Spreading the goodness.
How much better off we’d be if the schools didn’t interfere in our business. The latest cow turd to coming thudding onto our plates is the news that we’re going to be giving classes to next term’s new intake. They’re not the new intake for our programme, because they’re the kids who passed the exam to get into the school. In other words, we’re a freebie being paid for by the parents of our usual kids, although this factoid is conveniently overlooked.
And they’re going to be one of the infamous “speaking” classes. I wonder if Hollywood might come to my rescue. On the other hand, my past encounters with Junior Middle School pupils has merely revealed a group of tiresome, anally retentive zealots who need to unclench. I can speak with small groups and achieve something, but I can’t do anything with 50 to 60 pupils. That’s a lecture waiting to happen.
I’m not even certain what a speaking class is meant to be. During my time here, it’s been a full-sized class which seems to be during some free period when the form teacher is in the office probably having a sleep or perhaps marking interminable piles of homework.
Instead of having a period when the class can do their homework, sleep, gossip (or all three), they get us. I’ve had a few pupils who have been quite inimical to participating, and since I’m only about 1/60th the quantity of the class, I’ve eventually let Hollywood take the strain. The kids love me for it anyway. It’s a break from the relentless grind, especially when the alternative is to do something they (and I) would rather not.