Fortunately such scenarios stay in my dream and I have had a fabadab week at work. Here are a few highlights for posterity (in case I ever do write those memoirs).
Before the holiday, one of my sixth formers who happens to be a house captain asked if I wanted to join in a staff space hopper race for charity. Now on the one hand, it's flattering to be asked as one of the 'young, cool' teachers but on the other hand, it's not really the done thing in school for the staff to ritually humiliate themselves before the students. So I hedged. However, approval was obtained and this week I allowed myself to be talked into on the condition that said student would provide me with a space hopper so that I could practise for the big day. A couple of other maths teachers are doing it too and so this suggestion met with approval and not a little competitive edge. Screw competition, I just don't want to fall flat on my face.
While sailing around the playgrounds on break duty I accosted the student (what is break duty for after all) and managed to snaffle a space hopper. It's pink. Bright pink. And it has a face. I also claimed the foot pump for the maths teachers' cause, inflated the hopper and Christened it Morris.
Space hopping in the maths office is tricky, there being no space. Added to this is the fact that there is no way that space hopping can be accomplished without disturbing everyone else. Although they were all very nice about it, and somewhat amused. Especially when yours truly managed three hops, two on the space hopper and one straight over the space hopper into a heap on the floor.
More fun than marking though. And this proves that my insistence on practise time was both wise and necessary . No paranoid.
Actually, now that we've inflated it a bit more and aching muscles aside and more space established in the corridor once all the students have gone home, I love space hopping and I'm relishing the race. Bring it on!
We also discovered some graffiti in the female staff toilet this week. This is unusual as all the students are boys and it's unlikely that any of them would want to go to the effort of sneaking into the ladies, and writing, in quite small letters "Beyonce was ere" in one of the cubicles. After some debate on the subject, we exhausted virtually all possibilities and finally in an attempt to end the constant nattering, Mr R interrupted to point out that we had overlooked the possibility that maybe Beyonce really was there. Gosh.
Done minimal to nothing on the scrapping front however. Must remedy. Just not sure when. Also, need bed now due to aforementioned tiredness.