And so the day of my first residential trip arrived, with 40 over-excited students boarding the coach. The few remaining parents wept as they said goodbye for the weekend and left their beloved child in my anxious hands for three days.
Slowly, we crawled around the M25 towards the Channel Tunnel. I had a sports carrier full solely of paperwork – risk assessments, dietary forms, vouchers, contact numbers, maps, tour operator details – it’s safe to say I was over-prepared, but in hindsight I am incredibly glad I was.
As one of my many registers worked its way around the coach and the students wrote their mobile numbers down (the wonders of technology to allow us to communicate with them that easily), even completing their allocated number count accurately first time (to save me reading names at each head count), I was beginning to praise myself for my organisation.
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