The Staffroom

Funny, when I started the first post in this blog, I had loads of ideas of things to write about, and I am pretty sure I knew exactly what to write in each of them too. Any of you lot want to explain why the hell I can't think of a damn thing to write now? I blame Gordon Brown. Mainly because he is Scottish.

Ah, I know, I have got something to write about. The only safe place in school. The one place where teachers get to say "bollocks" and "fuck off". Our haven, our shire, our respite from the little buggers out there with the knives and the cuttingly sarcastic nicknames. Yes, I am talking about the Gentlemen's Toilet. No, wait! Come back! I mean the staff room! Staff room! Come back!

Oh, quick tangent - I want you all to make a promise... Talking about the staff room... that poor bastard in the corner that no-one is talking to. Well, that's YOU that is. You a few years ago when you were a Trainee Teacher. You when you were an NQT. You if you ever do supply work. You when you move to a new school. Go talk to the unlucky sod. He is about to experience the worst bleeding year of his life, and you miserable buggers are making it worse. He probably thinks he has BO or something. What he doesn't realise is that it is even worse and it might be a whole year before his colleagues actually talk to him, let alone bond with him. He'll land up with mental disorders as bad as the rest of us by then.

Actually, there is a very very real danger when talking to strangers in the staff room. There is a very real risk they might be a consultant from your LEA. Yeah, I know. I know what you are thinking now. "I'd love to talk to the Trainee/NQT/Punching ba.. er.. supply teacher, but what if I land up getting bored fucking senseless for 20 minutes by some over-enthusiastic gittoid who wants to tell me about AfL?" Well, I have a fool-proof system for working out whether to talk to someone. If they are crying, they are definitely an NQT. Don't speak to them this time unless you have waterproof clothes on, but they will be safe next time (as long as you don't remind them where they are). A vacant stare and many shakes of the head is without doubt a supply teacher just back from 9dnl4. As long as you speak Australian, they'll be fine for a chat. Despairing faces in September are those stupid bastards who moved to your school thinking things could only improve compared to their last place. These people are idiots, and you should speak to them only in mocking tones. The truly vicious might even feign sympathy, then sic some boy whose name begins with "T" onto them (Oh come ON! Can anybody honestly say they have ever met a nice Tyler, Travis, Troy or Tim? Wait, scrub that last one. But you get the point.)

Anyway, signs of a consultant generally include a smart set of clothes and a smiley face, but this can be deceiving. Some of the bastards will try and trick you by wearing too-short trousers and scruffy jumpers and muttering. Some even have beards. In any other industry they'd be the office weirdo. Somehow in teaching they get a pay rise. Here is the trick to spotting a consultant though; they'll generally have all of their worldly possessions (keys (dozens), mobile phone, USB stick, Blackberry, pet alsation) hanging from a colourful strap around their neck. In Hackney it'll be orange. In Hackney orange means DANGER, BEWARE! Boring person here! In Hackney, they are colour-coded, for our convenience.

Where was I before I went on that tangent though?

NO clue.

That'll do then.

Idea for next time: Rant endlessly about the word Facilitate. And Plenary. And Pedagogy. And anyone who uses these words in a non-piss-taking sentence...

I'd better stop now or I'll be sat here for hours.