It’s taken me a week and one weekend full of drinking to get
over the hell that was the Mocksted. To be quite honest I’m still doing all the
marking that took a back seat during the event so it may take a while yet to completely
get over it.
The only way that I could survive the week was with the
support of others around me and I like to think that I did the same for them.
However you really require the people who know you. Otherwise you are likely to
start imagining ways to kill someone with a ring binder.
Steeeve was a dick. And yes he did get an outstanding and yes
I did point out to him that it was half mine, I said it very loudly, in front
of the boss. His increased ego was nowhere near as irritating as him listing
off all the things he had done to prepare for the week and how he had included
everything. No one wants to fucking hear it. There is sharing ideas and showing
support and then there is just making everyone doubt themselves until their
brains explode. I watched as the office was engulfed in the stench of management’s
arse where Steve clearly hadn’t washed his face and the rest of the staffs eyes
began to bulge under the pressure of their increasing brain size. We all have
these irritating people in our work lives I am sure; that person who is so
fucking perfect and can’t wait to tell everyone about it. Well I have come up
with a plan for these people. It’s called cyanide.
There was only one person worse than this during the week.
Her name is hysterectomy fingers. Honestly her finger nails are sharpened to
medical scalpel precision and her sexual activities (or those we presume her to
have), have led to the conclusion that one good swivel and all lady problems
would be solved.
I get nervous when I know I am going to be observed. Mainly
because I set myself impossible standards to achieve, it’s a middle child thing
and I’m sure I irritated many of my friends during the week. Those who know me
well know to just tell me not to be an idiot, tell me I’m awesome and then
leave me alone to deal with my meltdown. HF does not understand this. HF
witnessed my running through the lesson plan to check everything was there,
which at the end I was told it was all good and not to worry. Obviously I was
still worrying and I went back to look through a few extra notes, hoping to be
left alone and quietly ponder. This was the point that HF decided to slide up
to my desk and continuously go on about how it was going to be fine. I’m sure
she meant to be nice but she seriously could not shut the fuck up. She told me
I was going to be fine in so many different ways I was mentally checking off
the thesaurus in my head. Even after I found out that I would most defiantly be
dropped in on and all I wanted to do was check over my work she stood there
talking. I looked at my computer; I made it obvious I was working. I even said
‘I’m fine now, really’. She was still there talking away. It was like being
tied to a chair whilst a fly buzzed around your face. All you want to do I swat
the little fucker but you just can’t move your hands. My violent dreams led me
to a place where I tackled her to the ground before ramming her finger in her
ear and giving it a good twist before removing her brain.
My actual drop-in was a rollercoaster. I’m scared of
rollercoaster’s. Machines of death. It was only for 25 minutes and in those 25
minutes a range of things happened. Unfortunately the class was quite chatty.
And for a second I was worried, when somehow out of the mist occurred something
that could make or break my lesson; Gay rain. Whilst discussing natural
disasters my students brought up that fact that flooding was being blamed on
the gay community. Equality and diversity was ringing in my ears. My students
were in a fury. They were outraged and yet topical and grounded. They were
ready to argue the over religious beliefs and accept them as long as it didn’t
put down the beliefs of others. I was amazed. I was proud. I was on a roll. I
had no idea they were such little activists.
“I hate all the Dutch though” I had no idea they were such
racist little activists. The observers smile begins to slip.
“Honestly we should just kill all the fucking Dutch” I had no
idea that they were such violent, racist little activists. The smile was completely
gone now.
The outburst had come from a noble cause, after witnessing
the brutal murder of dolphins in a coming of age ceremony. However I had to
recover this lesson as it was slowly plummeting into hate crime, and ideas of
violence started to parade across the room. It was at this point that I saw how
much my students know me and how good they really are. I dug deep, deep down
into my tolerance (it's usually buried really fucking low) and dug out the part
that could both calm the class and allow for acceptance of the Dutch people by
pointing out it was a minority and we should allow them to make it right. I saw
their little faces turn into confusion. Was this the same lecturer who had
pointed out that the world would be better off with the culling of 90% of the
population, and then proceeded to name the 90%? Was this the same lecturer who taught
them how to escape a zombie apocalypse?
“You are so right. We should be careful before we paint an
entire country with the same brush”. Thank you God. The stern look to the
others from the smartest of the class got everyone to click onto what was
happening. They have been rewarded for their good work. Except for the one that
said “I can’t do maths”. That one deserves a slap; I can’t give a physical one
so I gave an emotional one instead, no rainbow vomit for that child.
So to conclude (as OfSted like to see you summarise all
lessons), I can share three lessons for those people who also must suffer the
pain of inspection.
1) Carry
cyanide capsules. Either for yourself or others whichever you are most comfortable.
2) Gay rain
makes the perfect lesson as long as you don’t mention the Dutch.
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