"I wouldn't say I enjoyed it..." Reflections on first weeks in the classroom

God only knows if I've made a decent career move. I keep thinking about that email from a literary agent. Should I have at least sent them my CV? But the deed is done now and I have started my classroom experience. I am placed in what is referred to as a 'challenging school.' It's actually a well organised academy with lofty ambitions for its pupils, who come from diverse and often difficult backgrounds. I can see how teachers get ground down by the constant abuse and behaviour management, but I keep reminding myself that a badly behaved kid almost always comes in tow with pretty inadequate parents. It's funny, interesting and sad in equal parts. And it's certainly a fertile enironment for fuelling the imagination. Here are just a few things with have stood out so far:

On day one a year 10 threw a paper aeroplane at me. Obviously it undermined my authority, but I do admire the vintage charm in his weapon of choice.

The students aren't the only ones with issues; the number of teachers giving out inappropriate or just plain wrong information is baffling. One teacher in particular regularly provides incorrect meanings of words but I don't feel well placed to correct her (yet).

There is also a regular perpetuation of gender stereotypes such as "Stop talking. You're supposed to be reading and as you're a boy you can't multi-task and do both at once." Had I been a student in that class I would have pounced on that statement and insisted on multi-tasking with my mates for the rest of the lesson. I am a girl, after all.

A teacher also described The Sun as "not a newspaper. It just has sport and photos of women who have no self respect." This was not followed up with any explanation or class discussion. No wonder I hear boys in corridors regularly referring to women as slags, or assuming that IQ level and skirt length are inversely proportional.

School children stink. And I don't mean their attitudes (though, in some cases that is also the case). I mean they reek of adolescence. The heady mix of Lynx and body odour infiltrates every corner of the building.

There is a tiny year eight pupil, a little boy, who can't weigh more than a few stone. He is constantly exhausted and spends most of the lesson with his head on the desk. I mentioned this to his form tutor, who said not only do his parents not put him to bed at a reasonable time but they often forget to feed him dinner. No wonder he can't concentrate when he hasn't eaten for days and is in need of a nap. Made me feel very sad.

If you read a lot growing up your ability to communicate, both written and verbally, increases massively. A textbook asked students to select a newspaper article from home about refugees and one girl wrote just the words "We don't have No Newspapers" in big letters in her exercise book. Says it all, really.

Kids are very adaptable. There is a large number of students at the school with English as a second language. One recent Eritrean refugee is really struggling with his lessons and he knows very little English. However another little boy, with perfect English and a reading age well above his peers told me that when he moved to England from West Africa at the age of seven it took him a whole three months before he could speak English fluently. I was learning French for two years before I could string a sentence together! Sometimes the only giveaways that a pupil has only been speaking English for a few years is that they absentmindedly turn the pages of a book in the wrong direction or write their titles on the right hand side of the page instead of the left.

Kids also like to Do the Right Thing. They have a very strong moral compass when tested, and fights in the corridor often highlight this. They are also proud when they achieve, no matter how uncool they think it is. It is often easier to pretend you don't care and to fail than to admit you do and still fail.

After observing the behavioural problems in the lower school I was entertaining fantasies about how great it would be to teach A-level groups. I imagined we would all sit in a circle, their faces glowing with pleasure at being able to spend two hours discussing books and theories and sharing their ideas. After all, sixth formers are there voluntarily because they want to learn and because they love the subject. I could not have been more wrong. The group consisted of fourteen students who acted more like they were being asked to do hard labour than read an Arthur Miller play. "Sir, it's so boooring" "this is a well shit book" "what's even the point of reading?" and so on. I spent the whole lesson with them pretending I didn't hear their silly chatter that was designed to shock me. However I feel they might be about to get their comeuppance. Today their teacher confiscated a letter that went something like this:

"I like to snort cornflakes in my nose so they come out of my bum. I like to rub jam into my japs eye. I have got a lego brick shoved up my bum. I put my dick in my sister's mouth and shag my mum."

And so on and so forth. I am sorry to say that the grammar has been added in by me (as if these students would know how to use a possessive apostraphe). However I am pleased to say that the punishment will be a photocopy of this letter sent home to the parents of every student involved. It's about time they knew what their little darlings are up to whilst they were supposed to be learning about Freudian readings of Arthur Miller. Well, maybe they can try a Freudian reading of their own work...

I'm not really sure how to follow that little gem. More updates from the frontline next week!