You’re on a roll, your lessons are purring along, pupils on message and task, aims and objectives well met, outcomes conspicuously measurable. All boxes ticked. This Mr Grim routine – never smile ‘til at least Easter – is paying off. Even your low stream 8th year has been quelled. Even Dave and Decibelle Mania are dormant.
Ah, but something is waiting out there, something lurks in the inner city air.
This is their season. They flourish about now. Before them, all pedagogy is as nought, all teachers impotent. What can it be? Ofsted on an early recce? A fire drill? Dave Mania, when the Ritalin wears off? Bats?
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