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.