All in a day’s work. Though…just the one school? Child’s play.
Only a few more years away, if you play your cards right.
Largely an administrative position. You wouldn’t want to be so far removed from the children.
That recurring dream you have. The one which only ends when you wake up, sweat-drenched and hyperventilating.
Far too time-consuming. You’d have to give up everything that’s really important to you.
Marvel at the varieties of tumbleweed, while wishing that someone, anyone, would relieve you of this unbearable loneliness.
May actually be attached to the armchair via a complex system of roots.
Drink your tea as quickly as possible. There are no children in the staffroom, and you’re here for the children, after all.
Are only ever passing through. Tea breaks are for the unambitious.
Always have a willing audience for your holiday snaps. Well, as willing as people can be, when they have a hundred different places to be. Immediately.
Run in the opposite direction.
Dispense detentions without breaking your stride.
Take them aside to talk about what’s bothering them.
Tell them that, back in the day, they would be feeling the sharp end of the birch for this.
Try not to judge them. It’s not their fault their parents know no better.
Work. That is all.
Have your little routine: marking, then dinner in front of the telly, and maybe a sneaky glass of wine because you’re worth it.
Have to choose between the guinea-fowl terrine and the poussin with truffle velouté. Though you don’t eat out every night. That would be decadent.
Strip down and varnish the chest of drawers for the bedroom.
Try not to fall asleep before the baby. Sometimes you even succeed.
Inspiring and edifying. You’re here to mold young minds, after all.
Something that can be marked as quickly as possible.
Practical and hands-on. You were a kinaesthetic learner, and so are many of your students.
Homework? You vaguely remember setting homework, back when your working day wasn’t taken up with back-to-back meetings and strategic planning.
Downloaded from the TES resource bank. In between checking to see how many people have downloaded your resource. Still only three.
Tell them that smoking in uniform brings shame on the entire school. Then give them a week’s worth of detentions.
Pretend not to see them. What can you expect, given their backgrounds?
Pretend not to see them. Most of them are bigger than you.
Tell them that you’re not angry. You’re disappointed.
Ask to borrow their lighter.
Try to offer suggestions, based on your years of experience. But inevitably some younger teacher gets in there first.
Sit silently, amazed at how competent everyone else seems.
Wish that everyone else would just shut up and let you get on with telling them what to do.
Offer round cakes.
Offer round alcohol and painkillers.
The one who can never, ever come along to mid-week social events.
The one people come to, with a flat-pack Ikea box and a pleading look in their eyes.
The only one not going on a late-autumn, round-the-world cruise.
A source of awe and inspiration.
A source of tea and comfort.
Big enough to hold several piles of exercise books.
Big enough to hold that bench you’re secretly planning to varnish in the DT workshop during lunch break.
Not too showy. Let the wannabe vandals practice their keying skills elsewhere.
New and expensive. Sometimes respect is about looking the part.
Efficient. Just as you are.
Just a matter of earning students’ respect. You’ll get there. Eventually. So they tell you.
The name of the committee you chair. You’re in the middle of compiling a detailed report, complete with citations from the latest research.
About hiring the right teachers.
Much harder, now they’ve outlawed corporal punishment.
About showing the children that you care.