On misbehaviour

Once she told me I had the job, my future Head of Department said that what made her mind up about me was how I had handled misbehaviour during my interview lesson.
I wanted to burst out laughing.
One kid turned around to speak to a friend a couple of times and another one wrote a note, then apologetically handed the note over to me. That’s nothing.
Try this: you have two of them punching the crap out of each other, one of them running around the classroom with someone else’s bag, that someone else following them trying to retrieve the said bag, four or five of them just carelessly walking around socialising with their friends, a couple listening to music on their phones/i-pods and a couple more shouting invectives out of the window. And then telling you to get out of their face when you try to get their attention.
That’s misbehaviour.
Even if the behaviour is in general three times worse than it was in my interview lesson, it’s going to be a friggin’ holiday.

And now dear children...

There was this TV presenter ages ago in communist Poland who had the misfortune to have said or done something to offend the Party (I’m not quite sure, I only know the story from my parents). The Party decided to punish him by moving him from evening news to a children’s programme where he read stories live on TV. He loathed it absolutely. And one day, once the story was done and he thought the cameras were off, he stood up, pulled his trousers down and said dramatically: ‘And now, dear children, kiss my arse!’. Unfortunately, the cameras were not off just yet…
The reason why I’m telling this story is because it reminds me of how I feel these days in my hectic crazy classroom full of nasty vile children who are betting on who will make me cry first, and all because I finally got a job for September – in a nice school with nice kids who are genuinely happy to be there.
So these dear children can kiss my arse.

Knee-high white socks and pony tails

A week ago cycling was something I remotely thought of as potentially enjoyable and something Paul did without me. I pushed for us to go on a bike ride together mostly because of the ‘without me’ bit, quite pathetic, I know. So on Saturday we set off for a ride, him in all his gear on his serious road bike, me on his old hybrid, way too big for me, but I made it go forward so it was fine with me. It was hard work though – it is true you never forget how to ride a bike, but when you haven’t done it for over 16 years you’re all wobbly and it is rather strenuous trying to keep it straight up and going where you want it to go.
We got to the hill where Paul did some of his up-hill training while I sat on a bench reading and getting sun burnt (I tried the hill, got something like a quarter of the way up and decided that as much as it was within my capacities to get all the way up, there’s no reason why I should be doing this to myself). And then we set on our way back home. The ride was pleasant, the surroundings picturesque, Paul pointed some bluebells to me, I looked to see the bluebells therefore failing to look where I was going and the next thing I knew I was flat on the road. As soon as I stood up, I realised that in addition to a couple of small grazes on my forearm, I had a bloody mess where my knee used to be and a huge hole in my favourite trousers. But I wasn’t going to cry, oh no, I was going to be very brave.
We had no first aid kit, so we used what we had to clean my knee and just as we were doing that a neighbour of Paul’s pulled up – what are the chances! He offered to take us home by car and I was really, really tempted, cause my knee was hurting like hell and needed proper cleaning, and it had been all scary and all. But I was going to be very brave and a good sport, so I declined the offer and decided to get back on the bike. And then I spent most of the remaining ride cursing under my breath. But once we got home I had a huge sense of achievement, almost as huge as the scab on my knee (all I need now are white knee-high socks and pony tails to go with it!).
One would think that would put me off cycling for a while. Well – no.
On Sunday I went and actually bought myself a bike.
On Monday we went out for a ride again, me on my new bike in my pretty new helmet and this time I didn’t fall (although I was really close a couple of times! – can’t bloody aim with this thing…).
And next Sunday I’m doing a 30 miles long charity ride.
I must not be in my right senses…