who turned off the lights?

I discovered this entry that I had written out on paper but never published. For the sake of completeness I am adding it - but I can't remember when I wrote it. I do remember the incident and given that I last worked in that school about a year ago I'm going to suggest it was sometime in March 2010 - but I can't be sure. I give you 'Who turned off the lights!?!"


"Sir. That was you turned the lights out, wasn't it?"

This morning in Junior assemby we had a lovely rendition of "I'm Special" by the year 8 choir. They're a surprisingly numerous bunch who regularly serenade us with popular worship songs in the Assembly Hall.

The Headmaster had just warned the pupils that their full attention was required, that they could only appreciate the experience fully that way.
The choir finished the first verse, the accompaniest played the bridge, the angelic voices lauched with gusto into verse two, and every eye was trained on them.
Suddenly
BAM!
The lights went out. Pitch black darkness all around.

The music continued hesitantly but the singers were struggling to read the words in their hymn books and as our eyes became accustomed to the dark it became apparent that every eye was not trained on the choir anymore - they were trained on me - and my elbow.

In my defense I need to point out that I only wanted to lean against the wall for a second. I didn't know the light switch was there - and it's an easy mistake to make. Something in the headmaster's eyes told me he didn't agree.

who'll crack first?

I was chatting with my form class today. They’re an amiable bunch of 17 year olds, and I get on well with them. We don't tend to get into too many deep and meaningful conversations - usually.

We discussed the formal for a while today. It had taken place the night before and I was surprised to see so many of the class actually make it to school. I hadn't been invited, something I make a point of bringing up at every possible chance.

One kid hadn't gone to the formal. I remember when I was his age I didn't go to my formal either - I went with a friend to a Bob Dylan concert. I was keen to know if he had come up with a worthy alternative to spending the night wearing rented evening wear eating a luke warm meal and bouncing about a crowded dance floor trying to seduce something in a dress before the lights came up.

"I went to a meeting."
"a meeting?"
"a religious meeting. I'm a Jehovah's Witness."

I already knew he was. I had a form pointing out that he would refuse blood in a medical emergency locked in my filing cabinet and we'd already had a discussion on how his pacifism and my pacifism were actually as far removed as pacifism and war mongering. I came out of that one wondering how I had gone from being a wooly liberal pacifist into a war loving fascist in three easy steps. He has a way of turning everything I say into something wholly contradictory. I admire that.

Usually my discussions with my lower sixth pupils end after 5 sentences, so I prepared to move on to the next topic – but he hadn’t finished,

“Are you religious sir?”
“As a matter of fact I am.”
“I respect that.”

It struck me that he hadn’t asked the nature of my religiousosity. Normally that would be an important part of that question. But to him it didn’t matter if I was a Presbyterian, a Cistercian Monk, a Muslim or a Discordian. All that mattered was that I was religious (and he respected that) and that I was wrong (which he obvious didn’t respect.)

“It won’t stop me trying to convert you though.” He said with a slight edge and a knowing smile.
“I’d be disappointed if it did.” I replied with, hopefully, a similar edge and an even knowinger smile.

And so the challenge is set – the gauntlet thrown. I don’t have long in this school so we’re under pressure. He to turn me into a Restorationist, Millenialist, Adventist door knocker – and I to turn him into Calvinistic Reformationalist. Anyone else sense an impending stalemate?

four more hours

A pupil has just looked out the window at the grey skies and remarked, “I can’t believe it’s almost summer.” I can – and I can’t wait. And I only have a couple more hours to survive.

This is my last day at CHS. I have mixed emotions really. I’m exhausted, so relieved to have some time off; I don’t have a job for next year, so apprehensive about what the future holds; I may never see a lot of the people here ever again, so there is a touch of sadness; oh, and a little bit of guilt. You see although I said it’s my last day at CHS it isn’t actually the last day of the school year. Ridiculously we are expected to come in for a single day next week. They are having a half day on Monday to finish everything off. I’m down to supervise the party – I won’t be.

I will be in Leeds on camp with a bunch of immature teenagers and two other, even less mature, leaders. While I am supposed to be standing imposingly in the corner of an assembly hall I will probably be living in a tent.

I will let them know that I won’t be able to be at school on Monday so they can arrange appropriate cover (maybe hire a couple of heavies to take my place) but every time I try they look so hurt at the suggestion that I would even consider missing my last ever day here. I hate the hurt look – I’m a pushover sometimes. Apparently the English department are planning an informal get together in my honour. I feel terrible that people are being so lovely while I am slinking off into the darkness.

But I think I’ll find the time to get over it while I’m relaxing with a couple of dozen good books over the summer. Au revoir CHS, et bon chance.

not corridors - today they are catwalks!

It's a non-uniform day. And for once I am not wearing a shirt and tie. Normally I dress like I normally would on days like these; it's a fear thing - In my first year here a teacher told me that it was a non uniform day; I duly turned up in a t-shirt and jeans, only to see everyone else in suits and the above teacher laughing hysterically. Its not easy to hide when you're six foot five and wearing a bright blue t-shirt. Normally I dress in a shirt and tie no matter what is on. I even wear a shirt and tie to Sports Day. But this time I swallowed hard and took the plunge.

Non uniform days are essentially fund raisers. The pupils (and staff) pay a £1 "fine" for the privilege of showing off their style. Some of them look atrocious but they seem happy with their fashion sense and, who knows, maybe it'll catch on in a few years and everyone will be dressing that way. It also gives the sports fans a chance to show off their colours. There are a multitude of Man Utd, Liverpool, Arsenal, Chelsea football shirts on display. The "anyone but Liverpool" brigade are also represented by a couple of guys wearing AC Milan shirts. Rugby is also being well supported this year. I've seen Ireland, Scotland, Italy, New Zealand and South African Jerseys (Well, only one SA shirt - and I only see that one when I look down)

The expense of these kind of events never stops at the £1 I've noticed. I overheard a couple of girls last week discussing their purchases for their outfits today - no expense was being spared as they put together the perfect look. For some of these kids this is a make or break situation. If they mess up they think that people will be laughing at them, if they don't spend the right amount of money they will be ridiculed, if they wear something that they've been seen wearing before they'll be mocked. Yesterday I saw a pupil, after school in tescos, in very stylish outfit. I asked if it was what she was going to be wearing today - she was still laughing after I'd packed the shopping and driven off.

In my day it was different. Actually, probably not - maybe it was me that was different. I didn't take any time planning fashion ensembles. I picked up whatever was on the floor from the weekend, smelt it to make sure it didn't reek, realised it did, opened a drawer, grabbed the first thing my hand touched and threw it on. I'd come to realise that the best way to stop worrying about what people were thinking about what I was wearing was not to care. I know that's easier said than done but I really think that if you worry about what people will think about something then they are more likely to think about it. The less thought you put in, they less other people will care. That, of course, does become a problem if you are the kind of person who wants people to care - and there are plenty of those about today.

But, do you know what really makes my heart sing? It's when you spot a pupil who has been making your life hell for months, when you spot a pupil who goes out of their way to irritate you, a pupil who never shows an ounce of respect; it's when you spot that pupil on non uniform day wearing a uniform. I'd almost have sympathy for them if I wasn't too busy practising my evil laugh.

me and my mate steve jobs

Could I possibly be more of a non-mac-using-mac-head? It's verging on tragic really. I am immersed in IBM compatibility. I use windows and have done since I owned my second computer (The first was an Amstrad CPC so it doesn't count)

Despite this I consider myself a Mac person. Just look at my laptop wallpaper - its a longing for something enabled by something else. It's a digital oxymoron - it's sad.

I used to use Apple Macs all the time. Back when I was the unofficial editor of the official school newspaper. We had a suit of 12 Apple Mac IIs and Classics - there were only two of us using them. I thought they were the business. I defended them to the hilt against my PC loving fellow geeks.

Then I went to university - we bought a compaq. A few years later I started building my own - all windows based of course. I did all my university work in the Windows 98ed Computer labs and then went to the empty Apple Mac lab for solace and mutual respect. Just me and my half eaten apple buddies. Man and machine. I didn't use them for actual work - I didn't trust them. I loved them but I didn't trust them.

And so now I haven't used a mac in any serious capacity for eight years. Ironically one of my PC loving fellow geek friends from those heady school days now has an ibook. Where did it all go wrong?