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.