Sunday 31 October 2010

A Close Shave

Sorry I haven’t posted for a while but it’s been half-term and I like to use the school holidays to gather material for my sex blog (link removed).

Had a bit of a run-in with the Head just before we broke up.

I was striding purposefully across the playground with some exercise books and an air of authority when our illustrious leader (she has a 2:1 from somewhere In The North) started banging on the window of her office in an agitated manner. She appeared to be beckoning me inside. Within moments we were sat either side of her broad oak veneer desk, admiring her new yucca plant and politely discussing our holiday plans. Then she rather sheepishly explained that she might have to sack me for ‘getting into bed with the Tories and selling my sordid little story to the gutter press.’

Unbelievable.

Still, I remained calm and spoke in my defence. I reminded her how much I love these kids. I reminded her that I am over-qualified to teach in a state school and that most of my friends believe I ought to be earning a lot more money. Finally, I reminded her of all the good times we’d spent together.

She started to back-pedal (slimy, unprincipled Blairite that she is), claiming that it was not her idea to sack me, it was only that some of the governors had expressed their concern…

I gave her a look, and she shut up.

Minutes later, she admitted that she hadn’t been sleeping well lately because she was worried that some of the staff had been saying things about her new haircut. I rose slowly from the comfort-sprung leather chair and made my way round to her side of the desk. As I placed my hands firmly upon her shoulders, I felt her pulse quicken and I breathed deeply, inhaling a tangy aroma of sweat and supermarket own brand hairspray. Easing my thumbs into the tense knotted muscle beneath the flab at the base of her neck, I massaged her like her ex-husband never would. Amidst her soft moans, I too had begun to drift away, transported upon the wings of her euphoria, when suddenly we were both brought crashing down to earth by the excited squeals of a teenage mob in the corridor.

The door burst open and a gaggle of year 8’s and year 9’s flooded in chanting, ‘Miss G’s the G!’ (‘G’ signifies ‘Gangsta’ in the vernacular of the working class urban youth. It is a complimentary epithet.)

Their gawky spokesman stepped forth and explained to a rather bewildered and semi-aroused Head that she must not on any account sack me, Miss G, because I am the best teacher in the school and probably the world and all time. This all seemed a bit much, but he did go on to justify these rather wild assertions.

‘Firstly, she is the only one in this place who can keep order.’

A fair point.

‘Secondly, she obviously cares about us because she tells us she does all the time.’

Can’t argue with that.

‘Finally, she is the only teacher wise enough and brave enough to embrace Right-wing thinking and break free of the shackles of Marxist ideology that poisons the education system…’

The Head’s spluttering objections were soon drowned amongst the cheers of my young disciples as they raised me onto their shoulders and paraded me out across the car park to a specially constructed podium where a number of other students awaited me with their own personal stories of how I had affected their lives in ways that most teachers could not begin to imagine.

So in the end, a rather lovely start to the half-term break that got me right in the mood for some no-holds-barred, bare-knuckle ‘research’. Nine days later, I am exhausted but gagging for some serious teaching first thing in the morning.

Bring on les enfants!

Wednesday 20 October 2010

Beware Cheap Imitations


I do worry that someone out there with too much time on his or her hands may be blogging under an absurd variation of my own name! Readers, be wary. There may be those within the blogosphere who wish to do us harm – or worse, to do harm to our book’s sales figures! There are certainly plenty of Left-wing conspirators out there, as my fellow bloggers are so frequently reminding me.

Friday 15 October 2010

Who is Miss G?


On my sex and relationships blog (link removed), I once described myself as a black Bridget Jones for the noughties but this is a bit out of date now. Also, I’m not a fictional character. I’m the real thing, with a genuine feigned interest in politics. In fact, I’m perhaps more like the conspicuously absent fifth one from Sex and the City.
                                                                                                       
At Oxford, in the early 90s, I flirted briefly with Marxism and humility. But ever since my publisher suggested the Tory conference would be a great opportunity for some publicity, I have embraced right-wing thinking and it has liberated me.

Certain assumptions have been made about my personal life and circumstances, such as the speculation that I am unmarried and childless. (cf my sex blog – not linked here for obvious reasons, but get in touch and I’ll sort you out. It’s already been published as a book actually, under a clever pseudonym.) A number of well-wishing and not at all creepy old Tories have expressed surprise at my singleton status, and even articulated their concern that I really ought to breed for the good of mankind. Others have just commented gleefully upon the happy circumstances of my being quite a looker!

Here are just a few of the many recent comments on this matter:

The lady is going places. And it will be no drawback to her new media career that she is fairly easy on the eye too.

While we can now put a delightful face to ‘To Miss with Love’, her loss to the blogosphere is acute.    (Don’t worry – I’m back! Miss G x)

She has amazing hair eh?..;)    

Ooooo I do love an imposing woman of the slender persuasion!  

I have also exchanged emails in the past and if I had any clue that she was so gorgeous then I would have pretended to be a little more conservative. Dam!

Is it just me, or is it 'Side-show Bob'? 

I have not linked to the identity of my drooling fans in case they are shy or embarrassed but a quick search can reveal where they blog.

To those on the Left who suggest that such comments are patronising and sexist, I say only this: you’re just jealous because I’m in the news and sexually attractive (and, by the way, I’m an Oxford graduate as well - can’t remember if I mentioned that).

Thanks ever so, gentlemen!

Wednesday 13 October 2010

Return to the Blogosphere

I had to close down my previous blog because it is being published in old-fashioned and inestimably more highbrow printed form. There is nothing quite like the feeling of seeing one’s name upon the cover of a book. It is second only to the joy of receiving a standing ovation at the Tory conference or being invited to write for the Daily Mail.

Indeed, it has been over a week since Michael whispered his gentle praise into my ear as the hall still thronged with the awed gratitude of delegates who had been waiting impatiently for well over an hour for an inspirational and newsworthy speaker like me. Of course, it helps if you tell them exactly what they want to hear.

I sent a letter of apology to my colleagues at Ordinary Comprehensive where I have worked for several years. Some of them occasionally feature in my blog/book (though of course the kids are the stars). I am sure they will be mature enough to forgive me, or at least sufficiently preoccupied with their efforts to manage poor behaviour not to get too worked up. Unfortunately, weak-minded liberals do have a tendency to be rather oversensitive. 

Now, I was very careful before but I shall be even more careful from now on to preserve the identities of students, teachers and parents, and of course, myself. Where before I might have cleverly changed a teacher’s name from Mr Smith to Mr Long Haired Liberal Who Wears a Palestinian Scarf, I would now refer to him more cautiously as Mr Misguided, so that he could not be so easily identified by his peers. Naturally this is a great shame, for the hair and scarf reveal so much about his character; but I am prepared to make sacrifices.

In a way, one might say that I am replacing an occasionally rather literal Dickensian approach to the naming of characters with a more playful Nabokovian one. (Oh yes, I’m pretty well-read – I’ve been to Oxford, you know; more of that later.)

Therefore, I am Ms Bumbleybong or Bubblythong or Blobbyblobbysingalong, whichever you will; to those who matter I am just Miss G. Indeed, I tend to avoid speaking to adults face to face nowadays (unless the conversation is being filmed for television) because they are usually oversensitive and the opinions they express are rarely their own. My precious charges are far less suspicious. In fact, many relish the prospect of having their insignificant little lives given some meaning by the possibility of one day appearing in a book by an Oxford graduate, albeit in such modest roles as Exceptional Black Boy, Disillusioned Low Achieving Black Boy With Bad Role Models 4, Disruptive Autistic Floppy Haired Middle Class White Boy With Left Wing Parents 2, or Girl.

You know the really great thing? People assume that because I am pushy and outspoken and a bit cross, that my version of events must be the true and accurate one! It doesn’t occur to them that my account may have been sensationalized in order to secure a book deal. These are very happy circumstances!

PS – Of course, my version of events is the true and accurate one. Readers, I would never mislead you.

PPS – I have not changed Michael’s name for good reasons. Firstly, he is a brave Tory and does not need protecting. Secondly, he is in the cabinet and therefore gets mentioned in the media literally every day! Imagine! Just before the conference, I joked with him that with a name like his he was surely destined for Gove-ernment! He laughed and tried to do some of his own observational humour along similar lines, using my name – but he faltered and became awkward and embarrassed. I had to reassure him that it’s not racist to laugh at an unusual surname; it’s okay to call a spade a spade. He then became quite stern, insisting that he had certainly not called me a spade and that I ought to know better than to listen to hearsay. After the conference, we laughed again at this little misunderstanding!