I am disgusting. I have caught everything there is going. They say your immune system isn’t used to children and that you’ll get used to it. Eventually.

“Miss have you got a cold?”

“Yes.”

“We can tell because your nose has gone all red.”

I had to have two days off and it was pretty traumatic. I sat at home sneezing and shivering - knowing I couldn’t teach but quietly contemplating the work piling up on my desk. If there’s anything guaranteed to make you feel really ill it’s coming back to school and facing what you’ve missed. Not just the actual marking and planning, but the personal affront from your pupils. My year 11s were disgusted that I’d abandoned them for two whole lessons. The apathetic and frequently absent grabbed me in the corridor.

“Where was you Miss?” they cried, “Where was you where was you?”

“I was ill.”

“Yeah but, we had cover. It was long.”

Yeah but, I was sitting at home unable to enjoy daytime television because I wasn’t in to correct your grammar.

Meanwhile, even with a runny nose and blocked sinuses, you still have to face year 10. Year 10 who have this week attempted mutiny.

“No-one respects you Miss!” the ringleader jeered as he rallied for support. I could have cried. Whereas in another lesson they had a debate about sexism and prejudice that was so beautiful I could have cried again.

Currently I am in the process of untangling what I do differently in such lessons. What turns them from enthusiastic despite their colourful specific educational needs data, to Gifted and Talented at making me feel totally out of control. Consistency is the only way forward. This means relentless pursuit of detentions and hours on the phone to parents who can’t necessarily speak English.

“What you gonna do Miss? You’ll just set a detention and I won’t come. Then you’ll set a longer one, and I still won’t come.”

Well, I will set another one and another one and another one.

To offset my bad-cop behavioural strategies I try to have some good-cop personal relationships. It keeps me sane to remember I’m nice. Just the other day my favourite year 11 hard-boy high-fived me in the corridor: I felt something disturbingly close to cool.

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