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.