It is now Monday, and my interview is on Thursday. I've been frantically reading The Guardian in an attempt to reacquaint myself with the left wing side of me that has been tucked away in the box room since I married into a family that is blue to the core, and getting 'nervouser and nervouser', although I know that should I use that phrase in my written English test I will probably be sent straight home without even being allowed to finish my coffee.
I have confirmed my stance on the following topics:
1) The Cane, and its use in the classroom: probably a good idea, if only for the sanity of the teachers.
2) Sacking bad teachers quickly: brilliant, as long as it's not me.
3) Searching pupils for drugs, weapons, phones and other contraband items: well, teachers have to supplement their incomes somehow, and ebay is marvellously easy these days.
I jest, of course. Apart from number 2.
So this week is going to be a bit of a labour of love. I will make the journey from Topcliffe on Wednesday, and drive the 300 or so miles to Hastings with Jocelyn in the back and braving the Dartford Crossing in my very stylish but underpowered BMW before entrusting the care of my daughter to Grandpa on Thursday morning, (what could go wrong? He's qualified in the care of children after all) before Granny rescues him after lunch. The day itself involves a group interview, where I am reliably informed by my older and infinitely more knowledgeable sister and brother-in-law that they are looking for someone who is well balanced, fair and open-minded. Sounds good so far. I also have a written English test, which involves me actually writing in English. Gasp. No computer with handy spell check. So much for teaching moving lightning fast into the 21st Century. And then there will be the one-on-one interview, 30 minutes of interrogation about why in the world I have chosen Chemistry as my PGCE subject and not Biology, which is my first love as those who know me well can testify. I have several reasons, outlined as follows...
1) I may well be able to get a bursary of up to £20,000 to re-train for a year.
2) I'll get a jolly big 'Golden Hello'.
3) There is a shortage of decent Chemistry teachers, so the chances are good that I'll get into a decent school.
4) Good chemists get to design really great things, like cars and bombs and rocket fuel, and exciting ways to brew alcohol from garden vegetables.
And as for the reasons that I can actually voice out loud in front of the interview panel:
5) Chemistry is a really cool subject (yes, now please stop choking on your coffee) because the practicals are visual and easy to relate to modern industry.
6) Whatever you say, titrating potassium permangonate is pretty.
7) Bunsen burners add a little danger, and everyone knows that danger is exciting.
8) You get to explode sodium in buckets of water.
9) I'd like to try to break the steroetype that all Chemistry teachers are boring old men with bad breath, grey shoes, comb-overs and BO. Clever women are role models, ladies and gents!
10) I joined the Army for a while. Surely teaching can't be as bad as that.
Ok, perhaps the last reason needs a little work, but it is true that there is a push to recruit new teachers from the Armed Forces.
I read recently an article in The Guardian about the use of humour in the classroom. "Don't smile until Easter" I was told. I don't know about you, but when I was a teenager, the odd joke now and again made the lessons more interesting and made the teacher more real. I'll let you know how I get on with that when I've had to see the funny side of some serious bunsen burner related scarring and / or the after effects of pupils drinking stolen ethanol.
I think it will be fun, mostly. In my last two jobs I have been pushed into training roles and have been expected to become a subject matter expert with the minimum of knowledge ('winging it', in common parlance), and it has been brilliant. I think the classroom is a pretty natural place for me; after all, who doesn't like to be cleverer than everybody else in the room? Now if it weren't for those pesky kids...
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