Today has not been good.
It started badly and got steadily worse until it climaxed in one of the worst meetings I have attended. And then, just to finish me off a final piquant touch of depression. It wasn’t a good day.
A message from our headteacher in exile (luxuriating at home nursing her broken bones) was written on our staff white board notice board. It informed us that she had problems with her email, but she was much better and if anyone wanted to contact her then the telephone number etc etc.
Within minutes this notice had disappeared by order of The Owner who decreed that she and her sidekick were to be the only messengers to our staff room. Furthermore it was decreed that were we to contact the headteacher then no talk of school should be part of our conversation as she was officially ill!
It’s pathetic really, the absurd assumption that any of us would take the slightest notice of a ridiculous prohibition on our private life. It is further proof (if any were needed) of the paranoia which characterises the administration of our school.
I had barely tempered my disgust at this blatant piece of professional discourtesy when we were plunged into an unexpected rehearsal for the forthcoming summer concert. A rehearsal schedule had been produced but not circulated to the people who were supposed to use it. No comment.
Tomorrow is, unexpectedly, an Open Morning for parents and Wednesday is a Readathon Day – these two events are linked by the lack of preparation which is a little disconcerting when you are in the front line! The kids and parents have little to no idea of what is concerned in the latter and we have two days in which to make it work.
In such a day of untrammelled delight it was, of course, impossible that my maths class would not have an opportunity to add their inimitable quota of delight to my Day of Dolour. And they did.
The meeting after school was preceded by a presentation to a teacher in Primary who is getting married on Thursday. The Unit Manager for Primary being absent someone else had to do the honours for the presentation. As I had collected the money; bought the present; set out the nibbles and the Cava and persuaded Margaret to make the astonishingly impressive card. I spoke.
I wasted a few minutes in trying to work out just how long it was that I had done this little duty last. I suppose it was a ridiculous fancy that I could go for the major part of a year in a school without making some sort of speech!
The Cava consumed and the chocolate biscuits ravaged we Princes of Primary advanced, refreshed, to our meeting.
To say that it was a disaster is to underestimate the awfulness of complete frustration in the face of educational idiocy. The Chair of the meeting was little more than a glorified messenger and knew virtually nothing of the detail of the things that she was supposed to be relating.
The feeling of the meeting steadily worsened with each new admission of ignorance. The meeting broke up late and in bad humour, with little of moment having been decided.
But there was more!
Three of us were asked to stay behind to discover that our lesson observation and assessment was null and void because the person who observed us was not the person The Owner had asked to evaluate us. Now the person who had observed my lesson had done as professional a job as one could hope for – a welcome exercise in normality and professional competence. To be told that the new Unit Manager of primary (yet to arrive) would repeat the exercise was not, as it were, satisfactory.
The strength of feeling soured what had been a fairly rancid meeting experience.
Alone in my class later sitting thinking about what had happened so far in the evening I was approached by two cleaners who tentatively handed me a letter that we had all had put in our pigeon holes informing us that our pay had not been paid into the bank because of some unexplained electronic malfunction.
The fact that this delay of the May pay was greeted with a total lack of surprise by the hardened teachers says much for the way our school is administered.
I must admit that I found a certain fluency in Spanish in explaining by total disgust at the behaviour of the administration and I screwed up the offending letter and threw it across the class room. This was greeted with quiet contentment by the cleaners who informed me that this happened each year.
One begins to despair!
It started badly and got steadily worse until it climaxed in one of the worst meetings I have attended. And then, just to finish me off a final piquant touch of depression. It wasn’t a good day.
A message from our headteacher in exile (luxuriating at home nursing her broken bones) was written on our staff white board notice board. It informed us that she had problems with her email, but she was much better and if anyone wanted to contact her then the telephone number etc etc.
Within minutes this notice had disappeared by order of The Owner who decreed that she and her sidekick were to be the only messengers to our staff room. Furthermore it was decreed that were we to contact the headteacher then no talk of school should be part of our conversation as she was officially ill!
It’s pathetic really, the absurd assumption that any of us would take the slightest notice of a ridiculous prohibition on our private life. It is further proof (if any were needed) of the paranoia which characterises the administration of our school.
I had barely tempered my disgust at this blatant piece of professional discourtesy when we were plunged into an unexpected rehearsal for the forthcoming summer concert. A rehearsal schedule had been produced but not circulated to the people who were supposed to use it. No comment.
Tomorrow is, unexpectedly, an Open Morning for parents and Wednesday is a Readathon Day – these two events are linked by the lack of preparation which is a little disconcerting when you are in the front line! The kids and parents have little to no idea of what is concerned in the latter and we have two days in which to make it work.
In such a day of untrammelled delight it was, of course, impossible that my maths class would not have an opportunity to add their inimitable quota of delight to my Day of Dolour. And they did.
The meeting after school was preceded by a presentation to a teacher in Primary who is getting married on Thursday. The Unit Manager for Primary being absent someone else had to do the honours for the presentation. As I had collected the money; bought the present; set out the nibbles and the Cava and persuaded Margaret to make the astonishingly impressive card. I spoke.
I wasted a few minutes in trying to work out just how long it was that I had done this little duty last. I suppose it was a ridiculous fancy that I could go for the major part of a year in a school without making some sort of speech!
The Cava consumed and the chocolate biscuits ravaged we Princes of Primary advanced, refreshed, to our meeting.
To say that it was a disaster is to underestimate the awfulness of complete frustration in the face of educational idiocy. The Chair of the meeting was little more than a glorified messenger and knew virtually nothing of the detail of the things that she was supposed to be relating.
The feeling of the meeting steadily worsened with each new admission of ignorance. The meeting broke up late and in bad humour, with little of moment having been decided.
But there was more!
Three of us were asked to stay behind to discover that our lesson observation and assessment was null and void because the person who observed us was not the person The Owner had asked to evaluate us. Now the person who had observed my lesson had done as professional a job as one could hope for – a welcome exercise in normality and professional competence. To be told that the new Unit Manager of primary (yet to arrive) would repeat the exercise was not, as it were, satisfactory.
The strength of feeling soured what had been a fairly rancid meeting experience.
Alone in my class later sitting thinking about what had happened so far in the evening I was approached by two cleaners who tentatively handed me a letter that we had all had put in our pigeon holes informing us that our pay had not been paid into the bank because of some unexplained electronic malfunction.
The fact that this delay of the May pay was greeted with a total lack of surprise by the hardened teachers says much for the way our school is administered.
I must admit that I found a certain fluency in Spanish in explaining by total disgust at the behaviour of the administration and I screwed up the offending letter and threw it across the class room. This was greeted with quiet contentment by the cleaners who informed me that this happened each year.
One begins to despair!
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