I found myself standing on a chair: ‘‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
I boomed at the top of my voice.
My year 10s looked at me with a mixture of the sort of distain they would reserve for a parent who has decided to hit the dance floor at a wedding and bewildered awe at the nerve of me getting up on the chair.
I had leapt up after putting down my collection of Shelley’s poetry in mock disgust as one of my students informed me that literature was “pointless”.
I was having a great time as I took on Shelley’s Ozymandias with my “sneer of cold command” and year 10 seemed to actually start to get the poem.
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