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

The Giant Pen

The recently departed Darliquinn gave me a present of a giant working pen and pencil the other day; ostensibly so I could lend them to students with out them becoming lost.

Chance however, allowed me to put them to much better use.

The very day I received them I was sitting in Maths with Little Jimmy Thistle. Little Jimmy Thistle began to poke me in the arm repeatedly with his pen.

‘Don’t do that Jimmy’ I said, ‘it’s annoying.’
‘I challenge you to a pen fight sir.’ Retorted Little Jimmy Thistle. Truly the TA god was smiling on me today.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ I said slowly.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’ll lose.’
‘How will I lose?’
I reached down and drew the giant pen from my bag.
Little Jimmy Thistle stared open mouthed at the full two foot long, red and white ICBMness of the giant pen, his eyes wide with wonder.
‘Fuckin ‘ell’ he breathed, ‘it’s massive!’. His own pen fell from his nerveless fingers.
The pen fight was over and he had, indeed, lost.

This would normally have been enough to make my day a happy one and wouldn’t actually have been worth recounting had it not had repercussions the following day.

The next day arrives and I find myself in History. Opposite me is Little Jimmy Thistle, beside him is Lord Greystoke and beside me is Baby Oddbod. The table from hell, frankly.

Half way through the lesson Little Jimmy Thistle announces:
‘Sir’s got a giant pen.’
The other two look at the (normal) pen I’m holding and reply in unison
‘No he hasn’t.’
‘Yes he has, it’s HUGE. I saw it in maths.’
I brandish my pen and point out that it is, in fact, completely normal sized.
‘Yeah, see,’ chorus the others, ‘it’s noooormal’ (not a word they get to use much it must be said.)
Little Jimmy Thistle is getting confused and a bit annoyed and begins to splutter as he searches for the right words.
‘Perhaps,’ I say to be helpful ‘it was really close to you so it looked giant?’ I hold my pen close to his face so he can appreciate the phenomenon of foreshortening.
Unconvinced he sticks to his guns and insists ‘It’s in his bag, I’m telling you, I saw it in maths.’
Obligingly I show my open and giant pen-less (it’s at home) bag to everyone.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about Jimmy’ I say, ‘perhaps you dreamed it? I mean, who in their right mind would carry around a giant pen?’

The other two are shaking with barely-concealed mirth. Lord Greystoke is so red that the engorged pustule he’s been carrying around on his face for the last week looks set to finally explode. (‘When that goes we’ll be ankle deep’ was one English teacher’s opinion of it).

They bombard Little Jimmy Thistle with loud whispers of derision, mainly centering on his inability to see straight and his penchant for dreeeeeaming; this last delivered in a particularly whiny voice expertly pitched for maximum needling.

Little Jimmy Thistle retorts with suppressed cries of ‘Fuck you’ and ‘Your Mum’s a dreamer’ but to no avail. The lesson ends and they all disappear off to morning break with the verbal fencing continuing down the hall, much louder now that there is no lesson to confine them.

Petty? Well, yes, but getting the little monsters to doubt their sanity even for a second is still a victory in my book. Stay tuned, the giant pen will strike again.

A Day in my Working Life Part 3

Period four is Maths with Elwood and Dorkey. We don’t do a lot of maths because Elwood is too lazy, he only breathes because it’s automatic, and Dorkey can’t read or write. They’re both much more interested in chatting to SLAg (my favourite student) and Chav Queen who are pleased with the attention.
During the course of their discussion someone mentions bile and Elwood asks me what it is. Never one to miss a chance I tell him it’s stomach juice and that black bile from goats is dried in moulds in the sun to make liquorice. He doesn’t look convinced and asks for proof.
‘What, you think liquorice grows on bushes?’ I jeer, and his misgivings are put to rest.
Later on in the lesson when I pass some liquorice around Elwood refuses and we both laugh smugly but for different reasons.

Lunch

I am not allowed in the canteen because my wife met the head canteen lady at a school play and told her not to serve me.
I prefer the staff room anyway. I can always send a student to get me something from the canteen if I’m peckish after I finish the food I’ve brought with me.

I notice The Little Science Teacher is checking out new jobs on the Internet. We get to discussing working at different schools and I mention that I wouldn’t mind working at my old School down in Kent.
She look at me strangely and asks, ‘Where abouts in Kent?’
I tell her just as the warning signs begin to sound in my head.
‘I went there too’ she says, just like I knew she would, even though the school is a hundred miles away from where either of us live now and I’d left before she was born I just knew there was a weird coincidence on the way.
‘Do you know the hotel up the hill?’ she continues.
‘Oh yes, I set fire to it once.’ It’s one of my best stories and I look forward to recounting it to someone who knows the locale. I realise that maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager as her face changes.
‘That’s my parents’ house.’ She says.
Oops. I leave her with a nervous laugh and head to period five hoping that some karmic retribution isn’t coming my way in the near future.

Period five is DT with Year 9. Not much is happening when I get there because Baby Oddbod is in the next room jumping on tables, hammering the window and effing and blinding at the top of his voice.
The DT Teacher asks the class to stay quiet for a few minutes while he makes a phone call and then he heads off into the office that is between the two rooms. Of course everyone in the class immediately shouts out ‘Watch out Baby Oddbod, he’s phoning Senior Management to come and get you!’
But they’re wrong.
The DT Teacher is phoning Baby Oddbod’s Mummy.
‘Hello,’ He says, ‘is this Mrs. Oddbod?’
‘Yes.’ She says.
‘I’m just phoning to let you know your son is jumping on the desks, banging the windows and effing and blinding at the top of his voice in my lesson.’
‘Not my Baby Oddbod, surely?’ She says.
The DT Teacher holds the phone out from the office into the room that Baby Oddbod is occupying. There are loud and obvious sounds of him jumping on tables and hitting the windows counterpointed with a continuous tirade of ‘Fuckingfuckityfuckityfuckitbastardshittingfuckityarseingcuntingfuckingshittyfuckityfuckfuck FUCK.’
‘Did you get that Mrs Oddbod?’ Asks the DT Teacher in a pleasant tone.
‘Oh I got that all right, let me have a word with him and then I’ll send his Father down to sort him out.’
‘Baby Oddbod…’ Calls the DT Teacher waving the phone, ‘Someone would like a word with you’
‘Well they can fucking well fuck off the fuckers can’t they.’ Responds Baby Oddbod from the other room.
‘It’s your Mother.’ Smiles the DT Teacher.
Baby Oddbod’s face goes blank. His jaw drops and disbelief runs like a weasel across his face*. He takes the phone.
‘Hello Mummy….’ He begins but is cut short. There is a brief, one-sided conversation and then he drops the phone and runs. He runs out of the room, across the playground, down the path and off the school premises along the road.
We watch him go and resume the lesson.

After school

‘You’ll never guess what happened to me today.’ This from Mrs. Carer who looks after the Extra-Stoopids ™, it’s a statement not a question.
‘I was sitting on my desk in front of the class when I realised that the crotch was gone from my trousers. My dog must have eaten it.’
I nod understandingly, the dog, of course.
‘I had to go home and change, there was a huge hole there, it was big enough for a small child to fit through.’
‘Natural for a mother of two.’ I reassure her.

Home time.

* In-joke for Interzone readers.