Tuesday, 12 October 2010

Lurcher in a Jumper, I know, I know, It's serious.

Hetty has a new jumper!

I admit, it looks a bit 1980s, almost batwing. What can I tell you, its Hetty's Cyndi Lauper phase. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and all that. I'd love to say I knitted it myself, but I didn't. I bought it from Greyhounds Galore charity. A snip at £8.

Rochester's Sixth Sense

The swarthy rogue has been in touch. Yet again, the subject of his email was lesbians. He is utterly obsessed. Rochester is like that little boy in the film Sixth Sense. Only Rochester doesn't see dead people. Rochester sees women in sensible shoes. As usual, the rogue was fiercely unrepentant about his lezza whimsy,

"I don't deny it. It could be worse. I know a fella my age who has turned his attic into a scaletrix grand prix environ. Complete with papier mache hills etc. Jesus. At least my hobby of lezza spotting has a sense of social worth."

Beggar's Opera

McFireman has invited me to go to the opera to see Carmen, a production by Opera North. Hmmmmm. I am not convinced. If I want to watch a performance of obese shrews screeching at each other in an unintelligible dialect then I san simply look out of my classroom window at hometime. All that's missing are the Viking helmets. McF tried to sweeten the deal with a mention of interval scones. Now, I am no Radio 3 listener, but even I know that you don't eat scones at the opera. Of course you don't. You eat Cornettos. Just one.

The other thing about the opera that bothers me is its potential length. I am imagining that it will be at least 3 hours long. Three hours of bottom-numbing, ear-drum perforating wailing. I get most vexed and jittery when movies go over 90 minutes (and most films do these days - it is so self indulgent). All in all, I think I had better give the opera a miss.

Showdown at the SOHK

Tomorrow I am having a showdown with Pompous Pilate. He is obsessed with our imminent OFSTED inspection, so much so that he can see nothing else. Yesterday he gave us Stepfords our deadlines for the rest of this term. Looking at our schedule we noticed that within a 5 week period he expects us to:

  • Go through a 'faux' OFSTED lesson observation, with the buffoon himself watching a lesson and then pedantically ripping it (and us) to pieces.
  • Write 50+ detailed pupil reports.
  • Test and mark over 100 numeracy/ literacy SATs (and analyse the results).
  • Meet with all parents at an open evening, and schedule appointments for those who can't attend.
  • Have another meeting with parents of any children with special educational needs.
  • Adopt a brand new way of planning our numeracy lessons.
  • Identify our 5 weakest students in numeracy and start extra curricular lessons with them.
  • Ensure all pupil records are up to date (basically checking paperwork, about 1000 pages of the twatting stuff).
All this is on top of the 'business as usual' planning, teaching and marking we do anyway. And all of this is on top of the pressure of an overdue OFSTED inspection. I love my job, I absolutely do. And I am bloody good at it. But it is just hell on earth at the moment.

All SOHK Stepfords are utterly despondent. Checking union guidelines it appears that the arrogant oaf has no right to even ask us to do many of the things on his hit-list. But, the thing is, no one ever complains. No one stands up to him. So. I have to do it. I have to tell him some home truths. I have booked a meeting with him for 8am tomorrow morning. Blood will be spilled. I am not sure whose. Watch this space. (I just hope I don't cry).

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