Gosh, going back to school has been exhausting. I come home weary and aching. Like my Aunty Margaret (who is in her 80s), I can't sit down without sighing with relief. I can't stand up without groaning. So, I have been rather dilatory with my blogging commitments. Hetty and Mabel are positively fizzing with pep and vigor though, and need a lengthy pre and post school walk. So, I have to get up at 5.45 to fit everything in. I am in bed by 9 o'clock every night.
I have blogged about my school before. It is tough, but most of the children are adorable. My new class are rather dim though. Today, in a Science lesson on skeletons, I could see Forrest, one of my denser boys, staring blankly out of the window. The rest of the class were enjoying looking at X Rays of broken bones on the whiteboard, and trying to identify which part of the body they were looking at.
'I think it's a nose!' shrieked Jamelia.
She was actually looking at a pair of feet. I'm not sure Jamelia will make it to medical school you know! Never mind. I am sure the NHS's loss will be McDonald's gain. Although I am not entirely convinced Jamelia will be able to distinguish a McFlurry from a Filet O Fish.
I glanced at Forrest. He still appeared to be hypnotised by the view of his arson-striken estate. I noticed he had started to drool.
'Forrest, tell me, what exactly is it you are doing at the moment?' I snapped at the moronic boy.
'I'm looking out the window Miss.' he replied. He wasn't being sarcastic. Forrest is too slow to come up with a lie or even comprehend the inappropriateness of his answer.
On Tuesday we did a 'getting to know you' activity. The children had to say their names and share a little about themselves.
'My name is Forrest and I have a pet cat.'
'How sweet Forrest, I love cats! What is he called?' I asked.
Dear God. The School of Hard Knocks. Hogwarts it aint.
Pompous Pilate has been as infuriating as ever. On Wednesday the Stepfords were summoned to attend a pre-work forum. This usually means a ticking off for something. I was surprised and somewhat relieved to see the meeting was being taken by our Deputy Head, Bambi.
'I'm going to warn you all now, Pompous is not happy. He wanted me to say that he will be having stern words with you all at our Monday staff meeting about your timekeeping. He wanted to take this morning's meeting himself and address this issue now, but he is running late. He had to take his car to the garage for a valeting.'
I left the staffroom pondering how so many fecking idiots are promoted to greatness in education. How is it possible that the cloddish despot could not see the irony in berating us for our lackadaisical timekeeping, whilst he took his offensive 4x4 to the garage for some hot-wax action in school time?