Personal Statements

H is applying to study medicine. He's proudly presenting the latest draft of his personal statement which contains the gem:

"I look forward to exploring myself in different areas of work."

Worth pointing out, H, that if you're caught exploring yourself while working as a doctor you'll get the sack.

Ber tings happenin

Mandems in da hall cos S and H were ber fightin cos H decked S in balls n den S is like ber hench so he like picks up H and proper slaps him and den H proper switches on S and he's swinging at him but S grabs his arms like dis and den der on da floor and den Miss comes up to separate them yeh? and S knocks her over cos he's basically da same size and den he freezes coz he clocks dat Miss smacked her head on da lockers so he goes over and stops fighting and picks her up and den turns around and carries on fightin with H again n den the Principal runs ova and separates dem but she forgot her blackberry on da table and B picks it up and is like "finders keepers" but den he got told to put it back down and got in trouble even tho he didnt know it was the Principal's.

But why did H and S start fighting in the first place?

Cos it's Slap-A-Forehead Day today.

Spermcount

New Year 8.

Me: "Mark, stop swinging on your chair."

MK: "I can't help it, Sir."

Me: "Have you been drinking energy drinks again?"

MK: "No!"

Me: "You know they're bad for you."

JS: "They make you lose sperm, innit Sir!"

Me: "Just focus on the work boys, get on with it."

Beat.

BD:"The toy soldiers won't be marching tonight."

Hilarity ensues.

Compound Nouns

I was trying to teach Year 7 about compound nouns. In French you can't make compound nouns in the same way as it is possible in English. Cheesecake becomes Gâteau au fromage, for example. Other compound nouns are formed with a partitive 'de' like pomme de terre for 'earthapple', or potato.

Me: So for example, you might stick two words together in English to make a new one. Hourglass, for instance. Or steamboat or Hogwarts or laptop. Can anyone think of any other compound nouns in English?

MM: Dickhead?

DJ: Bumhole!

KB: Dumbarse!

Well at least they understood the grammatical principle.

PE Moment of Zen

As soon as you start teaching you realise that you should have trained to be a PE teacher all along. Minimal marking, you can wear trainers and you have a whistle to help you keep the kids in check.

Today we played 5-a-side indoor football against the students as an end of term Fun Thing To Do. PE Teacher Andy turns up in ridiculous clothing.

Me: Why are you wearing a vest?
Andy: It's like the Italians.
Me: Huh?
Andy: You know, the Italians. The men always wear a vest. About the house, like.
Me: Why are you wearing it now? You look ridiculous.
Andy: It's a macho thing. Like the Italians. I always wear a vest when I'm at home. A vest, shorts and slippers. Unless it's cold, like. Then I'll wear tracky bottoms.

Heimlich Heroics

AY was choking. Shit! The classroom has banks of computers and little Year 8s are mostly screened from view. I hear the commotion and look up. He's bent double in his chair, hand clutching at throat, startled friends backing off in surprise, turning to call out to me: "Sir, he's choking! Sir, he's choking!"

"He's choking on his gum!" someone shouts out. I make a split-second decision. Heimlich Manoeuvre. No question. No choice. I grab him from behind, make a fist with one hand and push it into his solar plexus with the other. He coughs in my grip, but carries on choking. I do the same again. The kids are shouting louder now: "SPIT IT OUT!", "COUGH IT OUT!" "Go and get the nurse!" I reply and press my fist once more into his stomach.

Suddenly CA steps forward. "He's not choking, Sir. I think I might have pressed his neck when he grabbed me."
"What?"
"He grabbed me, so I pushed him back, so I put him in a headlock and I pressed his neck when he was in my headlock."
"You mean he's not choking, he's just coughing because you hit his windpipe?"
"Um...yeah."
"So I just performed the Heimlich Manoeuvre for no good reason?"

To add to my embarrassment, it so happened that I was teaching in a room with two glass walls. The staff on reception had a clear view into my classroom and were looking on with bemused and distrustful expressions as I appeared to manhandle a child in my care by violently embracing him and punching him repeatedly in the stomach.

Deez Kidz!

Today SR and XP taught their year 8 Enterprise classmates how to count in German as part of a project whose aim was to encourage pupils' presentation skills. On their introductory PowerPoint slide they kindly gave us a brief summary of the language:

"German is spoken in Germany and nearby areas and countries. It is mainly spoken in the back of the throat."

---

My year 7 French class were thinking of ways to help them memorise the French numbers 1-20. FC put up his hand:

Me: Can you see a pattern? Have you got the hang of it?

FC: I know how to remember eighteen.

Me: Dix-huit? How?

FC: It sounds like These Wheats.

Me: This Week?

FC: These Wheats.

Me: How will that help you remember that dix-huit means eighteen?

FC: Because it sounds like These Wheats.

It reminded me of that great bit in Series 4 of The Wire:

Last lesson on a Friday ain't so bad no more.

Me: (On a roll) Je prends le petit déjeuner. What does petit déjeuner mean?

Year 8: (Enthusiastic, engaged) Lunch

Me: (Happy with their enthusiasm and engagement.) Almost, but petit means little, so what does it mean?

Year 8: (Hands waving, thinking, learning.) Breakfast.

Me: Well done!...incidentally, has anyone wondered why breakfast is called breakfast?

Year 8: (Ramadan has recently finished.) Oh yeah! It's cos you break your fast!

Me: That's right!

Y: (Out of left field. Thinks he's caught me out. Finger raised and eyebrow craftily cocked.) But Sir, isn't it called breakfast because you eat breakfast cereal!

Too true.

Am explaining the concept of gender to an eager class of Year 7s. Exceptionally, I switch into English:

Me: Who's heard of 'grammar'? What does 'grammar' mean?

G: It's like your mum's or your dad's mum.

Boom goes the dynamite.

In the corridor

"Sir, who's the prime minister of England?"

"Who do you think? Take a guess."

"Barack Obama?"

"No. Guess again."

"Tony Blair?"

"Closer, but no. His name starts with G then B."

"George Bush?"
"No. His name is Brown."

"Patel?"

"No it actually is 'Brown'."

"Prime Minister Brown."

"Yes. Do you know his first name?"

"No."

"It's Gordon Brown. Heard of him?"

"Oh yeah! I think so..."

Mistaken Identity.

Me: So what motivates you to study?

CM: To get rich so that I can be rich.

JP: I don't study.

Me: What'll you do when you're rich?

CM: I'll buy a house. No I'll build a house like one of those massive ones.

Me: Right. And then what?

CM: I'll invest my money so that I can make even more money from it.

Me: In stocks and shares?

CM: No I'll invent something.

Me: So once you're rich you'll go back to your workshop and invent things?

CM: No I'll hire loads of people to invent things for me and then sell it for more money.

Me: So what'll happen when you've got billions, your family is set up for generations, you don't actually need any more money. What'll you do?

JP: Build a bigger house.

CM: I dunno...yeah build a bigger house.

Me: You could start a charity and give your money away like Bill Gates.

Blank looks.

Me: He's given away billions of money to charity. He says it's what motivates him now.

Blank looks.

Me: You do know who Bill Gates is, right?

Something stirs.

JP: Yeah...he's the richest man in the world?

Me: Something like that, yes. How did he make his money?

JP: Computers?

CM: UNNNEERGHH! No! He's the singer!

Me: ??

CM: Yeah...isn't he a singer or something?

Me: No, he's the inventor of Windows.

JP: Like I said - computers.

CM: I thought he was a singer on TV.

The penny drops.

Me: You're mistaking him with Gareth Gates.

     Gareth                             Bill

Monsieur est plus rapide que les garçons de la classe.

I'm teaching Form a topic called 'La Santé' and under the tenuous link of healthy living I took my Form out of the French class and onto the school playground and we did some running. First I split them into two relay teams and they raced each other. Then when they had finished I raced some of the fast boys across the length of the playground and beat them all. It looked something like this:

I admit the amount of French learning was minimal at the time, the 'intensity' of the lesson somewhat low, but I think it's worth it. Firstly, it's good to show a relaxed side to the class that they don't always see in the classroom. Secondly, it's an experience that I can bring back into the classroom to illustrate many different aspects of grammar:

1) Past tense (Monsieur a gagné)

2) Imperatives ("Cours!"/"Allez!"/"Arretez!")

3) Comparatives (Monsieur est plus rapide que les garçons de la classe.)

Finally, Sports Day is coming up on Friday and this lesson was of immense value in sorting out what our Form relay team will look like.

School's in, sun's out!

A beautiful summer term has begun, much to the delight of all at the school. 

Warm weather brings out the best in all of us. We all wake up with ease at first light, children skip gayly to school, teachers discard coats and scarves for linen suits and summer frocks, pupils partake of picnicked packed lunches and all is good with the world.

One slight, unexpected snag:

The heat means I have to teach with my windows open. Outside my classroom is the smokers' corner. The smokers happen to be truants. Ergo, my classroom fills with smoke during lessons.

Yesterday I was forced into action. A Year 9 French lesson decended into a pantomime of choking and asthma attacks as the smoker-truants began doing what they do outside my window. My students scented the cloud of chaos and weren't going to let it drift past their, um, noses without an...er...opportunistic puff...?

I decided it best to cut my losses and nip the problem in the bud. Out I strode from my classroom without much further ado to look for a senior member of staff who might be on duty and who would be able to clear the smokers' corner for me. Unfortunately no-one was about so I had to evict them myself. I rounded the corner of the building and walked down towards them. They were a small group of six teenagers, all White Working Class (as trendy demograp

hic analysis in the school terms them), all notorious truants in little semblance of school uniform, (faux?) gold necklaces, rings and earrings a-plenty. The scene went something like this:

Me: Gents, what are you doing here? You should be in class.

WWC1: Who the fuck are you?

WWC2: We're on a part-timetable so we're allowed to be here.

Me: You're not allowed to smoke and you're disturbing my lesson. You have to move.

WWC3 takes out an aerosol can of deodorant and starts spraying it onto the windows 

of my classroom. I can see all the Year 9s on the other side of the window watchin

g with avid glee.

WWC1: Oi come we go to his class then since he's disturbin' us. Let's boy 'im off - Sir, we're comin to your class. Come we go.

WWC2, 3, 4 start sniggering, but put their cigarettes out.

Me: If you don't move now I'll fetch a teacher that you do know and there will be consequences.

No reaction. I turn to go and fetch a teacher that they know. WWC5 spits at me, I think. I cannot be sure because I've turned my back, but I heard him spit, snigger and when I look round again they're smiling back at me. I carry on walking back to the school where I find an experienced and senior member of staff who goes out to deal with the matter. When I re-enter the class the Year 9s rush back to their seats and someone shouts out: "SIR GOT TOLD!!"

You win some, you lose some.

---

Incidentally - to "get told" or to "get boy'd off" is equivalent to being 'disrespected' or insulted.

Cussin'.

So many of my lessons are disrupted by pupils insulting each other. Playing "cussing" games. They go something like this one from one of my Year 9 classes:

A: You're fat.
H: Your mum's fat.
A: Say that to my face.
H: Your mum's fat.
A: Shut up, at least I've gotta mum. And she's not a whore.
Me: If you both don't stop now you're in detention.
A: But she called my mum fat!
H: But he called my mum a whore!
A: No I didn't, she's a liar, Sir!
H: You're a wasteman. Siiiiir, can you send him out?
A: Allaaai...jam your hype, bluuud!
ad infinitum...

In the mean time the whole class is distracted: some by the cussing match, some by cussing matches of their own, yet others (and these I feel guilty about because I let them down) have actually finished the work that I've set and, seeing me tied up with the slanging match elsewhere in the classroom, start doodling in their exercise books, chatting or reading something irrelevant like a magazine.

What's the solution to this? It seems that keeping the kids busy is a key element of any lesson that I want to go peacefully and without incident. But there's more to it: they have to have their heads down. You see, the Senior Management Team in their Infinite Wisdom saw it Fit and Proper to build a school with desks that could not be moved from their position in the floor. My desks are screwed into a horseshoe shape around the room which has two major drawbacks. Firstly, every child is in everyone else's line of vision. Secondly, two thirds of the class are not facing the board. There are other disadvantages; I cannot make group work easier, for instance, by grouping tables and chairs together. So if the children are keeping their heads down - working with materials on their desks as opposed to looking up to the board for guidance all the time - they will be less likely to catch sight of each other and start cussin'.

Most embarrassing moment (so far).

"Oh, oh, tell us a funny story. Funny stuff must happen in school every day! I remember when I was at school we got up to so many pranks - it was hilarious! What's the funniest thing that's ever happened to you?"

*sigh*
Um...well there was this one time, Year 8 (nutters) last lesson on a Friday, they walk in after lunch break and there'd been three fights involving members of the class, they were sweaty, angry, loud...looking back it was a recipe for disaster. I was being Observed by an External Observer as part of my training and had planned a perfectly pitched, creative, differentiated lesson that was going to blow her mind. I felt tired from the late hours spent planning the night before, but I also felt slick.

It all started to go wrong from the moment the children entered, really. The lesson was on morning routine - "Le matin". Over the course of the opening 20 minutes things got more and more hectic. At any given point, mini tornados of chaotic behaviour were breaking out at random in different parts of my classroom. C and R were wrestling each other, B was chucking a pencil at A, but hitting T instead, T thought it was A who did it because A laughed so she lobbed something at him, but he dodged her missile so it hit MM instead. The latter screamed for Sir and once again blamed A and so it went on. I valiantly ploughed on with my lesson, conscious with every passing chaotic second that the Observer was noting something down in her Log, looking up at me over her specs before scowling round the room. She later explained to me that her stern looks were meant to scare the kids into some semblance of decent behaviour, but at the time they terrified me, while having no noticeable effect on the Year 8s whatsoever.

In order to comprehend the acute embarrasment that followed you need to picture two things. Firstly, in previous lessons I had used a football terrace-style chant to teach basic vocabulary and to keep the class together as one group. Along the lines of:
Sir: When I say 'rouge', you say 'red'. ROUGE!
Class: RED!
Sir: ROUGE!
Class: RED!
etc...
Secondly, in this lesson I was determined to teach French in French! Teaching in Target Language as it's called requires lots of acting, gesturing, questioning and dynamism to stop pupils from zoning out. So as part of the 'morning routine' lesson, I physically demonstrated je me douche, je me lève, je m'habille...and in the course of the last of these I'd left my jacket on my chair and now strode around the classroom-cum-bombsite in shirtsleeves, putting out fires as best I could, getting more and more flustered and panicked with each incident.

It then followed, that I ran over to K, relieved that a pupil had a legitimate question about the actual work that I had set. While leaning over the desk to help her I heard B pipe up behind me:
B: Hey!...Sir's got a sweaty back...
pause while the cogs turn
B: When I say sweaty, you say back. SWEATY!
Class: BACK!
B: SWEATY!
Class: BACK!

The difference in perspective from the two sides of the classroom really is staggering sometimes. Neither B nor Year 8 remember the incident, while it's clear it will remain with me for a long time to come. And yet I probably do certain things in the course of exercising my responsibilities and my authority of which I am blissfully unaware, but which are magnified in the children's minds and will also not be forgotten for quite a while!