It Shouldn't Happen to a Teacher

The end of term has finally arrived. After a long hard year a rest certainly wouldn't go amiss but I feel a little sad if I'm honest. I like going to school, I like being around the kids, I like my colleagues, I like teaching. Full Stop.

We had just one lesson this morning before the End of Year Assembly. I had a class of just five pupils, though seeing as we were shifting chairs to Sports Hall for the assembly and the tables out into the corridor so the floors could be cleaned and waxed this numbers actually varied from anywhere between zero and fifteen. This included some pupils I'd taught last year and it was nice to see them even if it took a few moments to recognise them with different hair styles. It's amazing how much they've changed in such a short space of time. Some of the girls in my class asked to take my picture. I obliged though am a little nervous about seeing a picture of my head on someone else's naked body on BEBO.

The Assembly itself went without a hitch. There were lots of certificates and the contenders for the school's X-Factor competition performed. Most notably the winner did a rendition of Queen's Don't Stop Me Now, which went down a treat. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing the pupils getting up for their awards, especially the ones that I know. I felt like standing up and shouting 'get in you beauty!' but decided it might be seen as inappropriate. It also made me realise just how many wonderful kids we have at our school and how fortunate I am to teach there.

Suddenly we were racing towards the end of term at breakneck speed. We dismissed the pupils at lunchtime and said our good-byes for the next six and a half weeks. All that remained was the staff buffet and the leaving speeches. We cantered through the first few. A PE teacher was off on sabbatical to do some rugby training and his Head of Department took the piss in a way that only a PE teacher could. His speech featured lots of old pictures to make the leaving teacher cringe and even a mock report. All rather amusing.

One of my friends from the English department was leaving too. This is a great loss as I'll miss her but things change all the time and you're so busy in school that you don't have much time to stop and chat to people anyway. Some people in her department read out a poem they'd written about her, she said a quick thank you to everyone at the school and that was it over with.

The next two speeches were for two departing science teachers and went on considerably longer. The longer of the two was over an hour between a few people. In all fairness he'd been teaching at the school for nearly forty years so deserved a good send off. It would have been a little harsh if all he'd got was a quick poem, but it was quite tiring having to laugh and clap in all the right places when there were a lot of jokes that I didn't really get.

Even so we finished just before three o' clock, which isn't bad going. I'm not one for hanging around and saying good bye to everyone. I find it a little awkward so gave a present to my English friend and dashed off - I did give her time to say thankyou at least.

So there it is, another year completed. I've got to say I've enjoyed myself much more than in my NQT year. Things have been easier and I've had the feeling that everything has happened much slower, though can't quite believe that the year's over so soon. I know that I'm becoming better and better at this job and am relishing improving further still next year. I'm really up for the challenge.

It's just six and half weeks until we go back. I can't wait.

I've been putting my seating plans together for next year. Contrary to what you might think it's not as simple as putting the pupils in alphabetical order or going boy-girl-boy-girl etc... In fact I've gone for boy-boy-girl-girl because whilst alternating between sexes is best for behaviour, having boys together and girls together is better for attainment.

Even then there's lots to consider. You need to take into account any pupils on the SEN register, whether they need to be near the front or if they have ADHD they might be best off at the back so they don't drive you mad fiddling with stuff on their desk. You can't put your brightest pupils together because the others need someone to copy off. You don't want two pupils sat together if neither can read very well. You have to ask their previous teacher who to watch out for, any personality clashes or any other issues such as having a fear of sitting next to a window. I have one boy with severe vision impairment next year so I've been trying to figure out where to sit him in my room so he doesn't have any glare from the sun on him. It's not as easy a job as you might think though admittedly I do take it to obsessive levels, to the extent that one of my colleagues asked me if I was slightly autistic.

Making the plan for my year elevens was easier having taught them this year. There's nothing special about them for me to worry about. I mean that in the sense that they don't appear on any registers, they are of course each special in their own way but in the sense of Susie having a great smile and laugh, Bob always coming out with some dry comment, Alison always trying her best even if the work is ridiculously hard. Not in the sense of having one arm or not being able to spell their own name. This meant I was able to have a little fun. If the third row of my class ever writes out their first initials on their books they would spell out the word 'gasp'. I was tempted to make them spell out 'shag' but couldn't quite bring myself to do it.

I know, I should get a life.

After all the anticipation Sports Day (technically Sports Afternoon) arrived to glorious cloud cover. We were all just thanking our lucky stars it wasn't raining so we didn't have to teach our classes: I would have had my year eights, which has always been hard work last thing on a Tuesday.

The morning was taken up with heats and finals of things like the fifteenhundred metres as things geared up for the big finale in the afternoon. During my year seven lesson Filthy Feet from year nine camp popped her head in the door with some pom-poms and jokingly asked if I wanted to take part in the cheerleading, at least I assume she was joking. In case there was any doubt I quickly borrowed her pom-poms and gave a demonstration of what could only be described as miseryleading.
It even took me a minute to figure out how you're supposed to hold the pom-poms.

As with last year I'd volunteered to take part in the staff race. Unlike last year however, it was a full-on sprint. Last year's event had been to the theme of the TV show How Clean is Your House and involved putting on rubber gloves and an apron. This suited me fine as it didn't show-up my sporting mediocrity, whereas a ninetysix metre - the astro where we held the races wasn't long enough for a full hundred metres - sprint would give the fitter, more competitive teachers a chance to stretch their legs. I could have done with literally doing this before the start as I was the only runner under six feet tall. I'm five foot six, which I take great pleasure in telling everyone is average height. For a woman.

I felt dwarfed at the start but soon grew in stature as the Sports Day coordinator read out the names of the competitors. There was lots of cheering but I got the biggest cheer of everyone. Apparently one of the assistant heads commented that I was clearly on my way to becoming something of a hero at the school. Which was nice. After such a reception it was a shame that I had to actually run and let everyone down. I trailed home in a lowly seventh out of eight, though if you factor in all the staff who didn't run you could make an argument that I was seventh out of ninety, which sounds much more respectable. Further evidence that I'm not a complete snail came from the fact that the year nine girls' ninetysix metres was won by someone I'd trounced in a race on the beach at year nine camp. Logically I must be faster than every girl in year nine. It's actually quite sad how proud I am of this.

Later in the afternoon I was called upon to take part in the staff relay. I hadn't realised I was doing this so it came as a bit of a surprise, especially as my groin was feeling a bit iffy. Our team came last, thus upholding my record of ineptitude. If I was feeling corny I could say that it didn't matter that I didn't win any races as I've clearly won the pupils' hearts. I guess in a way I just did.

Maybe it's because it's the end of term and I'm getting tired, maybe there's something in the water or maybe my pupils are just plain barmy. Whichever it is, I've had some very peculiar conversations today.

My form have seen the video of me dancing to Saturday Night from year nine camp so a group of girls imitated it. As it this weren't enough they decided my forname was Melvyn, when I responded by saying 'that's not my name' they launched into a Ting-Tings parody: 'are you calling me Melvyn?'

In the afternoon I saw my year tens for the first time since they finished their work experience. I'm sure they've all aged in the two weeks they've been away. Unfortunately even if they look older the experience hasn't made them any more mature inside as they struggled to do some cut and stick work without getting half of the glue over each other. They asked me about something that had happened at the Activity Day last week but refused to tell me who had told them. I tried to guess at a particular girl and their way of checking if they knew who I was on about was to ask 'is she the fit one?' How exactly do they expect me to answer that? It's a bit like being asked if you still beat your wife.

By the time my year nines came in I was already exhausted. Fortunately they're a nice group so it was an easy lesson though as with the rest of my classes today they were talking complete nonsense. One of them asked if they could add me as a friend on Facebook. I tried to explain that teachers can't add pupils but they didnt really get it until one said that if they did they would be a paedophile. They're sort of on the right track I guess in the sense that it would be dodgy but I'm reasonably sure there's nothing morally wrong with being friends with a teenager on Facebook in itself.

On the positive side they should at least be safe in internet chat rooms. As an aside I've often wondered if two forty year old men have ever arranged to meet in the mistaken belief that the other is a teenage girl, it's not like they'd send their story into a newspaper so it wouldn't get reported. Perhaps train stations are full of such men looking around and feeling disappointed. But then, maybe it's me being paranoid this time. Clearly my pupils' insanity is rubbing off on me.

I was doing a very practical lessons with my year eights yesterday and as with all the best lessons it involved straws. And as with pretty much all my lessons with that class there was a disproportionately high amount of time spent on crowd control.

One girl was complaining that a boy had called her a name, he argued that he'd only done so because she'd put bits of straw down his back. It's the part of teaching that I'm least interested in; I really couldn't care less about this kind of petty squabble. Though please don't think I'm so nonchalant towards more serious fallings out.

I think bashing their heads together would be the easiest way to resolve such issues but sadly this isn't allowed so you have to be a little more diplomatic.

I pointed out that I could actually see a bit of straw in the boys collar. The response was one of 'urgh, that's pervey looking down his shirt.' Having established with them that I didn't have some bizarre teenage boy back fettish I tried to point out that it's unlikely anyone would take pleasure from looking for straw on someone's neck.

'But paedophiles are weird'

Touche

One of the joys of being a teacher is when your pupils buy you presents. This afternoon I managed to receive two gifts within the space of around thirty minutes, which isn't bad going really.

Firstly a boy from my form came up to my room at lunch time to give me some incense. He's a sweet little kid and will recieve an award at the end of the year for general loveliness. Though quite what he's trying to say by giving me incense I don't know. So many pupils seem to think I'm gay at the moment and I wouldn't call incense the most masculine item.

Then in my year nine lesson two girls presented me with a Sainsbury's bag containing a decent sized chocolate bar, a can of Stella and a bottle of Carlsberg. If I'm being honest the way it was presented made it look like they'd robbed it from a tramp but it was very sweet of them nevertheless. It also gave me the perfect opportunity to steal a quote from the Simpsons: 'Beer! How did you know?' I told them thank you several times over and that I was touched. This comment probably goes some way towards explaining why people are questioning my sexuality.

Friday afternoons are always hard work but things like that make them so much easier.

I recently came across a pupil I'd taught last year. He asked if I remembered him. Seeing as I'd spent every other second telling him to stop talking I'd hardly have forgotten.

Boy: 'C'mon you've got to admit I was funny sir'

Me: 'Well that's one word I might use'

He turns to his friend and says, 'see, in one word he'd describe me as funny'.

His friend who is clearly more on the ball says: 'that's just one word he'd use, the other might be twat'

Each year our school offers the pupils a day of fun activities. Some of these are out of school such as a trip to Alton Towers or Paintballing, some are done in school for those pupils who can't afford to go anywhere, can't be arsed to go anywhere or are just too stupid to get the form filled in on time.

Last year I was sent to a water-adventure centre. This was fun in a way because a colleague I get on really well with was there too but it was a little stressful. It wasn't exactly an environment I'd choose to spend time in: hundreds of screaming kids, all that water and wearing nothing but swimming shorts. In actual fact in such basic terms it sounds like a nightmare.

To avoid being posted to another difficult activity I offered to teach some kids how to juggle in school. Unfortunately I only got a few sixth formers who left after an hour or two and two boys from the lower part of the school who were more interested in throwing balls at each other than learning to juggle.

We wound things up pretty quick and joined together with a group of mainly year nines doing some sports in the Sports Hall. This group included some known 'characters' and the girls I'd danced to Whigfield with on camp. It was one of those afternoons that I'd tentatively describe as being quite fun but where I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't being especially teachery. Filthy Feet was up to her old tricks prodding me in the stomach and even tickling me. It was meant in a good natured way and I do find all the attention very flattering but I'm a teacher for crying out loud so would rather everyone left my belly alone.

I do seem to have picked up a role of being quite popular but not being taken especially seriously, though in all fairness things are different actually inside the classroom. I certainly can't remember being jabbed in the stomach whilst in the middle of explaining how to solve equations.

Either way, it shouldn't happen to a teacher.

Everything on the Saturday morning seemed to run like clockwork. The bus to take us to the ferry arrived on time, the ferry cruied serenely away from Arran and before we knew it we were back on the mainland. After such an exciting week it was a very uneventful morning. I felt very sad leaving it all behind but was looking forward to getting home to my nice comfy bed.

I'd planned to nap on the coach home but you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men. I was sat in front of two girls, one of whom has panic attacks and did so after she nodded off slightly and found herself waking up on a bus surrounded by all these people. The rest of the journey was then taken up with a rotation of Top Trumps, I Spy with my Little Eye, Would you Rather and Twenty Questions. No one told me about that side of the job when I was doing my teacher training.

Nevertheless it did help the journey to go by very quickly and we were back at school as quickly as you could say Isle of Arran, or to be slightly more accurate as quickly as you could say Isle of Arran ten thousand times.

Within a few minutes of stepping off the coach I was driving home with Miss English next to me. We both thought it was one of the best weeks of each of our lives. What I liked about it most was the purity of it all. If I think about my typical notion of good times I imagine beer and women and such forth, but this was worth ten times that. If I ever have another experience like that I'll count myself very lucky indeed.

Soon enough I was back home feeling ready for a rest but at the same time quite sad to home. If someone said to me I could go back right now I'd jump at the chance. I slept until ten in the morning the next day, which is unheard of for me these days.

Since coming back I've given out presents to family, friends and colleagues. It's the only way I can come close to sharing my delight at the trip.

We've been back in school a few days now and it's been nice to see the pupils I've been teaching for the past year but when I see someone from the trip there's a sense of shared experience. Two of the girls popped their heads into my classroom to say hello after their maths lesson. Okay, one of them called me a poohead again but it was meant with affection (probably) and it was nice to see them. I've seen others on the corridors too and each time I do I have a huge smile on my face and get one back from them. Filthy Feet came up to me and ruffled my hair, seeing the magic she did with it last Friday I can't really complain at her for it.

News of my dancing has gotten round too. As early as first lesson one boy in my class told me he'd seen a video of it on someone's mobile. Some girls in my form came into their PSHE lesson this afternoon doing the routine to Saturday Night. The group leader sent me a thank you card for my help on the trip and mentioned my moves.

As a teacher I often find myself thinking how I've ended up in certain situations. Sometimes it's basic stuff like explaining the work or walking along a corridor with kids shouting out hello at me. But nothing compares to being in Scotland surrounded by all these brilliant children desperate for my attention. The next time a class drives me mad I'll just have to think back and I know it'll be okay because I love my job. With memories like these nothing can touch me.

Friday started much as the previous four days had done. Bleary eyed but glad to get out of an uncomfortable bed. I know that hostels are supposed to be more luxurious - and I use the term in a relative sense - than going camping but my bed was seriously hard and the pillow could have been used in ancient times for a good stoning. In fact I probably slept better on the recent year seven camp in a tent because I had the sense to take an air-mattress with me.

I was off cimbing again, but with a different group. It was nice to have a change because whilst I really liked the group I'd spent most of the week with it was good to talk to some of the other kids. Nevertheless I felt a little down as we walked down to the rockface. It was the last day and it seemed such a shame that we would be leaving soon. Added to this the lack of sleep an the fact that I somehow forgot to have breakfast had put me in a bit of a sulk. But when your day's work involves going climbing with a bunch of energetic and enthusiastic young souls it's hard to stay down (no pun intended).

The group I was with the previous day had promised today's group that they were in for a good laugh watching me struggle away on the climb but they were left rather disappointed. I'm glad to say that I was much more successful than the previous day and managed to make it up to the top of the rockface.

In the afternoon we went abseiling at another place on the island. It was a massive forty feet high, which when you're looking down seems a very long way. I was volunteered to go first and seeing as I'd hate to look like a coward in front of the kids I stepped forward, or at least stood still whilst they each took a step back. It was actually quite easy, abseiling is less strenuous than climbing for the obvious reasons relating to gravity.

Naturally such activities are one at a time so I had a lot of time just talking to the kids. This was great especially when i provided them with the kind of entertainment I'm so good at by stepping into small ditch that was covered by some bracken and falling over. I think they were laughing for a good three minutes at that one. They even did impressions of me, which i must admit were rather funny. This included impersonating my stern look, seeing as I'm a relatively new teacher I'm still in the process of perfecting this. They also copied my hand-movements; I think these contribute to my recently found campness. And my favourite bit was the use of my stock phrases such as 'guys you're taking this too far' or when I'd been trying to get them to settle down the previous night 'Right guys, everyone's tired so we need you to quiet down and get some sleep'. I'm not a naturally shouty teacher anyway but I think yelling at the kids at eleven at night to go to sleep could prove counter-productive.

When we got back I cleaned up a bit and had a shower. This was about five o' clock and the next six hours went by in a haze. Firstly Filthy Feet Girl offered to straighten my hair. I'm always up for trying new things and was quite curious to see what it would look like. I've got to admit she did a very good job of it. She moussed the back up as well and I looked quite trendy for possibly the first time in my life. I got rather carried away with it all and even let her put some foundation on me and a touch of eye shadow. It was like being on Ten Years Younger, or more accurately Ten Times Camper.

The trouble whilst she was doing this was knowing where to look. Imagine if you will being sat on chair. Now think where your eye line is in relation to a young lady stood in front of you. It's hard to know where to look in such situations. I couldn't look up because that would result in being poked in the eye with hair straighteners. If I looked down slightly I'd be looking at her hips which is only marginally better. And seeing as she was wearing really quite short shorts if I looked down further I'd be staring at her legs. I couldn't win so was very relieved when she finished. I'm not scared of big butch boys who could probably kill me with their little fingers but pretty teenage girls really terrify me sometimes.

When she'd done she grabbed my arm and whisked me downstairs to show off her handywork in much the same a cat does when it's caught a mouse. The response was mixed but largely positive. Amazingly it seemed to impress a wide range of social groups with the laddie lads give me some respect, the pretty girls saying I looked stylish and the Emos saying I looked really cool. The only negative comments came from the type of boys who think all you need to do to be funny is be rude about something. Sarcastically they said 'like the hair sir!' I pointed out that most people had been complimentary about it and their response was 'you look gay'. Right.

Miss English was also a little sceptical about it, she said it looked quite good but she personally wouldn't go for a guy with hair like that because she'd think he was too much into his looks. I suggested that what she really meant was that I looked like a puff.

Having gotten so thoroughly in touch with my feminine side I thought it best to reacquaint myself with my masculine side. We were doing a barbecue for the last night and I got stuck in flipping burgers and turning sausages, though shamefully I was worried that the smoke would dry my hair out. As part of the barbecue we had some haggis, which popped my sheep's intestine cherry. I thought it was quite nice but the kids avoided it like it had been taken from some disgusting part of an animal.

We allowed ourselves to drink a beer whilst having the barbecue and one of the boys discovered an interesting new game. He'd pick up my beer bottle and I was duty bound to take it off him, but as I did so I instinctively took a swig. He then suggested that they could get me drunk by buying me lots of beers and picking them up. He was half right but they could save themselves some effort and just leave me to pick the beers up on my own. I'm sure I'd get there in the end.

I got involved in a game of top trumps with some of the pupils. It was Doctor Who Top Trumps so it was completely irresistable to me. The girl who had called me a poohead several times the day before tried to join in, presumably to avoid having to do any washing up. I should probably have sent her packing but I'm a big softie and she'd made me laugh a lot so I gave her some cards to get involved. Besides she was only copying my plan.

After this we got onto the awards for the week. Each pupil got an award so it wasn't like you had to really earn one. They were largely cliched: cheeky monkey award, nice guy award, tough cookie award and so on. Filthy Feet and her friend got a Dancing Queens award and the group leader suggested they show off their moves. They said they'd only do it if I joined in. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. Of course the whole room started cheering at the prospect so there was no way out and I had to get up and do it. So if anyone asks what I did on Friday night I'd have to tell them that I was wearing make-up and dancing to Whigfield with some teenage girls. It got a huge round of applause though and I think has probably cemented my status as a bit of a legend, even if I managed to become yet camper still and added an extra bit to the dance routine by accidentally jumping into a wall. The whole thing was videoed on her camera by the group leader and based on recent evidence by some of the pupils too.

The teachers also received awards written by the pupils with Miss Enco receiving an award for the most throrough risk-assesser and Miss English getting one for always having a smile on her face and being one of the kids. I was quite proud of mine, 'for attempting to fly down a mountain and being our super hero'. I was so worried I'd be labeled 'queer of the year'.

After this we headed out to the nearby castle, which is more of a ruin than anything else. It was nerve-wracking looking on as these hyper-active children bounced around. I was terrified the mood would be spoiled by the sound of someone's skull cracking open. But as I looked at the sunset I was filled with such an amazing feeling of happiness and inner-peace. I can't quite put in to words exactly how I felt inside but it was one of those moments you could just drink up. Here I was in a beautiful place surrounded by all these wonderful children who as far as I can work out thought I was wonderful too. I'd just had a week of firsts: first time in Scotland, first time on a horse, first time abseiling, first time I'd had haggis, first time I'd seen a seal in the sea. And there were the little firsts too: first time I'd had my hair straightened, first time I'd had make-up on, and that moment first time I'd had something sent to me using bluetooth as one of the pupils managed to ping a picture from the castle to my phone. It was truly one of the most awesome experiences of my life and I felt all the emotion rising up inside of me. The world could have ended there and then and I'd barely have batted an eye-lined eye lid. I really must have one of the best jobs in the world if this was part of my work.

Back at the hostel though things were heating up. The kids had been brilliant all week long but I think the thought of leaving was getting to them. First there was a petty squabble to do with a drink being knocked over and someone being called a fat whore. One boy had sprung to the girl's defense saying that she wasn't fat and completely ignoring the 'whore' bit. It became even more Big Brother-esque with the antics of one of the boys. Earlier in the week he'd gotten off with two of the girls from his own year but this night he got together with one of the year elevens who were there as helpers. This created an almightly rumpus with the girls in his own year being rather offended. We had to tell the year eleven to reject him to avoid any more unpleasantness. I myself was torn between giving him respect for having a crack with an older woman and thinking him a loser for blowing it with the girls his own age. They're both really nice and pretty so I think he was being a little greedy going after a year eleven.

Eventually things settled down but on my way to bed I came across a girl in the corridor saying she'd just had a nightmare about a snake. I found it hard to imagine she'd even been to sleep yet but humoured her anyway and told her to send any more snakes up to me.

I made my way in to bed feeling extremely tired but very peaceful. All that remained the next day was the journey home.

We were due to go gorge walking on the Thursday, this is pretty much what you would imagine it to be: walking up a gorge. Unfortunately an excess of rain during the night meant it would be impossible. Tempting though it was to go ahead anyway, the torrents of water gushing from the hills would easily sweep away any careless teenagers. Instead we were to go climbing and then spend a few hours in the town of Broddick.

I was with the same group I had been with for the past two days so was starting to get to know them quite well. One girl's response was 'oh no we've not got you again', which was about as believable as me saying 'I think I'm going to give up teaching to do a boring job working in an office'. I told her she loved it really and was backed up by another pupil saying that as soon as I'm gone she's always going on about me. One point to me, even if she did call me a poohead.

The place where we were climbing was a rockface near the sea. This was the perfect opportunity for a bad joke: why is the beach wet? Because the sea weed. I was quite deservedly called a poohead for that.

I'm not the most skilful climber ever. I used to be a little bit afraid but now I'm just plain rubbish at it. I felt rather sorry for the girl belaying - attached the the other end of the rope I was on, in other words the person who would stop me from falling to my death if I slipped - for me. It was quite slippery after the rain so the kids were taking it steady and carefully planning out their next move, I however was rather gung-ho about the whole thing and charged up and fell off, thus giving the poor girl at the bottom a massive jerk upwards and apparently a wedgie for good measure too. I repeated this action a further two times befoe deciding that if I kept trying it might constitute child abuse. At the bottom I was rather predictably labeled a poohead. I told the girl who had been belaying that she had just saved my life three times, though had better keep quiet about it at school otherwise it might make her unpopular.

In the afternoon we went into Broddick. We let the kids go off and do their own thing for a couple of hours and the climbing instructor and I went for a cup of tea. The Emo girls had named him Tufty Man on account of his bizarre hair style, very short all over with - yes you've guessed it - a tufty bit at the front. We'd brought him with us on the trip to guide us through the outdoor activities and he was one of those people who makes you feel rather inadequate. In good shape physically, laid-back and a generally good guy. It was hard to imagine him tripping over rocks or trying - and failing - to learn dance moves from teenage girls. He would receive a certificate at the end of the camp for 'being the only grown up grown-up'.

Our evening routine was pretty well sorted: tea, pupils writing diaries, Miss Enco (group leader) doing a surgery for the day's injured, before settling down and going to bed. I myself was after a bit of attention and got Miss Enco to bandage up the hand I had hurt a couple of days ago coming down a hill. I'd been wearing a plaster but it was getting fairly scummy. To be honest a bandage was a little over the top but I just wanted a bit of TLC. I then got the chance to pass it on when the girl who has supposedly got the same trousers as me asked for a plaster for her foot. It probably wasn't necessary but I love to get stuck in and help out. Our group leader quipped that really I just wanted to touch the girl's feet. I had a very relaxed relationship with my pupils on camp but I think foot rubbing would have been taking it a bit far. I'd either be blind or a liar if I denied that this particular girl was rather attractive but I'm totally professional thank you very much, and besides her feet were filthy so I let her put the plaster on herself.

In the evening most of the adults at the camp went to the pub leaving Miss English and myself in charge. It was tough work getting the pupils to bed but we got there in the end. It wasn't helped by filty feet girl saying I had a beer belly and prodding me in the stomach repeatedly. It was impossible to not laugh in the same way as when your feet are tickled so it was very hard to tell her to cut it out. I had to phyiscally hold on to her arms until she promised to stop. It was kind of amusing but all a little too playful for my liking and I was glad when all the doors were shut with the pupils behind them. Miss English and I waited up in the corridor to stop any room swapping between the boys and the girls dormitories. Eventually I told her she could go to bed and I'd stay on watch. I'd been promised by the girl who had earlier called me a poohead that she'd keep coming out to ask annoying questions but thankfully she never did, though in all honesty it was a bit boring waiting on my own so I could have done with a bit of entertainment.

I eventually went to bed when the others came back from the pub singing Amazing Grace. It was a slightly surreal thing to be heard sung at one in the morning.

On Wednesday I was with the same group I had been the previous day. I was quite happy about this as they were an entertaining bunch. In the morning we went horse riding. I'd never done this before so wasn't sure what to expect. I soon got into it though and was quite happy to imagine I was a cowboy riding into town. I just wished I'd though to put a bit of grass in my mouth before jumping up on the horse.

It also gave me an opportunity to come across some of the island folk. The lady who helped me get on the horse was actually quite rude. She showed me very quickly how it was done but when I tried to do I couldn't quite get it right so she snapped at me 'no, do it like I showed you', it was as thoguh she thought I was deliberately being stupid to annoy her. I hope I'm never like that with my pupils.

The lady who was leading my horse - I guess that kind of dispells any cowboy fantasies I was having, I don't recall John Wayne ever needing anyone to lead his horse - was Polish and incredibly struggled to understand my accent. God only knows how she got by in Scotland if she couldn't understand me.

In the afternoon we went on the beach and enjoyed a thoroughly relaxing afternoon. It was nice to be able to just relax with the kids without having to worry about being too teachery. In a way it seemed almost like hanging out with some mates as we buried one girl in sand and gave her wonky sand-boobs. We had races across the sand (an easy win for me) and did some arm-wrestling, with two girls teaming up to beat me. I even got sand stuffed down the back of my T-shirt, which is definitely not something I'd expect to happen in a classroom. I think it's a positive that my pupis felt comfortable enough around me for such fun and games, I certainly enjoyed the afternoon and I'm sure they did too. Though you have to draw a line somewhere. After she'd been in the sea one girl realised that somehow her boobs had stayed dry: 'Sir, look at my boobs, they're magic!' I did well to decline the offer as I think for most males the words magic and boobs together is a very appealing concept.

On the way back some of the girls fell asleep on the back seat of the bus. This was quite an achievement as the bus drivers on Arran are all mad. I got a great picture of them looking very sweet, even if one had earlier shouted to a guy on the beach 'oi sexy!' One of them jokingly called it pervey, which I think is a little over the top. The worst you could accuse me of is blackmail which is what I could use the picture for should the girls do anything to annoy me in any lessons in the future.

In the evening I had a game of football with some Emo girls. I hate to use such tags but it's so much easier than a long-winded description of their attire. I felt a bit sorry for them because they were clearly the outcasts of the group, though I think they kind of liked it that way. What annoyed me was that some of the other teachers were slightly bitchy about them. They didn't get what they were about. I'm not saying I did, but they really didn't get it. I actually enjoyed talking to them as they talked the same sort of crap I did when I was their age. To them I think I was the coolest teacher there. For most other kids it was Miss English who I must confess is a far more outgoing person than myself but I'd found myself a niche in the market. They gave me the nickname 'Mister Sir', which is much nicer than poohead or the kids trying to be clever and using my first name. I even got drawn in one of their diaries which I took as a massive compliment.

Later that same evening two very girly girls - including the one who I supposedly had the same trousers as - taught me the dance moves to Saturday Night by Whigfield, this would come back to haunt me later in the week. Needless to say I was very bad at it but it provided much amusement for everyone watching. It also got me thinking how quickly I have to adapt between relating to different types of people. One moment I need to be waffling on with some 'Emos' about the random dinosaur attack they were writing about in their diaries, the next I need to be highly involved in a conversation about Doctor Who (which is always easy if I'm honest). One moment I'm trying to get some shy little kid to tell me what they've been up to in the day, the next I'm having some banter with some 'lads'. One moment I'm giving some boys a game of chess, the next I'm up dancing with some girls and giving everyone a good laugh. It's terrifying when you really think about it, especially when you consider that you have to stay true to yourself otherwise you're just trying too hard and you'll just look an idiot. It all leaves you feeling rather worn out but at the same time quite proud of yourself. It's all part of the fun of going away with a bunch of teenagers.

My second full day of the camp was the toughest. I was to go up a mountain with a group. At eight hundred and seventy four feet above sea level Goat Fell is an enticing propostion for someone like me who loves hills, especially when you consider that you start by the coast so are at zero metres when you set off. In typical fashion the pupils were asking why it was called Goat Fell, they quite reasonably wondered if a goat had fallen from it. I explained that fell was just another word for hill. 'Why don't they just call it Goat Hill then?' I had to pass on this one.

We climbed up very steadily, not helped by my colleague from the English department - smoker - needing to stop for breath every five minutes. One boy was offering me a race up the hill but I wasn't going to bite, even if my competitive urge meant I wanted to show him who was boss. We actually climbed so high that my ears popped and soon found ourselves in the clouds. When we reached the top we were fortunate enough that the skies cleared and offered us up some fantastic views. It was truly majestic and I tried to pose for the camera in a manly fashion but only ended up looking rather camp. This was to be a common theme for me as the week went on but I'll come to that later. I mused that maybe I ought to show off my biceps to which Miss English asked 'what biceps?'

Coming down the hill should have been easier but we struggled down the steep sections as we tried to avoid any more twisted ankles. You'd have thought that as it leveled off we would have been safe but one foolish person was distracted by a conversation about someone being related to Ray Davies from the Kinks, got over-excited and tripped over a rock. I'll admit it, it was me. It's amazing how my ability to make a fool of myself in front of women has transferred so seamlessly to being able to make a fool of myself in front of my pupils. I actually cut my arm quite badly, though in typical boy fashion I was disappointed that there wasn't more blood. Fortunately I had a first aid kit in my bag, unfortunately I didn't really have a clue what anything was. I was fumbling round for an anti-septic wipe and was ready to open it until Ray Davies's niece (sort of, apparently the girls Auntie had divorced him just before she was born) pointed out that I was actually holding a bandage. Eventually Miss English caught us up and played nurse and cleaned me up.

We struggled on down the hill with frequent breaks. For motivation I showed the pupils my driving licence. The picture on it was taken when I was sixteen and I look awful on it. The common consensus was that i looked like either a spack or a poohead. I didn't disagree.

Seven hours after we'd started our walk we managed to reach the bottom. There we had to wait for a mini-bus to pick us up and take us back to the youth hostel. Scotland is famous for having lots of midges and it didn't disappoint us. We all had some kind of midge-repellent though one pupil called there's midget-repellent, which sounds like what Charlie would use in his Chocolate Factory if he got sick of the Oompa-Loompas. My midge-repellent was so hopeless that i quipped that maybe I'd brought midge-attractant with me, the response to which from one boy was 'at least you attract something'. It was such a rude comment but he said it with such an endearingly cheeky smile that I couldn't get mad at him and just opened my mouth with mock offense.

Back at the youth hostel in the evening and after a change of clothes we were hanging around in the lounge when suddenly my sexuality came under question. This has been happening a lot lately and to be honest I'm not entirely sure why. In this case though it was because I was apparently wearing girls trousers. I disputed this but then one of the girls in our party went upstairs to show me her trousers that admittedly were very similar to my own. I wouldn't want to have the same fashion sense as a teenage girl but on the plus side this girl is very stylish so it's not all bad.

The day ended with a trip to the pub for the male staff on the camp. Thankfully I was allowed along even though I was alledgedly wearing female clothes.

We had thirty children on the trip and split them into four groups. They had a rota of activities to do over the five days we'd be there. These included a spot of climbing, walking up a mountain, horse riding and some touristy stuff.

On the first day I was assigned to a group doing a tour of a castle and then a trip on an open-top bus into the town of Broddick. On this particular day I was with Miss English who is the English teacher I used to have a crush on. We're both very young and look even younger so when we arrived for our castle tour and said who we were the guides were busy trying to spot the teacher.

I'd go into great detail about our tour of the castle but it was more of an old stately home. As a boy I have virtually zero-interest in such things, whereas my colleague and friend was asking lots of questions and probably dreaming of being a Duchess. I was dreaming of being somewhere else.

I was rather scared when we went in the adventure playground after the castle tour as the kids ran all over the place. As a child such places are an opportunity for adventure and fun, as a teacher they have the potential to turn you grey and give you a heart-attack. I have two words for you: zip and wire.

From here we got an open-top bus into Broddick. I swear blind that Lewis Hamilton was driving it because we were screeching round the bends and very nearly taking off. It's safe to say that bus drivers on Arran are all complete lunatics. The kids were grabbing hold of branches on passing trees. It was utterly terrifying. I told them that if anyone asked Miss English and I were sixth-formers and we were from a local rival school. For her part Miss English really put her back into pretending to be a kid. She even got one of the year nines to give her a piggyback. I'm not sure giving rides to English teachers has been risk-assessed so I should perhaps delete the photo I have of this.

Incredibley we made it to the bus-stop without crashing or anyone falling out of the bus. In Broddick we discovered that small Scottish towns aren't designed for anyone under the age of seventy. It was quite dull so when I was doing a group photo it was tough trying to get a smile out of them. This was until I told them that the Hungarian word for cheese is 'shoite' - my Sister-in-Law is Hungarian in case you're wondering how I know that. They greatly enjoyed this and it became a bit of a word of the week: I want to go to the shop and ask for some shoite. This is shoite. On the bus on the way back we even went past a shoite factory. I felt quite embarrassed when we got back to the hostel and they were telling Miss Enco (Learning Support teacher) about this word I'd told them. She raised her eyebrows at me but fortunately she has a sense of humour so quite enjoyed it herself. When they get back to school they have to tell everyone that some random Scottish person told them the word.

During the day another girl managed to injure her ankle. She made the most of it though and really put alot of effort into hobbling around. Seeing as she would have been going up a mountain the next day there were suggestions that she was doing a bit of a Cristiano Ronaldo and was putting it on.

In the evening we got them to write diaries about their day. This was a common theme for the week and I loved it when they wrote about me. Even if the main strands were writing about my pathetic catching abilities or about me teaching them a strange new word. I hope the head doesn't end up reading them.

I was rudely wakened by my alarm clock at six in the morning last Sunday morning. It's a slightly disturbing and unwelcome experience getting up at that time on the Lord's day. I was a little surprised that my alarm clock would even let me set it to go off at that time on a Sunday. It hadn't helped that one of my friends had texted at eight o' clock the previous night to see if I wanted to go for a quick pint, that became two, three and then four quick pints in the end.

I was about to head off on year nine camp on the Isle of Arran in Scotland. We were setting off from school at eight-thirty. I picked up a colleague on the way and made it there in good time, albeit feeling a little groggy. One advantage of driving at that time on a Sunday morning is the complete absence of traffic.

It was raining when we got there and we were made to wait by our coach arriving late. Quite how a privately hired bus can be late on a Sunday morning is beyond me but that's buses for you. For all I know two more arrived just after we left.

The following seven hours travelling were a mix of half-sleep, reading a book and overhearing a game of eye-spy featuring 'welegraph wires'. The notable occurances of the journey were one girl being so desperate for the toilet she started crying and one boy throwing up on another. All this within an hour of setting off.

I didn't know it at the time but the camp would turn out to be an epic adventure and one of greatest experiences of my life, if not the outright greatest. But on the coach it was hard to imagine, I was feeling seriously hungover and didn't know many of the kids. We made it to the ferry port without any more 'incidents' and had a smooth crossing.

Upon arriving in Arran I was awestruck by the scenary. We were quickly whisked away to the youth hostel that would be our base for the next week along winding roads that undulated like a rollercoaster. It was glorious going past all these giagantic mountains and my mouth hung wide-open. That was before we saw the deer on the hillsides and it dropped another centimetre that I would previously have thought to have been impossible. Then we saw a seal and I had to dislocate my jaw.

Our first night we just got acclimatised and played a quick game of rounders. This was my chance to demonstrate to the kids why I'm a maths teacher and not a PE teacher. By this I mean I failed to catch ninety percent of the balls that came my way not that i proved myself to have an IQ of more than twenty-seven. In my defense the wind was causing the ball to swirl around in the air, though unsurprisingly this excuse fell on deaf ears.

Before bed-time the same girl who'd needed the toilet on the way up managed to injure her ankle. Not a great start for her but she proved lated in the week that she was in fact quite a tough cookie.

Nevertheless we had arrived in one peice - just about - and we were up and away.

I've just arrived back from an unbelievable camp with the year nines. Prepare for tales of adventure, accident-prone children (and teachers), high tensions to match an episode of big brother, comedy ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous (poohead?) and a touch of hair-straightening/make-up for yours truly. Oh, and I even danced to Whigfield in front of the kids.

More to follow later...

I'm finding it very easy to get along with just about everyone at school, both amonst the staff and the pupils. I makes every day extremely pleasant indeed.

Yesterday I thoroughly enjoyed teaching my year nine group. They're not the brightest pupils to have graced our school's corridors but they're nice kids. All year long they've been asking which football team I support so I gave them a clue by saying when we last won the league - much too long ago by the way.

A year ten group I take one lesson every two weeks were very pleasant too. They've been hard work but we've got there in the end, yesterday's lesson was my last with the group and they were all smiley leaving the room with lots of 'seeya sir's. Though the lesson wasn't helped by one of the Key Stage 3 assistant leaders coming in to ask about something to do with PSHE days. For this particular task my form were already well organised so she was very grateful to me for getting it sorted, to such an extent that my pupils thought we were sleeping with each other.

Next week I'm off on year nine camp so have been warning my pupils to expect a cover teacher. You normally get lots of woo-hoos and cheering but I got lots of disappointed sighs from my pupils because I was leaving them for a week.

I had a nice relaxed computer lessons with my other year nines this afternoon and it was nice to just enjoy a bit of a joke with them. I've taught some of the girls in that class for the past two years so know them far too well. It's good fun though, it's always nice when you can be relaxed enough with your pupils to talk about more personal stuff like your friends, whether or not you're seeing anyone or just what you've up to at the weekend without feeling you ought to be holding back. Though seeing as one girl said she was going to stalk me by following my car, whose registration plate she had written down during a lesson in the car park, perhaps it's better to keep some things private such as my postcode - 'no I don't want you looking for my house on google earth'.

I was feeling so comfortable around school that following a discussion with those year nines in our previous lesson I wore a pink shirt. You can't wear a colour like that without expecting a reaction. Here are the top comments:

Staff

'Are you wearing that for a bet?' (sarcastic head of department)

'You look very pink'

'That's a very... different look'

'Wow! Someone's comfortable with their sexuality!' (Crazy friend from the English department)

'I really like that shirt' (Fashionable English teacher)

No comment but wide-eyed expression

'You've even co-ordinated the tie, that's odd for a boy' (Psychology student teacher)

'I heard you were wearing pink, though that's more crushed raspberry' (Art teacher)

Pupils

'Wow, like the shirt sir!'

'You look stunning' (Odd year eight)

'Ha!'

'I can't see!' (Year seven form member)

'Are you getting in touch with your feminine side sir?' (year nine girl who thinks I'm gay)

'I like your shirt'

'I like it too!' ('stalker' year nine. It's not a competition!)

I took all comments with good grace as even the less positive comments were meant in good nature, except for one boy who said I looked like a puff. Now that's taking things too far.

Like pretty much everyone else on the planet I do sometimes wonder how other people see me. I was talking to a PE teacher yesterday and I was saying about all the camps I am going on this year. He then called me something no heterosexual male wants to be called: 'camp boy'. Now there's a nickname that I definitely don't want to stick. Admittedly I probably am quite camp compared to this PE teacher; he's taking a sabbatical next year to do some rugby training. In fact if you stood me next to most PE teachers, or most male teachers generally and possibly even a few female teachers you wouldn't call me the manly one, but I'm no where near stylish or sophisticated enough to fit any 'camp' stereotype.

As if this weren't bad enough some of the girls in my year nine class were asking if I had anything pink in my house and even had the temerity to ask if I went to any special 'clubs' at the weekends. It was all in good nature of course so I'm tempted to turn up to my next lesson wearing a pink shirt and a rainbow wristband. I mean a really pink shirt and not salmon, which I'm pretty sure is a name invented so that self-conscious men can wear pink without worrying about becoming infected with gay. I'm pretty sure it would raise a smile.