Everyday tales of a most dynamic and inspired teacher, a once dedicated and valiant nurturer of England's er...finest young minds and talents, now a content economic migrant slumming it in the sun of the Gulf wondering why he ever bothered...but now back again!
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
My Yr 11 boys were most excitedly lumbering around tumescently rubbing their thighs and scratching themselves as they recounted in steamy excitement the execution of the snaggle tooth, gimlet eyed, hook-handed bearded Muslamic Bad Guy as it was jus like Black Ops level 8 innit which they were playing to 5.00am a week before their meaningless exams which provide a leg up to their meaningless drug taking, unemployable, incessently irrevocably reproductive futures. So rather than try to explain the last two year's work that they hadn't done, the scrotati and I discussed the meaning of shades of grey while the slapperati sent illiterate texts to their equally bored friends in other classes and updated their very important Facebook status whilst discussing the names they intend to inflict upon their as yet unborn spawn. Suffice to say Osama wasn't among the names. Too many syllables.
Yes, English education at the cutting edge...I love it.