on and on. The best part about these types of events is actually getting to do some maths, which is an opportunity for me to show off how brilliant I am. Not that I'm big-headed of course.

At lunch I was talking to some other young teachers who just so happened to be female. So later my head of department was taking the mickey out of me for being a ladies-man. Honestly this reputation isn't justified. It's not my fault that I'm in a profession with a (slight) majority of female workers.

We actually went home at about two o'clock. So even if it wasn't the most exciting day ever at least it was short. Trouble is if anyone asks what the day was about and what I've taken away from it the answer would be 'bugger all'. Nevermind.

We have a new student teacher in our department. We're all hoping she's better than the one we had last year who has not even managed to get a job yet. Personally I'm hoping she's not too good or it might highlight some of my own inadequacies.

She's going to be tagging along with my form for a bit which meant that I was explaining to her about the PSHE programme of study and all the extra little bits we do in registration. I was left wondering how the hell I knew all this stuff. Looking back two years to when I was in her position it all seemed mind-boggling. I remembered PSE from when I was at school but suddenly it had acquired another initial. I remember thinking that a form tutor just took registers and not much else - such as taking to one side a little boy who'd been cheeky to some year tens and suggesting that maybe it wasn't the smartest thing for someone four and half feet tall to be doing.

Yet now it all seems common sense. I sounded so authoritative about everything. I must have actually sounded like I knew what I was on about. There's a first time for everything.

The current rumour doing the rounds amongst the kids is that I'm going out with one of the English teachers. Seeing as she's totally gorgeous I'm not overly concerned about it. I certainly think I come out of it better than she does - my year nines described her as 'well fit' so there's a possibility to earn some respec' (which is different from respect in that respec' isn't worth anything, whereas respect is).

Rumours like this come about because of teachers - are you ready for the scandalousness of this - talking to each other. If a young male teacher and a young female teacher are seen holding a conversation or are even within three metres of each other than they must be 'doing it'. I must seem like a complete player to the kids seeing as there are lots of young female teachers that I 'talk' to, even within minutes of each other.

I apologise for my disgraceful behaviour.

Hello, is that Mrs Smith? This is Mr Pythagoras, Bobby's maths teacher, I need to speak to you about his behaviour...

The staff are paranoid about what the new head has in store. However we have an advantage in that we at least get concrete information - most of the time at least - whereas the pupils rely on hearsay. My year tens were asking whether we were going to go back to shirts, ties and blazers. The way I put it to them was that it was the first I'd heard about it. Admittedly I do have a habit of glazing over during morning briefing but I'm sure I'd have picked up on something that big.

They were also asking if she's going to ban make-up. Which isn't a bad idea in my book, especially as most girls at our school haven't realised that it is possible to wear make-up without making yourself look like a whore.

It makes me wonder where these rumours come from. I guess it's all chinese whispers but I reckon there's fun to be had. I could 'accidentally' let slip that someone in the school wants to bring back the cane or send naughty children out round the running track in freezing cold weather as a punishment. Okay so I our headteacher is unlikely to suggest such things but I'm sure that there's some old-school teacher out there who would agree with those ideas so I wouldn't technically be lieing. If the pupils choose to think that means they'll be getting caned then that's up to them.

I’m really keen for my form to win the inter-form challenge. Any opportunity to score more points must be taken. There is currently a poetry competition at the school and every poem entered by a pupil in my form will earn us a point. I told them that they could enter more than one each if they liked and that the poems didn’t need to be too long either.

Unfortunately they’ve taken things a little more to heart than I thought they would. Today I was handed several copies of the same poem that one boy had printed off and got his friends to put their names at the bottom of. Okay, technically they submitted six poems but I get the feelings we get points for the number of unique entries.

I’m creating monsters. I might lay off the push for success for a bit.

The girls at school are freaking me out more and more every day. I was in a good mood this morning and one of my year eights commented on it. They then started trying to guess why: 'You're getting married? You're having a baby? It's your birthday? It's cos he's going out with Miss XYZ' etc...The honest answers to each are: 'No bloody way. Not that I know of. Not yet. I wish'

They concluded the most likely explanation was my birthday which isn't for another month and a half so started singing happy birthday as an assistant head walked by. Nice timing guys. They then started passing round a piece of paper as though it were a birthday card. Really not good. I wish they'd take me more seriously. I prefer kids who hate me to the ones who actually quite like me but show it in such an irritating way.

As this weren't enough I then had two former pupils coming into my year nine lesson at the start to ask if they could join my group because they hate their class. I reassured them that their current teacher - a supply - was a brilliant teacher. This is a lie, he's worse than me which is really saying something. As they finally left one blew a kiss at me. One of the actual members of the class told me I'd better catch it quick and later wrote that I 'heart' the girl blowing the kiss.

That's it. I'm going to teach at an all boys school. It's just not worth the hassle.

I told my year nines that they needed to complete at least six questions from a particular exercise. One boy accued me of being unfair and that it wasn't possible.

Nearer the end of the lesson I asked him where he'd got to:

'oh, I managed to get question six done'. And done well too, 'It was hard work though'

Right. So presumably I shouldn't be actually making my pupils doing anything remotely challenging. Maybe next lesson I'll bring in some playdoh.

I was just checking my emails and came across an advert for teaching. There was a picture of a kid holding a marker pen at the board and the caption was: 'are your colleagues this pleased when the numbers add up?'

I hate to destroy any illusions the advertisers have about kids but he was probably clebrating writing 'shit' on the board, was just high or has ADHD.

My year nines were bloody hopeless this afternoon. They were singing, shouting, not working, arguing, throwing, getting up and walking around, laughing, falling off chairs, calling out, being rude, answering back and so on. And you know what, they were actually surprised that I put half of them in detention.

It never ceases to amaze me how thick kids can be. I'm not talking about the I-can't-solve-equations kind of thick - that's okay, I can live with that. I'm on about the kind of thick that makes them point the finger at someone else when by doing so all they really achieve is showing off how red-handed they are.

One boy in the class constantly calls across the room, argues with me gets out of his seat and is a general pain but can never understand why I'm telling him off. Another spends half his time singing football chants and banging ont he desk and is utterly baffled when I tell him to stop. It's as though they have no short term memory whatsoever and can't remember what they were doing two seconds ago.

The worst though is a boy (always the boys) who never does any work, never shuts up and has the sort of face that just screams 'car thief' at you. Not that I'd ever stereotype any of my pupils of course.

Losers. Total losers.

It's getting increasingly difficult for me to get around the school these days. When I started just over a year ago I didn't have any problems because the kids didn't know me, but now it's hopeless I can't get anywhere without being harrassed for one reason or another.

Sometimes it's annoying like when I go past a bunch of knobheads from year nine who are just rude and abusive. I'm just waiting for one of them to give me an excuse to drag them off to the isolation facility. Little shits.

Sometimes it's nice like when I get members of my form saying hello, or kids genuinely being friendly and wanting to stop and chat about nothing in particular. Like kids I taught last year who ask if I miss them, which of course I say I do whilst also thinking that at least they're bugging someone else with their incessant chat these days.

Sometimes it's amusing like some of my year tens asking me to be their pimp - well I think they were joking, I hope so anyway. No but thanks for thinking of me, and oh my god you stink of fags.

The worst though are year eleven girls who think I'm sweet. I overheard some of them using pretty poor language so I called them on it and they just said: 'aww, bless'

Hopeless.

School seems to be taking over my life to such an extent that I even dream about it. The most peculiar dream is this:

I'm sat in morning briefing but it's snowing. The former head (interestingly the new one clearly hasn't been recognised by my subconscious yet) announces that we will have to close the school for the day. Fair enough, the only trouble is that no one can get out because we're surrounded by daleks. Oh dear!

They then attack but I thwart them by plugging my USB pen into the computer which then glows blue and acts as a kind of dalek-repelling device. They can't get in.

After a bit the computer turns red which means the daleks have broken down the defense and run riot in the school. I then figure out how to stop them by throwing those edible ball-bearing things you get on cakes - which is another Doctor Who reference - at their eye-piece and thus destroying them.

Given my heroic role in all this anyone would think that i have some sort of messiah complex.

My form is brilliant. We're still hanging onto the lead in the Log Book. They've got more points in total than any other. The trouble is that each week a different pupil takes the book round to be signed. This week we've got a bit of a numpty doing it.

I saw them third lesson for PSHE and he'd failed to get it signed from periods 1 and 2, and at the end of the lesson he would have walked off without it if I hadn't yelled at him as though he were about to cross the road in front of a double decker bus. When I went to the year office to check how they'd done today the log book wasn't even there because he'd not handed it in (as he was supposed to).

We're screwed.

There's a nutcase who was walking about the school grounds last weekend. The head sent out a letter to the pupils mentioning this but I think this might have been a mistake.

During my year eight lesson on Friday the caretaker walked past the window: 'ARRGHH! There's a paedophile outside!' Clearly any grown-up on school property who isn't a teacher - and a few of those are something of a question mark - must be a paedophile. I then had one girl worried about being raped on the way home. Clearly this is hysterical nonsense, she's much more likely to be run over by the school bus. I didn't point this out to her.

For the past three weeks I've been taken for cover last thing on a Friday. I'm beginning to wonder what I've done to offend someone in the office. Whatever it is, I'm so sorry and promise I'll never do it again. I think a box chocolates might be in order to sweeten them up a bit.

The first of these covers was a bottom set year eleven, the one I had last week was an annoying bunch of year nines. This week I had the year eleven set just above the one I'd had two weeks previously. Five minutes into the lesson and there's only half a class there. I was kind of hoping the rest wouldn't bother showing up. A couple of minutes later and there's a mass of noise and hair-pulling as two teenage girls tore each other to shreds. It was horrifying. If you've ever seen the film Mean Girls (and why would you want to?) think of the wild-animal nightmare visions Cady has and then double it. Scary.

Over the course of the next ten minutes the rest of the class I'm covering arrives in dribs and drabs. It turns out that the street-fighters were from the bottom set I'd covered before. Thank god I'm not taking them this week.

And you know what. The lesson was really calm. My attitude to covering low ability year elevens on Friday afternoons is that they don't want to do any work and I don't want to make them. It works quite well. Of course they could still cause problems by kicking up a fuss and deliberately trying to piss you off, but for some reason the type of girls who end up in bottom set maths groups seem to think I'm sweet and usually end up telling off anyone who gives me even the slightest bit of hassle. Sorted. I wouldn't actively try to charm anyone round because there's nothing worse than a teacher trying to be 'down with the kids' and it could spectacularly backfire, but it's nice when it works out that way without having to try.