Nice day for a strike - by Theo

Despite the fact that I don't yet have a pension, nor a job to go on strike from, I figured I should show solidarity with my future colleagues and join in the Bristol demo. I am in fact a member of all three main teaching unions (NUT, ATL, NASUWT - PGCE students join free), so even more reason to turn up.

Today was, conveniently, a study day, so I was in the library anyway having taken my QTS numeracy test that morning (more of that later), and only had to wander down Park Street. I managed to time my exit from Berkley Square perfectly so I could tag onto the UCU members as they marched down from Senate House to join the swelling ranks of protesting public sector workers gathering near the Occupy Bristol tent city on College Green.

It was perfect weather: clear blue skies, little breeze and warm sunshine. Loads of kids (well, the schools were on strike!) and lots of colour, with various flags and banners waving back and forth. The Ambling Band, dressed in resplendent pink, had turned up to provide a welcome jaunty accompaniment and there was also a samba band further down the procession. I bumped into a couple of old pals (Richie, Tom) as well as most members of the English Department at my first placement school. The school where I'll be next was also closed today, so I guess some of my future colleagues may well have been there too.

Honestly it is such a shame that the so-called progressive parties in the UK seem to be terrified of fighting the corner of the public sector, for fear of affronting all-powerful private interests presumably. There was meant to be 2 million-odd people on strike across the country today; that's a sizeable chunk of the electorate. If only somebody at Westminster was brave enough to say "Yep. We're with you."

On Being Loved And Left

So, today we bid a fond farewell to our latest batch of trainee teachers.
In the UK overt physical contact with your teachers is generally discouraged, as they're mostly keen to keep their CAB records clean, or at least avoid gossip and disapproval in the institutions where they teach grown-ups.

Not so in Spain. A kiss on each cheek and earnest wishes of good fortune for the future are exchanged - and not even after all concerned have sunk a goodbye beer or two. Nope, emotional scenes of farewell happen inside the classroom itself.

I remember our tutor indulgently watching the hugs, kisses and wellings-up that accompanied our own partings with the unfortunate students we practised on during our CELTA course. Given the sometimes painful experiences we'd put them through in the name of teaching them English, their affectionate goodbyes were very heartwarming and possibly undeserved.

When I told our tutor I was genuinely sorry I wouldn't be seeing them any more, he smiled and said "Of course you are. They're special because they were your first." Which made it sound a bit like a collective loss of virginity. Which in some ways, it was. The nervousness beforehand, the adrenalin surge of excitement during, the anti-climax of an off-target attempt, the need for a cigarette or beer afterwards...

Anyway, it's kind of nice to know you've booked yourself an eternally special little place in a language teacher's heart. Even after so much mangling of their beloved mother tongue. Besos y abrazos, as they say here in Spain.

(Correcto, mis profesuros?)

A quarter of the way through...

One week of our month-long teaching course has gone by and Theo has already presided over three lessons, while I've been in charge of two. We've got loads more to learn, but at this stage we don't seem to be doing too badly and I'm convinced my students almost learned something during my last lesson. It was a close-run thing, anyway.

Apart from the general affability of the students, trainees and tutors, I've had two more pleasant realisations this week:
1. I really like teaching. With a couple of provisos. That the subject is English (I don't think quantum theory would do it for me, somehow. You probably need at least GCSE Physics, which would be a bit of a stumbling block in my case) and the students are adults (I'm quite happy to leave the challenge of trying to teach surly teenagers who're more interested in chewing gum or texting their mates to other people, frankly).
2. I like being back in the classroom as a student myself. If you ask me, further and higher education is wasted on the young. I definitely wouldn't have been so enthusiastic if I had done this course fifteen-odd years ago. Now, even the homework is quite satisfying, in the same way as going for a run or doing a work-out in the gym. It's a bit of a slog and you keep wishing it'll be over soon, but when it is you get a definite feeling of achievement and even, dare I say, a touch of euphoria. Or maybe that's just the relief you naturally feel, say, after overcoming a bout of constipation.

In my short time as a trainee teacher, I've also had a couple of insights about the habits of my own schoolteachers. The obsessive break-time cigarette-smoking and coffee-drinking, for example. Theo and I aren't doing the former at all and my consumption of coffee is so far under control (one con-leche and one contado per day - I could stop any time, honest...) but our fellow trainees are puffing away like the regular Strawberry Line service and I'm sure some of them are mainlining caffeine in the bogs. One thing you don't appreciate when you're a pupil or student is how damn terrifying you and your peers can be to the less experienced pedagog. By the time the teachers are too experienced to feel the fear, their addictions are too far gone to even attempt giving them up. Thus, the delightful ash-tray and coffee-breath cocktail of halitosis that let's you know they're reading your answers over your shoulder, even without looking.

Over-flowing bag syndrome is something I've often wondered about, too. Actually, it would be an exaggeration to say often, but since my initiation into the realm of the schoolroom, I've been frequently reminded of the seemingly endless books, papers and pens carted around by my former teachers, even as my own bulging backpack tips out all over the classroom floor.

So, three more weeks to go and major cock-ups notwithstanding, Theo and I will both be certified. It's a heady prospect.