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.