Itchy and Scratchy

One of my colleagues was sitting next to her helpee, watching him squirm around on his seat in a fierce approximation of a rumba. She let this continue for a while but was finally forced to enquire, “What’s the matter with you?”
“My arse itches” was the not-unexpected reply.
“You need to get checked for worms, you should visit your doctor” replied my colleague, ever helpful.
Instantly a grubby paw was thrust into its owner’s pants and sent on a rummaging exploration of the offending area. It was withdrawn, inspected closely and the concept of worms was dismissed with a “Can’t see any”.
The same paw was then extended hopefully, “Can I borrow a pen?”

Poetry in motion

It’s English with year 10. I’m sitting watching my special little helpee scrawl his name graffiti-style across his folder. He seems oblivious that he’s turned the ‘i’ in the middle of his name into a giant penis complete with out-sized scrotum, it’s somehow fitting and I let him get on with it.

In front of me is Space Cadet and in front of him is the overhead projector that is projecting today’s post 1914 poem onto the whiteboard. The English teacher is annotating the projected image with difficulty because Space Cadet has a major twitch on and his outstretched leg keeps jogging the projector, each time moving the image away from the accompanying notes on the board. Despite the fact that the notes no longer match the text they were meant for, the rest of the class copies everything down robot-like and the English teacher soldiers on regardless.

Suddenly Space Cadet convulses with a sneeze that seems to lift the front of his face clean off. Everyone looks up, shocked by the enormity of the sound, and so everyone witnesses the horror that follows.

A shadow appears suddenly on the whiteboard, cast by something that has landed on the projector bed. Something that quivers and steams in the heat from the lamp.

Nobody says a word.
The English teacher continues to annotate the poem, being careful to avoid the hideous shadow. The students seem eager to complete their work, perhaps in the hope that they’ll be allowed to leave this room of horror early, and the sound of their scritching and scrawling continues unabated at a fevered rate.

The only one not bothered by this it seems is Space Cadet who merely sniffs and looks bored.

After a moment or two he turns to the unfortunate boy next to him, hikes his shirt to to his chin with both hands, bearing his torso and says, ‘go on, feel my lumps.’
The War poetry from the old syllabus was far less harrowing.

Lord Greystoke (again)

“Through the upper terrace of the tree-tops he swung with the grace and ease of a monkey.” – ERB.

ASDAN

Lord Greystoke, Baby Oddbod and others of that ilk attend Asdan classes which are designed to give them a qualification for being inept at everything. I enjoy pointing out to them how ludicrously easy many of their Asdan tasks are so much that I wrote a song to sing to them during lessons.

They, of course, started to learn it and repeat it to their Asdan teacher who is now a ‘big fan’ also (my words, not hers). The other day she presented me with my own Asdan course book so I could see how worthwhile the whole thing is. I laughed, she huffed, I went off and added a new line to the ditty.

Here it is so far, additions will be posted as and when they happen. It’s designed to be chanted in a sort of singsong way with a pause before the ‘Asdan’; something like this:

Dum-di-dum-di-dumdiddy-dum (Pause) As-dan!

Making a sandwhich, cheese or ham: Asdan
Taking the beans out of the can: Asdan
Cracking an egg but missing the pan: Asdan
Making the tea to pass an exam: Asdan

Working in Tesco as hard as you can: Asdan
Getting a job driving a van: Asdan
Being on time because you ran: Asdan
Crossing the road by holding a hand: Asdan

Coffee

I used to think I knew a thing or two about coffee, I received my Master Barista diploma in 2001 after all, but today Lord Greystoke put me right on that account and no mistake.
I pass this wisdom on in his own words

(please don’t try this at home)…

‘How to cook coffee’ by Lord Greystoke.

1) Get your chocolate.
2) Put your water in a kettle.
3) Put the kettle under the grill.
4) Put chocolate into hot water and stir.
5) Get a cup, pour in hot chocolate.
6) Add milk and stir.
7) Done innit.

And a final comment from the master himself:
‘I’ve done it at home and it works.’

Lord Greystoke captured on film

“…the savage man leaping, bending, and stamping with the savage apes in the ancient rite of the Dum-Dum. His roars and growls were more beastly than the beasts. His face was distorted with savage ferocity. He beat upon his great breast and screamed forth his challenge as his smooth, brown hide brushed the shaggy coats of his fellows. It was weird; it was wonderful; and in its primitive savagery it was not without beauty–the strange scene, such a scene as no other human being, probably, ever had witnessed–and yet, withal, it was horrible.” – ERB

Standards

Let me relate a tale of a particularly unpleasant Year 9 girl, Slutty McSlut. She arrived one day, distraught and asking for a pregnancy test. Distraught that she might be pegnant at 14? No, distraught that her friends were laughing because she didn’t know who the father might be. She’d been at the gypsy site but didn’t know which boy it had been because
‘The caravan was dark and he was behind me….’

The day today

I’ve just sat in a Year 10 Maths class where the teacher was sitting next to a student, trying to help them. The conversation went like this:

Teacher: ‘Now you’ve listed the coordinates you have to plot them on the axis.
Johnny Head-in-the-air: ‘Uh-huh.’
Teacher: ‘Take your hand off my knee Johnny.’
Johnny Head-in-the-air: ‘Uh-huh.’
Teacher: ‘I mean it.’
Johnny Head-in-the-air: (Now stroking the Teacher’s arm) ‘But Sir, I have feelings for you….’
Teacher: (Trying to keep a straight face) ‘Try and act sensibly’
Johnny Head-in-the-air: ‘But Sir!’
Teacher: ‘That’s it; I’m phoning your parents.’
Johnny Head-in-the-air: ‘Oh come on Sir, you’re trying not to laugh.’

This is true and the matter is dropped. Johnny Head-in-the-air has a 1 hour detention already for this lesson so further action could be seen as vindictive and result in a general student uprising in the class. Much ineffectual shouting from both sides would ensue. Johnny Head-in-the-air looks around the room with his infectious grin to check that he is indeed the centre of attention before, having been reassured that this is the case, he returns to his work

Meanwhile I’m trying to help Krusty who tells me I make her laugh when I look at her. I do try not to look at her (it’s best, believe me) but she laughs anyway. At least she’s doing her work.

Behind me Mad Max, who has been sent out, is fumbling at the bottom of the door and sticking his ruler through the gap trying to attract his friend’s attention. Everyone studiously ignores him and waits for the end of the lesson.

I’m glad it’s Friday.

Before I can escape at the end of the day I’m accosted by SLAg, (my favourite student), who is waving a swollen and lacerated hand at me. She’s been bitten by a squirrel and fears she might have rabies.
I reassure her and offer her a Polo to ease her pain. It’s when you can help with the little things that the job becomes fulfilling. I don’t mention Tetnus and she heads off to enjoy her weekend.

Sex education

Ah, sex education classes, they can bring the best and the worst out in a class. Here’s an example that will stay with me for a long time; the format of the lesson is that everyone writes a question on a piece of paper, annonymously, and the Teacher collects them together. Questions are then pulled from the hat and read out by the Teacher who answers them frankly. Everyone gets to hear the answer to something they want to know or that is worrying them without any attached embarrassment.

OK, I’ve shared my good practice, now let’s see how it pans out in reality…..

Question: ‘Is masturbation harmful?’
Answer: ‘ No, masturbation will not harm you or hurt you and is a natural thing to do.’

So far, so good. But, wait, Urchin has his unwashed hand in the air.
Teacher: ‘Yes, Urchin?’
Urchin: ‘It can hurt sometimes Miss, when you tense your legs so hard for that long they can ache terribly.’

I just laughed out loud, that set the Teacher off and she laughed so much she cried. The class laughed too, they’d always known Urchin was a wanker.

A lighter moment

Chef is in Year 11, he smokes and, since he reeks of it most of the time, I know he smokes. He knows I know and doesn’t bother to hide it from me (as if….).
One particular day during a quiet part of a lesson, when the Teacher had wandered off to get some books, he showed me his new lighter.

‘What do you think of my new lighter Sir? Smart, innit?’
I hold out my hand, ‘It looks very nice, let me see it properly….’
‘Promise you won’t confiscate it?’ He’s not sure….
‘What’s the point? You’d only get another one.’ I reassure him.
‘Ok sir, I trust you…’ (Fool!) He hands it over.
I throw it out of the nearest window where it falls thirty feet to the concrete below. The tinkley sound of it breaking is echoed up in the classroom by the sound of Chef’s jaw hitting the desk. He looks at me with wide, staring, uncomprehending eyes. ‘You…you….you just threw my lighter out the window!’
‘Did I? Ooops, butterfingers’ I shrug, I really don’t care.
There’s a pause while he lets the facts percolate through his tiny brain. Then, he’s up like a shot and out of the fire door at the back of the room. As he pounds down the old iron steps I close the door behind him, locking him out.

I can still hear him crooning over his dead lighter far below when the Teacher returns.
‘Where’s Chef?’ She asks. I tell her, she smiles and hands out the new books. We both ignore the plaintive scratching that comes from the other side of the fire exit as she finishes. Eventually Chef’ll find his way back by going the long way round. Eventually.