Year 7 German. (Year 7 is the first year of secondary school here, they are around 11-12 years old). We’ve been reviewing numbers and they were learning to give me their telephone numbers. At one point, I count down from 5 to 1, which is a signal for them that they have 5 seconds to finish their conversations and be silent. I get to one, silence falls. And then this little bugger goes: “Miss, miss, that’s not right, now that we know ‘nul’ you should be counting down to zero!”
Gave him two bravo stamps for that.
Made my day, little bugger.
Otherwise, I go from being high on teaching, to I totally suck, through various stages of content and discontent plus usually a stage of ‘I can’t take anymore, I’m too tired’ something like 5 times a day. It can’t possibly be sane.
Thursday, 13 March 2008
Sunday, 9 March 2008
Visit to the local Meat Market
After four years of going out in France I thought I had seen it all. But Jongleurs, where we went for Susanne's Hen Do last night made the meat markets I had seen in France seem really pleasant places. I genuinely didn’t think such a place could possibly exist. But it does.
It all started by a comedy act, which was really funny at points, but for me a good comedian is one that makes you laugh without explicit and crude references to body parts and physiological functions. The three we saw last night apparently did not judge themselves funny enough to be able to make people laugh without mentioning penises, faeces and using the f word as a comma. Oh well.
This came with the worst burger I have ever had in my entire life, it was a piece of cardboard with something inside pretending to be meat and failing miserably at it. Could you believe that there is such thing as tasteless onion? There is. I still ate it, cause I needed something to soak up the liquid that was pretending to be Sex on the Beach and also failing miserably at it (later I saw them make one, and well, it was vodka orange with a suspicion of some red juice that made the whole thing sort of pink).
Then, after the comedy act, there was dancing. And I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was meat market in all it’s glory, girls on the dance floor trying to look appealing and blokes cruising around, appreciating the goods. It was so obvious it was disgusting. At least in France they were discreet about it, even if no one was fooled. And I was regretting with all my heart having worn that skirt, I wished I had worn baggy trousers and a big t-shirt. Cause even if I wore what I wore in complete ignorance of the nature of the place I was going to, still wearing what I was, I was considered to be goods. And it probably didn’t help that I was looking around which undoubtedly got interpreted as making myself available while it was sheer curiosity and total bewilderment with what was going on around me.
Worse still, the place stank of what I could only tentatively identify as years of spilt beer, vomit and urine combined with unwashed bodies and drying sweat. It made me sick. Naomi said she could feel a whiff of something unpleasant in the bar area, but my smell being more acute than that of many people, I could smell it everywhere and the aroma in the bar area was literally contorting my insides.
The final straw was when my bum got pinched by one of the cruising clients (testing the goods, I presume, finding out if the meat was firm enough to suit his liking). It was around 11.30 and I realised that they were all still relatively sober – I decided not to wait to see what would happen as they became properly drunk and I fled. Don’t get me wrong, I still had fun. I was there with really interesting people I appreciate a lot, Susanne in her Gretel costume was absolutely fabulous, some of the comedy stuff was genuinely funny and my inner cultural anthropologist was very much fascinated with the phenomena around. But I'm never setting my foot in that place again.
It all started by a comedy act, which was really funny at points, but for me a good comedian is one that makes you laugh without explicit and crude references to body parts and physiological functions. The three we saw last night apparently did not judge themselves funny enough to be able to make people laugh without mentioning penises, faeces and using the f word as a comma. Oh well.
This came with the worst burger I have ever had in my entire life, it was a piece of cardboard with something inside pretending to be meat and failing miserably at it. Could you believe that there is such thing as tasteless onion? There is. I still ate it, cause I needed something to soak up the liquid that was pretending to be Sex on the Beach and also failing miserably at it (later I saw them make one, and well, it was vodka orange with a suspicion of some red juice that made the whole thing sort of pink).
Then, after the comedy act, there was dancing. And I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was meat market in all it’s glory, girls on the dance floor trying to look appealing and blokes cruising around, appreciating the goods. It was so obvious it was disgusting. At least in France they were discreet about it, even if no one was fooled. And I was regretting with all my heart having worn that skirt, I wished I had worn baggy trousers and a big t-shirt. Cause even if I wore what I wore in complete ignorance of the nature of the place I was going to, still wearing what I was, I was considered to be goods. And it probably didn’t help that I was looking around which undoubtedly got interpreted as making myself available while it was sheer curiosity and total bewilderment with what was going on around me.
Worse still, the place stank of what I could only tentatively identify as years of spilt beer, vomit and urine combined with unwashed bodies and drying sweat. It made me sick. Naomi said she could feel a whiff of something unpleasant in the bar area, but my smell being more acute than that of many people, I could smell it everywhere and the aroma in the bar area was literally contorting my insides.
The final straw was when my bum got pinched by one of the cruising clients (testing the goods, I presume, finding out if the meat was firm enough to suit his liking). It was around 11.30 and I realised that they were all still relatively sober – I decided not to wait to see what would happen as they became properly drunk and I fled. Don’t get me wrong, I still had fun. I was there with really interesting people I appreciate a lot, Susanne in her Gretel costume was absolutely fabulous, some of the comedy stuff was genuinely funny and my inner cultural anthropologist was very much fascinated with the phenomena around. But I'm never setting my foot in that place again.
Friday, 7 March 2008
When I least expected it...
I had a brilliant day (which is not something I can often say). In fact, it was so nice that it made me feel like spending my Friday night creating an activity/reading bank for the little monsters. I mean, when Vile Year 9 defies it’s reputation and is actually nice and co-operative, it is a special day. And they did today.
It’s amazing what even problematic kids can do when you give them the ownership and the responsibility for their own learning. We had a behaviour session on “Working Together” today. They made up classroom rules, they decided on consequences of breaking them and suddenly my detentions are no longer unfair and even the girl who called me a bitch the other day accepted hers without a word. But, of course, we will see how it works when we’ll go back to actually learning French.
And then, in the other year 9, there’s this girl, who loves languages so much that she’ll be taking a third one on next year and is so keen that I would have loved her even if she didn’t remind me so much of Muriel.
And in the Whole School Issues session I’ve got a Principal’s Merit Sticker! (now I know how it feels when I give a Merit Sticker to one of the kids… he, he…)
It’s amazing what even problematic kids can do when you give them the ownership and the responsibility for their own learning. We had a behaviour session on “Working Together” today. They made up classroom rules, they decided on consequences of breaking them and suddenly my detentions are no longer unfair and even the girl who called me a bitch the other day accepted hers without a word. But, of course, we will see how it works when we’ll go back to actually learning French.
And then, in the other year 9, there’s this girl, who loves languages so much that she’ll be taking a third one on next year and is so keen that I would have loved her even if she didn’t remind me so much of Muriel.
And in the Whole School Issues session I’ve got a Principal’s Merit Sticker! (now I know how it feels when I give a Merit Sticker to one of the kids… he, he…)
Wednesday, 5 March 2008
Weak spots and more villainess
How serious would it be if I had a weakness for one of my pupils? Cause I do, I seriously do. He gives me the cheek, I tell him off, he throws me a disarming grin, and I let it pass. I caught myself avoiding him when Vile Year 9 made me give them a class detention. I suppose it would be really bad if he was a problem kid. But he’s not. He actually works. And wants to learn. Which made me feel horrid when I had to enforce his detention along with all others. Which doesn’t make it more sane.
Speaking of which, what do you think about detentions? I tend to follow school policy and give them when deserved. But one other PGCE trainee told me all puffed-up that she has never given one in her life cause she doesn’t believe in detentions. And anyway, she never was in a situation where she would have to give one (read: you can’t control your students, I can, or even: guess kids don’t react well to you, what a lousy teacher). I don’t know, I’ve just remembered that detention I gave to a really disruptive kid in my first school, and it was an opportunity for us to talk, work things out and make them better. But how can you do that when you have dozens in detention every afternoon? I do. Vile Year 9 and now also Vile Year 8. I counted. Out of 15 lessons I teach in a week, I’m definitely not looking forward to at least 7. And there’s no telling if one of my Year 7 groups won’t turn out to be vile too. It all makes me so tired…
Speaking of which, what do you think about detentions? I tend to follow school policy and give them when deserved. But one other PGCE trainee told me all puffed-up that she has never given one in her life cause she doesn’t believe in detentions. And anyway, she never was in a situation where she would have to give one (read: you can’t control your students, I can, or even: guess kids don’t react well to you, what a lousy teacher). I don’t know, I’ve just remembered that detention I gave to a really disruptive kid in my first school, and it was an opportunity for us to talk, work things out and make them better. But how can you do that when you have dozens in detention every afternoon? I do. Vile Year 9 and now also Vile Year 8. I counted. Out of 15 lessons I teach in a week, I’m definitely not looking forward to at least 7. And there’s no telling if one of my Year 7 groups won’t turn out to be vile too. It all makes me so tired…
Monday, 3 March 2008
On cheese and cats
Everyone should have a Caz. Caz makes me talk and feeds me good stuff. There’s no one like Caz to make the world look like a much better place than it seemed before. And Didier was a very silly frog – he hid so that he wouldn’t go to London with me. I actually thought I had lost him but Will the Cat found him for me. Will the Cat slept over last night (Nicole’s room is being painted and he has no other bed than mine) and so this morning it was head bonks for me which made getting up much less horrid, especially while he timed it perfectly – 5 minutes before the alarm. A much better way of waking up, that goes without saying.So I'm starting the week revived and positive. We shall see how long it will last.
Friday, 29 February 2008
Just how drained I am
I slept through an earthquake. Literally. Chimneys were falling down, buildings were rocking, and I slept. There you have it.
Am going to London tomorrow to spend an evening with Caz over a nice dinner that we will have cooked together, a nice bottle of wine or two and a movie. And to forget about Vile Year 9 for a few hours. And the assignment. And the Whole School Issues Log Book. And the lesson plans. And the lesson evaluations. And the behaviour management procedures. And the long term plans. And the incident reports. And the Learning Journal. And the teaching ressources, worksheets, power point presentations and other related papers, be it physical or digital, that I should be producing this weekend. And having to punish students I really don't want to punish. To forget about being a teacher and pretend to have a life. Just for a few hours. Hope that's not too much to ask.
Am going to London tomorrow to spend an evening with Caz over a nice dinner that we will have cooked together, a nice bottle of wine or two and a movie. And to forget about Vile Year 9 for a few hours. And the assignment. And the Whole School Issues Log Book. And the lesson plans. And the lesson evaluations. And the behaviour management procedures. And the long term plans. And the incident reports. And the Learning Journal. And the teaching ressources, worksheets, power point presentations and other related papers, be it physical or digital, that I should be producing this weekend. And having to punish students I really don't want to punish. To forget about being a teacher and pretend to have a life. Just for a few hours. Hope that's not too much to ask.
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Too nice for my own good
During form time today I asked the form tutor I’m working with for advice on behaviour management. In her opinion, what works best is when the whole class feels responsible for the behaviour of individual pupils, which means class detentions in case if only a few are chatting when silence is required. I said I would feel horrible punishing the good ones along with the disruptive ones, but decided that I would still give it a try. As we were leaving the room, one boy sitting close to us said in a sympathetic tone: “Miss, you’re too nice for your own good...”. Guess being nice can be a problem…
On the other hand, the Evil Year 9 were really good today. I went there prepared to give out detention after detention and I ended up giving out loads of ‘bravo stamps’ for good work. We’ve even achieved complete silence three times! Not that it ever lasted more than a couple of seconds.
Anyway, three lessons still to plan for tomorrow, so I’d better get to it!
On the other hand, the Evil Year 9 were really good today. I went there prepared to give out detention after detention and I ended up giving out loads of ‘bravo stamps’ for good work. We’ve even achieved complete silence three times! Not that it ever lasted more than a couple of seconds.
Anyway, three lessons still to plan for tomorrow, so I’d better get to it!
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