I teach some really strange girls this year. I'm not saying I dislike them but they're a bit weird. On my way through the corridor one of my year eights shouts out to me, 'Hi sir!'.

I reply 'Hi Sue'

'Wow he knows my name!' From anyone else I'd assume they were taking the piss, but my year eights are so slow that I can almost believe her surprise that I'd know who she was after teaching her for the past six months.

My year sevens are even more peculiar. All the girls came in complaining that my room smells:

'It smells like food'

'It smells like sweat'

'It smells like Shut Up!' chimes in one of the boys getting increasingly impatient with the girls being, well, girls. Seeing as the lesson before I'd been teaching my year tens who are quite boisterous I guess it actually smelt like teen spirit.

Later in the lesson one of the girls says she'd seen me driving my car last night, according to her it's purple. I'd call it blue but I'm not going to bother getting into a debate about the colour of my car with a twelve year old girl. She couldn't stop going on about it though and on her way out of the lesson she made motions with her hands as if she were using a steering wheel, supposedly to mimic me driving my 'purple' car. Which was kind of missing the point as it didn't accurately describe the colour, in fact it could have been anyone driving any colour car.

In some respects teaching such lunatics is quite handy. I heard on the radio this mornng that the average adult laughs just fifteen times a day. Even pessimistically assuming I have nothing to laugh about outside my classroom that'd make it an average of one laugh every twenty minutes. It's more like every twenty seconds with these kids.

They're bonkers but I should really appreciate the inanity, by the time they reach year ten girls have a habit of sulking for England. I asked one of my year tens if she was alright and she said I wouldn't believe it if she told me. I didn't pursue the issue any further but I was left wondering where it lay on the unbelievability scale, probably somewhere between 'I'm moving to Belgium' and 'My best friend's been turned into a vampire.' In truth I was proud of myself for not patronisingly asking if it was about a boy.