Archive for October, 2007

How secure is your sexuality?

Can you “Do si do”? I can. And it got me thinking. It was during the additional PE instruction I’d chosen to take in dance – yes, chosen, I even had to pay for it. We were choreographing our square dance, we’d just come out of a promenade, round the back, and were mid do si do, and it struck me. Here I am in a class of 30 women, me and one other guy (who clearly had no doubts about his sexuality), and I’m enjoying choreographing square dance. Could it be that I’d come out to bat for the other side without even realizing it?

See, the thing is, it’s not the only sign. I drink white wine. In pubs. Not all the time, I’m quite partial to a pint of Guiness (or sometimes a half – doh!), but quite often I will go into a pub and have a small glass of white wine. That’s not screaming typical male heterosexual behavior to me (though screaming may be an unfortunate choice of words).

And the whole teaching in primary school thing. I’ve been in reasonably sized schools and not seen any male members of staff at all. In our lectures, when they give advice on writing assignments, they actually have to tell the students not to refer to teachers as “she” or “her”.

Of course, I’m not knocking it. In a house where I have three daughters and me other half (maybe she would have a view on the subject), it could be quite convenient if I started wearing flowing skirts and mascara (what, exactly, is mascara?). In a few years it should give me something to talk to them about.

And, on the subject of pubs, I could even start going to the loo with the girls. I really am curious what it is that women talk about that requires the presence of urine.

Of course, there are a few contrary indicators. I play football. And I mean proper get kicked until it hurts football, open wounds kind of football. Not “I can’t chest the ball ‘cos my blue and white top will get muddy” football.

And, when I can, I ride my very fast motorbike very fast. And wrap myself in leathers to do so. That’s actually pretty hypocritical of me, I’m a vegetarian and don’t believe we should kill animals for clothes, but I’ve fallen off a bike going pretty fast more than once, and have been very glad to have a bit of dead cow between me and the tarmac. In fact, given the choice, I’d probably have a whole dead cow between me and the tarmac, but I can’t see that doing much for the power to weight ratio.

There is probably only one way to settle this. Given that it is public policy to encourage men to become teachers, I assume that it is deemed beneficial to the education of our children to have more male primary school teachers knocking about the place. However, this can quite clearly lead to some confusion on the question of sexual identity on the part of prospective male teachers. So, if your young, and female (OK, I know that isn’t strictly logically necessary, but don’t lets muddy the waters) and serious about education, and you see a slightly confused male student primary school teacher wandering around, you know what you have to do. Your country needs you.

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Plague

Autumn, season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. And assignments. Art assignments, RE assignments, Maths assignments, MA and PE assignments. I’m not sure if there is a collective noun for assignments, but I would propose a plague, a plague of assignments. If Pharaoh had been confronted with that straight up, there would have been no need for the messy water into blood thing (ugh), or, indeed, the plague of locusts (why is that the last of them? If it were me, I’d have been a lot more freaked out by the water into blood).

Generally feeling pretty positive about the course at the moment. Every potential teacher has to do three standardized on-line tests – Maths, IT and English. I’ve managed to successfully negotiate the first two of these. The IT one is trivial, and is really just testing your ability to attend the test centre at the allocated time.

The Maths one is a different kettle of fish, I know people who have failed this. On-line practice tests are provided, the main purpose of these appears to be to turn anyone who was nervous about this test into a total wreck. As with everyone else, I crashed and burned big time on the practice, but fortunately I still managed to struggle through on the actual thing.  Possibly the best part of passing is that I can go around telling everyone how much tougher the real test is compared to the practice (small things, small minds…)

I had booked my English test (although they are on-line, you still need to do them in an approved test centre and book a test slot in advance). Unfortunately I got the wrong day so missed it. If it works on the same basis as the IT test then I failed. Fortunately, you are allowed to retake them.

Those assignments. I assume that they are timed to coincide with half term, so that rather than being in lectures we can spend all day in the library. Couple of problems with this. Firstly, children (I’ve a feeling I’ll be saying that a lot if I ever make it to being a teacher). In half term, if you’ve got children, rather then parking them at school all day, they are at home and tend to want you to entertain them. And they’ve got a pretty compulsive line in argument – they can scream.

Secondly, plague. This little corner of London has been inflicted with it big time, and the last thing that I feel like doing is trawling through academic journals on students and teachers attitudes to Maths. And even if I did feel like it, its not safe for me at present to be more then 7 feet away from a vacant loo.
Q. ‘O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
A. The trots

Most of the Irish students have flown home for the week, I don’t know if they will have got a bulk discount. Irrespective, I’m sure that the last thing they will be talking about is the assignments. “Gathering swallows twitter in the skies” – isn’t it nice to be able to quote Keats. Clearly, I know nothing about Keats, or poetry, or anything at all really, but the internet can make a sensitive soul of any of us.

http://www.bartleby.com/101/627.html
http://www.bartleby.com/101/633.html

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OK, so I was wrong about the rugby

To mark this highly improbable occurrence (and possible proof of a Divine Being), and to show that I really am not just a grumpy old git (I’ll perhaps accept any of these adjectives individually, but strung together like that it just seems a bit much), I’ve decided to make this entry entirely positive, though perhaps I’m not off to the best start.

We’ve had a few PE lessons now. As well as being drop dead gorgeous (that’s what my mum says, are you calling her a liar?), I’m also quite athletic. On a good week I’ll play a game of footy with similarly arthritic old men, run for an hour or so a couple of times, and do half an hour in the pool. So PE was not something that I was particularly worried about. Except, as far as I can tell, it’s got very little to do with being physically fit, but about co-ordination and control of your body. Nothing wrong with that, but the subjects are things like gymnastics and dance. For a guy with the turning circle of a super-tanker, this is looking a bit more problematic.

Anyway, first lesson we learnt about how to jump and land. I can feel you’re cynicism. I live your cynicism. I mean, how hard can it be? If everyone had to have lessons before they could jump or land, you’d need to be issued with government standard shackles when they reach their first birthday. And if somehow you were taught the jumping before the landing bit, then, Houston, we have a problem. But actually, we’d both be wrong. There is a good way to jump (use arms to gain elevation), and a good way to land (on the ball of the foot).

Our homework for PE last week (strangely, we appear to have more homework for PE than anything else. I applaud that we are being pushed to be good PE teachers, but you’d think that other things would be up there with it, like, for instance, teaching them to read) was to come up with a warm-up on the subject of being still. Yes, I know, I’m with you, but there it is, and it’s actually not so stupid. I’ve thought of a few, but the one I’ve settled on is to teach children a bit of fencing. Not the brown wooden stuff at the end of the garden (though that’s an idea for Design and Technology), but the thing with Foils (absolutely, definitely, not swords).

Or, actually, the thing with make-believe foils, obviously we’re not going to give the little angels any of those. Even here I fear I’m entering dangerous territory. At risk of sexual stereo-typing, boys do seem to find ways of beating each other to within an inch of their lives, without their teacher putting the idea of swords into their minds (doh! I mean Foils), and actually showing them what to do if you had one. But, hey, it’s an Olympic sport, something we’ve historically done OK in, so I’m going for it anyway.

I intend to teach the “en guard” position, how to move forward, how to move back, how to thrust, and most importantly of all, how to be still in between all of these. I don’t know if you’ve actually tried it, but its very good fun, I commend it to you.

So, there we have it, 6 weeks into the course, and I have an idea for the introduction to one PE lesson for older primary school children.

Maybe the rest of the course is going to be a little more intensive than I had thought.

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Strange things happen

I got the results of my grammar test back, and I passed. Strange things do happen. I’m not sure if that is our only test, but I think that means that I’m now qualified to instruct the youth of this nation in the mysteries of English grammar. I suspect I’m not the only one fearing for the future at this point.

The pass mark was 75%. I actually got quite a lot more than this, but looking at the results of the paper, I’ve no idea why the ones I got wrong were wrong. Call me old fashioned but wouldn’t you want your prospective teachers to get pretty much 100% on this, give or take the odd slip up? I mean, if you’re learning to drive, you kinda want you’re driving instructor to get the brake pedal right more than three quarters of the time. Though, judging by some of the driving around our neck of the woods lately, I think there are a few people out there who have forgotten which is the brake pedal altogether.

We had out first MA seminar this week. It’s an “optional” part of the course that everyone has been enrolled on. But we’re not doing an MA, we’re doing a PGCE (M), which means you’re doing a PGCE with a little bit of MA tacked on the side. You don’t end up with an MA at the end of it. Confused? So am I, and everyone else on the course, and, I suspect, potential employers. Possible interview progresses thus –

            “So, it looks like you failed to get your MA then?”
            “No, I completed the course successfully”
            “So you have got an MA?”
            “Er, no, it wasn’t an MA course”
            “But the M bit in the PGCE(M) is for MA?”
            “Yes, you do MA work but don’t get an MA”
            “So if you didn’t do the MA work you’d fail the course?”
            “No, you’d still qualify as a teacher”
            “OK, so you did this why exactly?”
            “Umm….”
            “Thanks, we’ll let you know”

Thing is, not only do I not know really why we’re doing it, but I’m also not sure what it really entails. Our homework for this week is to write a journal detailing key moments in your life to date, and to draw out some underlying personality traits from this. This bothers me on a couple of fronts. Firstly, I’m twice as old as most people on the course, so that’s twice as much work for me. For most of those guys, the most traumatic event they’ve encountered is failing to get tickets to the Blue gig.

Some of them even appear to go into shock when they find out how old I am. I was in the student union bar the other day (yes, I have been, once). It was late and people had been seeking to take maximum advantage of the alcohol subsidy, and the person I was talking to, as much as any. In fact she didn’t look too steady on her feet. But I don’t think it was a coincidence that she dropped her glass at exactly the point I told her I am in my 40’s.

The other thing about the homework is a deep, profound, existential “why”? Maybe I was in the City too long, but one lesson I learnt there is that sometimes the best thing you can do is – do what is required and do it very well, even if it is patently and profoundly stupid. Maybe we should re-write the folk story, this time the emperor would be lauded for his new suit, rather than being ridiculed for it. So I will do my timeline, I will do it very well, and hopefully pass.

And if you see businessmen in the City wandering around apparently naked, you will be mistaken. It’s my new line in suits, coming soon to an M&S near you.

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