It Shouldn't Happen to a Teacher

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.