Monday.
Tuesday and Friday.
Wednesday and Thursday.
Showing posts with label Wage slave. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wage slave. Show all posts
Friday, 20 April 2012
Monday, 2 April 2012
Alumni
Today a copy of the Leicester University Graduates' Review, a publication I have never requested but which bizarrely still reaches me in my fifth address and second surname since graduating 13 years ago, has plopped onto my doormat.
Like a tongue seeking out the tooth that aches, I like to irritate myself by reading the Alumni on Target Section, where you can make discoveries about past students and kick yourself as you realise the spotty geek you turned down at a house party in 1996 is now a dotcom millionaire, or that the infuriating girl in your Politics tutorials has single-handedly brought down a discredited junta in South America.
Were I ever to feature in this illustrious publication, my profile would read as follows:
Suzy Southwold (BA Hons 1999) only went to university because she couldn't think of anything else to do. She chose Leicester for its cheap rents and excellent road links with Suffolk. She once attended a graduate careers fair but was appalled by all the dead-eyed 22 year olds in polyester suits and went and sat under a tree in Victoria Park instead.
Through temping Suzy got a job in the NHS that barely required GCSEs, much less the 2:1 she came out with, and settled down to administrative drudgery before upping sticks to live in Canada for a year. Upon her return she rashly decided to become a primary school teacher which she didn't much like either. She is currentlysponging off her husband considering where her career will take her next while regularly playing the National Lottery in the fervent hope that the answer is "nowhere".
Like a tongue seeking out the tooth that aches, I like to irritate myself by reading the Alumni on Target Section, where you can make discoveries about past students and kick yourself as you realise the spotty geek you turned down at a house party in 1996 is now a dotcom millionaire, or that the infuriating girl in your Politics tutorials has single-handedly brought down a discredited junta in South America.
Were I ever to feature in this illustrious publication, my profile would read as follows:
Suzy Southwold (BA Hons 1999) only went to university because she couldn't think of anything else to do. She chose Leicester for its cheap rents and excellent road links with Suffolk. She once attended a graduate careers fair but was appalled by all the dead-eyed 22 year olds in polyester suits and went and sat under a tree in Victoria Park instead.
Through temping Suzy got a job in the NHS that barely required GCSEs, much less the 2:1 she came out with, and settled down to administrative drudgery before upping sticks to live in Canada for a year. Upon her return she rashly decided to become a primary school teacher which she didn't much like either. She is currently
Friday, 30 March 2012
Closing time
"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
My last day in a primary school, having been utterly convinced 6 1/2 years ago it was the career for me, and quietly petrified for the last 4 that it wasn't.
I didn't once cry today, but tonight I am see-sawing between two emotions: utter joy at the release of tension (it's no exaggeration to say I feel like I can breathe out for the first time in four years), and bleak sadness at the loss of the relationships that made it worthwhile despite the stress. I have taught kids I'd take a bullet for, and I have made some truly wonderful friends among my colleagues.
When I was training, we had some drama coaching off an old boy close to retirement, and he said "I don't really care how much they know. I care whether I'm turning out decent people." The fact that I remember this 6 years on says it all. For me, the children's acquisition of knowledge has always come a poor second to their confidence, their happiness, their willingness to have a go and sometimes make a total tit of yourself in the process. Unfortunately, these are not victories measured by the blinkered automatons who run OFSTED, nor a series of short-sighted and reactionary Secretaries of State for Education*.
Here's to you, kids. In all your noisy, untidy, clumsy, affectionate, hilarious, loveliness.
* I physically can't look at Michael Gove without wanting to throw something at him.
My last day in a primary school, having been utterly convinced 6 1/2 years ago it was the career for me, and quietly petrified for the last 4 that it wasn't.
I didn't once cry today, but tonight I am see-sawing between two emotions: utter joy at the release of tension (it's no exaggeration to say I feel like I can breathe out for the first time in four years), and bleak sadness at the loss of the relationships that made it worthwhile despite the stress. I have taught kids I'd take a bullet for, and I have made some truly wonderful friends among my colleagues.
When I was training, we had some drama coaching off an old boy close to retirement, and he said "I don't really care how much they know. I care whether I'm turning out decent people." The fact that I remember this 6 years on says it all. For me, the children's acquisition of knowledge has always come a poor second to their confidence, their happiness, their willingness to have a go and sometimes make a total tit of yourself in the process. Unfortunately, these are not victories measured by the blinkered automatons who run OFSTED, nor a series of short-sighted and reactionary Secretaries of State for Education*.
Here's to you, kids. In all your noisy, untidy, clumsy, affectionate, hilarious, loveliness.
* I physically can't look at Michael Gove without wanting to throw something at him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)