…back in school

Governorship duties at a London secondary school sometimes mean you go in. Seeing what’s going on. I mean, I generally feel like the school don’t need my stamp of approval. But it’s good to go in. To see what goes on behind the scenes. The neverending admin and worry and reporting and stress and funding and planning. I mean, it’s a pretty big fucking deal. All the kids relying on what the school provides.

So I go in to observe the classes, taking care not to go anywhere near where my eldest is learning. It’s bad enough that I’m involved in the school. It would be severely credibility damaging to have me bowling around as well.

I’ve been to the school before, but not really when real lessons and teaching is going on. Like on formal “show” days, I’ve walked around with the kids. So it didn’t really feel like a school. When I’m walking round now it’s like I’m seeing it for the first time. I start seeing the differences. The anti-bullying toilets with the open plan hand washing areas so everyone can see what’s going on. The electronic whiteboards in every class with the teacher moving timers and videos around like it’s minority report, the general air of cleanliness. But as much as things change, the patterns of school and kids and behaviour run deep. There’s the kid acting like they don’t care though they know everyone’s looking. There’s the kid putting their hand up for every question the teacher asks. The rise of hubbub that threatens to get out of control. The teacher who doesn’t know the class she’s teaching very well and questions asked just to get a laugh from mates. There’s the smell of barely masked body odour fug. The cliques. The subtle tribal fashion that peeps through despite a strict uniform code. Badges on blazers. Band names on bags. It’s like seeing a reboot of a film you’ve seen a million times. The scenes and dialogue are familiar but the setting and characters are unsettlingly new.

And that was Tuesday.