In my effort to procrastinate I have worked out that apart from one full year off on maternity leave to look after Mr Chop, I have been at school since I was 4 years old - that means 31 years of my life being ruled by bells ... starting to froth at the mouth at the thought of it!
Needless to say, I am a little sick of the whole thing.
On a serious note, my Principal stood up at the Staff Development Day earlier this term and started banging on about how lucky he is to have such a dedicated staff of professionals who truly care about their job and have such a passion for educating the young men of tomorrow and how "our boys deserve the most dedicated teachers". All I could think of was that I wanted to be somewhere else - I didn't have that passion - and I felt fraudulent sitting there smiling and nodding with the rest of the muppets.
I entered teaching straight from Uni, and entered Uni straight from school. No rest for this little bird raised with a strong Protestant work ethic. Gap Year? What Gap Year? Mum and Dad are both teachers who rose to quite high ranks in the echelons of the Department of Education. To say my arm was twisted at 17 to go into the profession is quite the understatement - try 'wrenched from the socket'. I was good at it, though and teaching really does come naturally to me. I gained a first class honours degree and was offered a permanent job straight away in the town where I grew up. I loved the idea of moving away, but Dad's pull in the upper reaches of the Department ensured those apron strings remained tightly knotted.
Story TBC ...
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