End of an error

I have finished my degree. Apologies for the lack of recent posts, but I've been working on the short-story-plus-commentary that was my final piece for the Open University. I had to submit a plan for my final story in February and, since then, I forgot the finer details, changed the characters and the ending, and ended up with something that could only be linked to the plan by someone with a very good imagination. Fortunately, this made the commentary very easy to write, with it being a thousand words based around 'I changed this because...'. So, I clicked on the 'Submit your work' button for the last time and now have to wait until July for my result.

Thankfully, due to the result of my 'Religions and Controversy' course, I know what degree classification I'll be getting, so that's not a worry, but it would be nice to get a Pass 2 for this creative writing course (I don't think I'll reach the giddy heights of a distinction for this one, sadly). So, that's five years of study finished (I'm not counting the year I wasted when I ducked out of a linguistics course after finding it too brain-mangling, or the science course on volcanoes and tsunamis in which I discovered my maths was not up to working out the speed that vibrations move through the earth, for a one-mark question). I actually feel rather sad. I started the whole thing with a short course on psychology, because I was bored and there was nothing on television. I didn't have to pay for it because, at the time, the OU was taking Tesco vouchers for level one courses. And that was going to be it. But then I found that learning was as addictive as other OU students said it was and, several thousand pounds later, I can't for the life of me remember writing an essay on Harlow's attachment theory, but I did, and it's presumably residing in the hard-to-reach bits of my brain somewhere (the same place as the whereabouts of my sunglasses).

So, what have I learnt? Apart from the 'fact' that Milton Keynes is considered the spiritual centre of the UK (oh, how we did laugh about that...)

• I'm not as stupid as my high school teachers told me,
• I, very sadly, enjoy compiling a long list of references at the end of an assignment,
• I would be sunk without my spell-checker and the thesaurus on Word,
• I don't trust anything that isn't peer-reviewed and stocked in the OU library,
• I have an insatiable need to keep learning new things,
• I will never get a result that is good enough for me. 

The last point is rather worrying. While it's nice for the Boss Lady to praise the way I strive to improve myself, and while I love filling my head with 'new stuff', I'm already looking up prices of PhDs in Children's Literature (Cambridge Uni does one, and it's affordable, which I kind of wish it wasn't as I can see myself still being a student when I'm 90. On the other hand, the thought of the school children having to call me 'Doctor' could make it worthwhile). I'm finding learning very addictive, though, as I said before. I agree with that thing about 'the more I learn, the less I know,' although I can't remember if that's a quote from Socrates or Red Hot Chilli Peppers. 

The other option I'd like to consider...

Anyway. The Masters starts in September, so I'll do that, and see where the next three years takes me. Meanwhile, questions I'm getting fed up with hearing: 'Are you going to be a teacher?' Asked by staff members and usually answered by slightly hysterical laughter. 'When's your graduation?' Seriously? I could buy a huge pile of books for what it would cost me to fall up the steps at a graduation. 'How are you going to use your degree?' Ummm... 

For now, there is reading, which can now be done without feeling guilty that I'm avoiding an assignment deadline. And I will try to keep the blog more up to date. 

You know you're getting old when...

We had a job-lot of eye tests a fortnight ago, leaving The Husband, Son Number Two and me needing new glasses. (The bank account will take a while to recover.) I collected my new glasses today. Having worn reading glasses for a couple of years, these progressive lenses feel rather different. I've read up on how long it should take me to get used to them. The consensus seems to be between a couple of hours and six months, and that I should count myself lucky if I've not fallen down the stairs by the end of today. Some forums also warn of the danger of reversing your car into concrete pillars, but I've always been pretty good at doing that - I don't think a change of prescription will make a great deal of difference in the driving department, much to The Husband's dismay. So now I'm doing a neck workout, trying to find the right position for having an unblurry computer screen. The optician fitting my glasses this morning was very patient when I explained that I couldn't get any of her page of writing into focus. 'Move your head, not your eyes,' she said, but a lifetime of reading by moving my eyes (how the heck do you read without moving your eyes??) made that next to impossible. Anyway, seven hours later, I kind of get it. You have to point your face to where you want to look, which makes observing misbehaving school-children while pretending that you're not watching them pretty much a non-starter. 

I think the worst thing about the whole experience was the amount of money I had to part with. I used to quite enjoy choosing new glasses; I tended to head for the expensive section (because they're nicer. Come on, I have to wear these things every day.), and then spent ages trying on different shapes and colours and grading them out of ten, depending how much they made me look like my grandmother. But not for these ones. Apparently, for progressive lenses (I'm deliberately not calling them varifocals, because then I'm officially old), you have to look at the price of the frames and then add £110. Because The Husband looked close to tears already, I headed for the cheaper end of the offerings. 'These will do,' I sighed, ungratefully, after trying on one pair, 'even though they've got pink bits.' And then I complained about them all the way home. I really must stop behaving like a toddler, but it's difficult. 

And while we're on the age thing:

While I was taking down a display in the corridor the other day, The Boss Lady appeared, showing two girls around the school. Maybe they want to come here for work experience, I thought. Because I'm nosy, I went to ask Mrs Secretary (She Who Knows All) who the girls were. 'They're candidates for the teaching jobs,' she explained. When I just stared at her, she added, 'Yes, I know,' and we both sighed heavily. They looked like they should have been in school, not teaching it. Since when have they let fourteen-year-olds into teaching? Then she pointed out that one of the girls was the same age as my daughter, and I realised that The Daughter is now 24 and I'm a lot older than I sometimes think. It'll be odd, having to work with someone who's a similar age to my children. Should we get some fizzy drinks in for break times? Are they ready for the problems caused by primary school students: snotty faces and toilet troubles at one end of the school, and Boy Band adoration and hormones at the other? I discussed the problem of age with Auntie Mo, another teaching assistant. 'We may not be young, but at least we've got wisdom on our side,' we decided. And then we quickly changed the subject because we weren't actually too sure about that.    

Would you rather...?

Family crises, a school trip, a non-uniform day and a week that seemed to be a fortnight long - and no alcohol in the house. I may be British, but tea does not do the job. 

The Father-in-law, you may remember, had a serious stroke last June. After breaking into his house, we got him to hospital, but he made no improvement and so was moved to a nursing home in Lincoln (where The Sister-in-law lives). He's been unable to speak, eat or move much for nearly nine months; despite having been wonderfully cared for by the staff at the nursing home, he's in pain. Now things are finally coming to an end and I hope he's soon at peace. This is the second family member who has had to 'live' and suffer after a bad stroke; I hope the Assisted Dying Bill gets passed before long, as the thought of having no control over the end of my life is frightening. My children know my thoughts on the matter, and I think they're practical and caring enough to know when to pull the plug on me. 

At the same time the Father-in-law had his stroke, the Brother-in-law was having a scary time with hydrocephalus. He was falling over, walking miles at crazy hours of the night and was almost sectioned by an incompetent doctor who thought he was mentally ill. And now the problem's coming back. Thankfully, he's recognised the symptoms and is booked in at Addenbrookes hospital to have a shunt inserted in his brain. 

So that's the family stuff. But as if that wasn't enough to turn me into an alcoholic, we had a school trip this week. (Actually, having no alcohol in the house may be a good thing, but how the heck am I meant to get my assignment written?) It was only a half-day trip, to a child-safety... umm... thing. Held in a rather gorgeous manor house, which will be mine when I have written my best-seller, there were activities provided by the police, fire-services, St John ambulance etc. As ever, the worst part was the bus journey. I was asked by a girl without a partner if I would sit with her, which I did. Big mistake. After a bit of polite conversation, I found myself listening in to a game the children called 'Would you rather...?' It started off innocently enough. Would you rather go shopping with your mum or have extra homework? Then we got to would you rather eat a rat or lick a pig's nose? By the end of the journey, it was would you rather kiss a particular boy or jump off a high building? (To which the answer was, 'No offence, and I do like you, but I'd rather die.') Obviously, for the return journey, I elected to sit on my own and read a book. 

Today, everyone wore red to school, for Comic Relief. We started the day with a talent show (I use the word 'talent' very loosely here, although there were good moments). For the rest of the day, the children were sky-high, just like the staff stress-levels. Our last lesson was on creating blogs. The eldest class were given access to a 'behind the scenes' level on the school website, where they could start blogs on any subject that interested them. Last week, I'd shown them how I edit and generally mess about with the school book blog, and they thought of things they'd like to blog about. Cars, caring for rabbits, horse-riding and fashion were all popular. One boy wanted to write about how to get a girlfriend, but thankfully changed his mind and is now writing about Minecraft. A couple of children had to be told by Ms Fab, 'No, you can't write about that creepy computer game that you play even though you're nowhere near being 16.' 

All school staff have agreed - it's been a long week. 

So, tell me: would you rather take a coach-full of year 5s on a school trip or be cast into the pits of hell? Oh, hang on, that's kind of the same thing... 

On being weighed and measured

Since I last wrote, my dad's radiotherapy for prostate cancer has come to an end. The good folks at Addenbrookes hospital are pleased with how he's doing, so he's on hormone treatment for the next three years, with regular check-ups along the way. Thankfully, he didn't suffer from too many side-effects - tiredness was the main one, although he's now pretty much back to normal. During his treatment, he was asked if he wanted to take part in a medical trial which is trying to make radiotherapy more accurate. Apparently, they control everything by computer and can target areas that are a couple of pixels across. A far cry from the prostate cancer treatment my grandfather got, where they had to lay lead plates across his stomach to stop his internal organs getting fried. I know I've said it before but, guys, please go and get your PSI levels checked. There were 30 year olds on my dad's ward with advanced cancer. It's only a blood test - go and get it done. 

Other stuff: The Daughter and her boyfriend are currently in Iceland (am I jealous? You bet.), and will be taking an extended break in October, spending six months travelling around Thailand, Sri Lanka, Australia, New Zealand and various other amazing places. What a way to miss our British winter...

Son Number One's job with the Forestry Commission is going well. He's planted several thousand trees, got on nodding terms with strange people who live in the forest, and has warned me which forest tracks to avoid unless I'm after dodgy requests. 

Son Number Two has been doing a tour of UK universities. So far, Hull is topping the list for its music department, but he has a trip to Leeds this coming week before he makes his final pick. 

My OU course is going pretty well. My tutor, possibly having skipped his medication, gave me 98% for my assignment on animism. It was a score that I didn't believe when I saw it on my phone, so I had to check it on my computer in case of strange glitches. The feedback said that most people chose the option on the Scopes Trial, but I found animism far more interesting. The assignment was about how two anthropologists defined the term, but the subject itself made a lot of sense in my head. I mean, who wouldn't talk to a hedgehog that wanders through the garden, for example? Really? Oh well, at least I now know which indigenous communities I need to go and live with...

School-wise, it's been a week of hard-thinking and kicking things (not children, I promise). Reasons that teachers are leaving in droves are now, it seems, being brought into teaching assistant jobs. I know that self-evaluation and professional development are important, but it seems we now have to judge things like our planning and assessment skills. So many teachers on forums complain that 'unqualified' TAs should not be allowed to plan or assess lessons; that we're there purely to support teaching and learning. There's a new set of official standards especially for teaching assistants, which comes out later this term, but we can't self-asses using those; we have to shoe-horn ourselves into teaching standards. The majority of our TAs don't do any planning, and some have been told, 'Is there anything kind of like planning, that you do, so you can tick that box?' Seriously? And many important things that TAs actually do are not taken into account. There's nothing on application of Special Educational Needs skills, for example. A TA that works one-to-one with a challenging pupil is going to be 'inadequate' at just about everything in those standards, even though she may go home with bite-marks up her arms and bruises up her shins. Pupil well-being is a huge part of what we do, but because a child has spent the lesson crying all over you and discussing their parents' arguments, they won't have achieved that lesson's learning objective, and so will have made no progress. They may be happier, but you can't record that in the mark book. 

Ms Fab and I are meant to be using these standards as 'self improvement tools'; that was one of our Personal Development targets from The Boss Lady, but we were told to concentrate on particular sections that were relevant and that all made sense. But now all TAs are having to assess ourselves on things that rarely form part of our job. It's supposed to help us move forward, I know. So how do I move forward from my score as a third-rate teacher to that of a first-rate teaching assistant? Or do I move on to Waterstones? It's looking increasingly attractive. 

Which reminds me, I've not watched this for years...

Rant over, as they say. I'm off to watch A Knight's Tale. 

Running out of time

Just three weeks to go until I can return to the year 6s. I think one of the things I like least about teaching (after the paperwork - that's definitely first on the list) is that I know what I'll be doing each day. As a teaching assistant, I rarely know in advance which children I'll be working with, or what the lesson plans are going to be. Sometimes I get a detailed plan when I'm covering lessons, but other times I'm given a panicky look and am asked what I fancy doing. I like a bit of chaos, and that's not meant to happen when I'm teaching (although sometimes it does...) I rather miss it. 

I have enjoyed some bits. The Bad Boys have turned themselves around, and are now just cheeky, but quite wonderful, characters. I have had lovely comments from some parents (and I have learnt to smile and say the right things whilst being interrogated by others). But teaching is making my life whizz past too quickly. 

It seems like I get into school at 8, and half an hour later, it's 3.30 and the children are going home. Each week is flying by, and I'm not getting time to enjoy the present. What's helped to bring this into perspective is that my dad has recently found out he has prostate cancer. He's had various tests, including a biopsy, and is waiting to find out whether the cells are the type to spread quickly. I know that it's a type of cancer that can often be kept under control, but that doesn't make the waiting any easier. I'm just glad he asked for a blood test. He was having one anyway, for an unrelated issue, and just asked for his PSA levels to be checked. A week later, he was booked in for an operation. 

When I asked why men weren't routinely checked for the cancer, I was told it was because 'they don't bother to attend', which I found hard to believe. However, my dad has been encouraging his friends to get tested and was told, by every one, 'I'd rather not know,' or 'I haven't got time,' or even, 'I don't like the sound of those tests.' Amazing.

So, time is precious. Family even more so. I know the next three weeks will pass quickly, and then life can slow down again and I can pay attention to the important things. 

 (Photo: Dandelion Wish. Courtesy of John Liu on flickr.)

Help from unexpected places?

I have been dreading today for a month. Our school has started having celebration assemblies, in which each teacher chooses a couple of children from their class who have worked especially hard, or displayed a positive attitude towards their learning. So far, so good. Parents are invited to watch their child receive a certificate and some praise, which is great. The teacher tells everyone in the school hall how marvelous the child is, and everyone goes away happy. 

It was rather nice to watch the first one, at the end of January, until The Boss Lady said, '...and our next celebration assembly will be on February 27th.' Ms Titian, sitting next to me on the teaching assistants' side of the hall, turned and looked at me, and my heart fell. I would have to do the next one as a class teacher. I am hoping that no child was sitting close enough to hear the word I uttered. 

Image courtesy of stockimages/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

My stammer may be under fairly good control, but it does still appear from time to time, especially if I'm feeling a bit nervous about something. Would this result in alcoholism and a move to an isolated village in Scotland? I put the assembly out of mind for a while, but Ms Titian and I eventually decided whose learning we were going to celebrate. 

I was hoping for someone with an easily pronounceable name, but they were all busy being pains, and I couldn't really praise someone just because they had a name I could say. Ms Titian kept reassuring me that I was always fine when talking to the children, which made me decide that, rather than talking to everyone in the hall, I would talk to the child who had done all the hard work. It helped that one of the children I'd chosen told me they were a bit scared about standing up in front of everyone. I admitted that I felt the same, and said, 'Don't worry, just look at me, and we'll forget everyone else.' 'Are we allowed to do that?' they asked me. 'I don't care,' I replied, which made them laugh, and we were able to look forward, rather nervously, to the assembly. 

This morning, I checked with The Boss Lady that it was okay for me to do things this way (to be honest, it was that or nothing). It appeared she had all sorts of plans up her sleeve in case I chickened out. Actually, she didn't say that. She said, 'In case you decided you really couldn't go through with it,' which amounts to the same thing. I then found out, from a teacher I'm beginning to like more and more, and who overheard our conversation, that there have been some extremely kind people who have been helping me more than I realised, and have been supporting me from behind the scenes, as it were. Thank you. Hugely. 

Anyway, the assembly went without a hitch. I had to fold my arms because my hands were shaking, but I didn't bugger up anyone's name, or make an idiot of myself. Mrs GSOH gave me a naughty look when she caught me not singing the special assembly song (I didn't know the words, honestly. And nor did she), and I had to try not to laugh, but that was it. Phew. 

Now we can use the next celebration assembly as a bribe for a while ('Is that sort of behaviour going to get you a certificate? No, it certainly isn't.'), and I can start encouraging children with easy-to-say names to work really hard. 

...and breathe

I am in trouble because I've forgotten Valentine's Day, although it's not as bad as it could have been. This morning, The Husband asked if he could give me his Valentine's card this evening, as he hadn't written it yet. I think, after nearly 24 years of marriage, he can be fairly certain that I think fondly of him. 

Son Number One is making more of an effort. The girlfriend has been bought roses and taken out to dinner. The Husband has said to me, 'Shall we go into town tomorrow, and you can buy something for Valentine's Day?' 'Okay,' I replied, 'you can do the same.' Who said romance is dead? 

School-wise, it's the start of the half term holiday. I have promised not to do any work tomorrow. Sunday, I will try to get as much done as possible, and then I can hopefully fit in some writing, and actually get to read more than just a couple of pages of a book during the week. Ms Titian and I are going into school on Thursday morning to sort out a corridor display on the Five Pillars of Islam (or the Five Pillows, as one child insists on calling them, no matter how many times I correct her). 

Ms Fab, Mrs GSOH and I have to find time for coffee and cakes at a nearby eatery, too. I miss them both. I have hardly seen either of them this week, and I hate it. 

The final nail in the teaching coffin came today, when I was reading through some questionnaires the children have been filling in. Several of the children (and not just in my class) have put that I'm someone they can talk to if they have a problem or a worry. That means a huge amount to me, and gives me far more 'job satisfaction' than teaching fractions. A parent came in recently and thanked me for being someone her daughter can talk to about anything. I was floating for the rest of the day. I know when I'm well-off, and I don't need more than that. 

We are having a lot of storms here in the UK, although I know it's nothing compared to what some in America are facing. The Daughter's house in Cornwall is thankfully far enough away from the sea to be safe from the tides, but these photos show what's going on in that part of the country:

https://www.facebook.com/leesearlephoto

Stay safe. 

Homework finished

Day two, and I have finished planning for all lessons this week. My marking is up to date, and I know I have made the right decision not to go into teaching. I have taken a step in the wrong direction. If changes are to be made in future years, it will be to get more deeply involved with the children, not less. (Sorry, that looks wrong. Is there such a thing as 'more deeply'? You know what I mean, anyway.) The courses I've done on children's mental health have caught my interest, so that may be a future option. But that's for when I get my restless moments - for the time being, I just want to get back to being a teaching assistant. 

Almost everyone I've spoken to has said, 'But what about the extra money?' I would rather have less money and more time. Yes, it's nice to have money and things you want, but I have everything I need. Family, time to write, read and learn new things. Also, thoughts of teaching had kind of spoilt the OU for me. It meant there was pressure to get certain scores, to study the right subjects. Now I can go back to just doing it for me. That Masters in children's literature at Roehampton is looking increasingly inviting, now that it has a unit on creative writing for children. There's no way I could have done that whilst teaching. 

What I mean is, there's no way I could have done that whilst having to do the amount of paperwork that goes with teaching. Nobody warned me about the paperwork. 'You're good with children,' they said. 'You're good at taking the class. You should go into teaching.' Where were the honest ones? The ones who would have said, 'You hate paperwork and filing stuff. Steer clear of teaching.' 

Anyway, I'm going to stop moaning (for now. I'm sure there'll be more to come...). I have 7 weeks of teaching left (Ms Titian says you never count the week you're in because it makes the school terms seem longer). That's 49 days. Minus any Saturdays or Sundays that I don't spend planning. Take away a couple of days of the half term holiday. That makes... well, not too long a time, anyway. I can deal with that. 

Actually, I'm not sure if I can, but if I buy lots of wine I think that'll help.  

Decision made (definitely, this time)

So, day one out of the way. The day flew past - it felt like it lasted about two hours, during which I didn't manage to finish a whole cup of coffee. I enjoyed it. Kind of. But I felt sort of useless. Here I was, imparting information and hopefully inspiring those who bothered to listen, but I didn't feel I helped anyone. 

Teaching, in my humble opinion, sucks. 

The whole point of my normal (teaching assistant's) school day is working with the children, and I seem to have taken a big step away from that. Okay, so I'm standing there, asking questions, answering questions and showing them how to do things. But what about those individuals who needed extra attention? Those who'd had a crappy break and were too miserable to take part in anything? Those children who had a sudden 'light bulb moment' and wanted to whisper, 'I get it now!' to someone? Who was there for those children? The teaching assistant. Not me - I was too busy taking the class. 

When our previous Boss Lady asked me to go into teaching, I refused, because I said I'd be too far removed from the children. She said she completely understood (she'd been a TA herself, once). I need to listen to myself occasionally. 

As a teaching assistant, I get to:

Front the class a fair bit, without having to plan any lessons.
Often work one-to-one with strugglers, or with small groups of children.
Really get to know the children, because they come to me with problems (emotional ones, not just maths ones).
Work in three different classes a week (that's children from year 2 to year 6), which keeps me on my toes and varies the way I work. 

I also get to go home at 3.30-ish. This evening, I stayed at school until 4.45, then went home and marked work for an hour and a half. And I only had one lesson's work to mark. On every piece of work, I have to write a comment on what they've done well, and how they could improve things for next time. And it didn't help that Son Number Two looked over my shoulder and said, 'Why do teachers write that rubbish? No-one ever reads it. What a waste of time.' 

I don't know what I'm being paid for these 8 weeks, but it's not worth it. No amount of money makes up for me not having time to talk to my children until the marking's finished. No money makes me feel better for having to say, 'Sorry, I've not got time,' when The Husband asks if I want to sit down with him and watch an episode of Blue Bloods. 

I know I've only done one day, but I've had the least amount of marking I'll ever have. Most days, I'll have three times that amount. And then there's planning on top of that. So, yes, it's good experience, and at least I know not to go into teaching. I want to feel I'm making a difference to children, not just teaching them things. Joni Mitchell's right - you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Fortunately, it'll be back in 8 weeks, and I'll make damn sure it won't go again.

Plus, I want spare time for writing, and not just, 'You've shown you really understand what's important to Muslims. Next time, remember to check your work for capital letters.' (And that's when I really want to say, 'Please can you stop writing "How strange" next to everything that Sikhs believe. And sort out your awful handwriting.')

Hang on, I've had another idea...

I'm starting to get the hang of lesson plans. The transformation from sympathetic teaching assistant to object of hatred has begun. I spent most of yesterday planning for Monday and Tuesday, mostly because I kept coming up with better ideas, so had to go back and change things. Not for maths. Maths is maths, and has no 'scope for the imagination' as Anne Shirley would say. Literacy, on the other hand... I feel my computer will soon stop asking if I would like to 'save changes to document' and will instead ask 'Are you sure about this? Or do you want to fart about with the document for another couple of hours?'

We're meant to be doing 'list poems'. (And I've just realised I've called them 'line poems' on Wednesday's plans. Sigh...) Anyway, after the initial 'what is a list poem?' lesson, we were going to write poems about ourselves. So I planned that all out. Then I looked for a good example of a list poem on the internet, because my poetry is not up to being scrutinised by 30 little children. I found a nice example of one about a cat looking out of a window, and all the things he (it?) could see. That's nice, I thought, I'll do that instead. So I changed the lesson plan. Then, whilst watching The Voice, I thought, hang on, what if the poem's about us looking out of a window? And the window could be anywhere. A hut on top of a mountain? A submarine? A space rocket? So I changed the lesson plan. And now I'm nearly out of printer ink and patience. I hope the class teacher doesn't read this, or he may be getting worried about his children. 

And it's only going to get worse because, after the half term holiday (which will be a week of planning and re-planning lessons, no doubt), we're looking at story characters, and writing adventure stories. I have a big pile of stories that I want to share with the children, but I think I'm going to have to whittle it down a bit, or we won't have time for any other lessons. But the best bit about having to do adventure stories was when the class teacher said, 'You won't be able to use the stories on file, because I used those last year.' Brilliant - I will introduce the children to Neil Gaiman, through Fortunately the Milk, which is a great adventure story about a dad who goes out to buy milk and ends up: being abducted by aliens, captured by pirates, bargaining with Aztecs and travelling in a hot-air balloon with a stegosaurus, amongst other things. 

I am looking forward to taking the class. I'm getting a little tired of particular people asking if I'm certain I can cope, and telling me that it's natural to be nervous when standing in front of the class for the first time. Seeing as it's several years since I first stood in front of a class, that bit's been the least of my worries. As long as the Boss Lady approves of the way I've planned the lessons, I'm fine. It'll actually be a nice change from the year 6 class, as they're getting a bit noisy and manic. My new lot are not quite young enough to be leaky and whingey, although one does pretend to be a rabbit quite a lot, which makes me grit my teeth. But they are young enough to more or less do as they're told asked. 

Here's hoping, anyway...