You know, people tend to think this time of year is all about nervous new pupils, worried parents and reluctant teachers. And it is, of course. But I feel I ought to introduce a fourth category here: the nervous newbie
teacher. Especially as that was me this morning: up with the lark, on with a jacket and tie and into the car before eight o'clock; into a staffroom (as a member of staff) for the first time in two years and then - nails nervously bitten - into a classroom. You know, one with pupils in! Hardly the lions den, I know, but as I'm teaching psychology this year I ought to reflect on my own feelings, motivations and thought-processes and although the room was fantastically well-equipped, the girls could not have been nicer nor the staffroom more welcoming, there was a moment as my hand gripped the handle of the classroom door, when I wondered if I could still 'do' it.
Once over the threshold, once into the swing of things, and you're swept away. I didn't get through more than half of the material I'd planned. But teaching is more like performing on-stage than many people realise, and I'm the equivalent of a long out-of-work actor treading the boards again after a lengthy 'rest'. And just like a thespian, within a few minutes the old instincts take over and you're away... ah, the roar of the greasepaint; the smell of the crowd.
And Charlie? Charlie gave me a cheerful wave as the car pulled off and seemed hardly to have noticed I'd been anywhere when I returned home. Which is exactly how it should be.
Now, if I can just control those damned St Trinian's dreams I'll be sorted.
