|The stuff of nightmares...|
The ones I come into contact with through work have a possibly more thankless task than we do in the school. At least the school provides boundaries, or attempts so to do, when what passes for normal home life often doesn't - certainly not from what we come into contact with on a daily basis.
Hereabouts, like many coastal towns - fostering kids is a big business. A nice little earner for many who get the pleasure of looking after the problem children / children with problems usually from the Big City. Respect as da kydz have it. At school I have witnessed fights between various damaged kids over whose care home / care giver is better. We have recently taken some kids that neighbouring counties refuse to have and rumour and conjecture have it that the the Money Ladies in their big air-conned BSF office are very happy at this. Great news - it's just a bugger for the rest of us who have to deal with it. The Academy it seems means business...
That though is by-the-by as the social workers do their best to assist the good folk of the once proud town with basic parenting skills, social skills, caring skills, coping skills and then pass them on to us as a holding bay for a few years before we pass them on a longer-term basis to our good friends Plod whose numbers are about to be cut. Well done to the far-sighted oily Dave and his pet Little Nick.
...and, as we broke up last week it came to light that three Year 10 girls will be needing some of those parenting skills classes soon. All that sex ed in PSHE and putting condoms on smurf dildoes for nought...but on the bright side, in this time of austerity, they will keep some our colleagues in social work in employment as the cycle of stupidity continues.