House pride. Or lack thereof.

Sure as I am that I've mentioned this before, I absolutely despise the notion of packing up one's belongings, only for them to have to be unpacked a mere couple of hours later at their destination.

Except my most recent case of gathering together my worldly possessions and relocating them involved many hours packing boxes, transporting them a mere 6 miles, and stacking them in an organised pile against a wall ready to be unpacked. Unpacking should be complete in around 6 months, if my record is anything to go by.


In case you aren't aware, I spent my first term at university living out of my suitcase, utterly convinced that the dons were soon to realise their mistake at offering me a place and send me packing. Naturally, I wanted to be in a position to just get the hell out of there as soon as that happened. Luckily for me (in more ways than one) that didn't happen and I did indeed unpack fully at the beginning of each term after that. Unsurprisingly, it took a while to master getting it all done in one fell swoop. 2nd term of first year, I was unpacked by around 5th week. Summer term, managed to do it before my first lecture.

Alas, you get the picture. I'm rubbish at packing and unpacking above a speed of one box per day. And as is the norm, blog posts, facebook and unnecessarily long emails take precedence over emptying that box that I keep stepping over en route to the kettle.

The thrill of the ride?

There are many things that we like. And many more things that we don't like. The pinnacle of discontent is in those tasks that we don't like but have to do anyway.

I am a great believer in gaining from our actions - be it on a personal, social or professional level. I just don't see the point if there is no gain involved. Now don't take this to mean that I want a certain level of personal satisfaction in everything I do. What I want is a certain level of satisfaction in everything I do, as long as it's satisfying somebody. It's when this isn't happening that I start questioning my motives for being where I am and doing what I'm doing.

Trouble is, the amount of dissatisfaction I seem to be facing on a minute-by-minute basis is surpassed by the satisfaction I get and see at the end of each lesson I teach. I have that side of things nailed, everyone is happy with what I'm doing and all I should be concerned with is jobhunting. Jobhunting should be the most stressful part of what I am doing and of what I will do in the very near future.

But instead I have to concern myself with educational research, critiques of teaching strategies and analyses of pupil performance in relation to those strategies. It is only this latter element that truly interests me, because it affects how I move on in the ensuing lessons. Research and critiques? Who gives a flying **** whether somebody thinks it's a good idea while someone else thinks it's bad? Who on earth can say they are genuinely concerned that there is little research and even less literature on their preferred teaching style? My view on things: if it works, great. If not, change it. Simple as that.

Ask any teacher (or any teacher I know at least) and they will tell you the same thing. The looks of complete amazement I've had off teachers who ask what is required of us lowly student teachers these days is something I should have photographed. And between us, we have come down to one mere conclusion: those deciding what student teachers should be doing are too out of touch with the demands of the education system to realise that living three lives in one is too much even for the most organised of people.

I wonder if society is liking the idea that people are turning to anti-depressants and suchlike in order to get where they want to go. Surely nothing should be made so difficult that it impinges on our health in such a way that we consider giving up just to save our souls? It would seem that those running the course are not concerned by it: "I would suggest counselling and a visit to the doctor who might be able to prescribe something to help you out so that you can put things in perspective." That is the latest advice I've been given from those above and beyond myself when I suggested that I may give up in order to save my soul.

Powerful advice. And something I am certainly taking on board. End result: unemployed, anti-depressant addicted oblivion. Who wants to employ a depressed teacher?

Progression Leads to Regression

I think we can safely say that I'm well stuck in to the new chapter in my life. It's tough yet rewarding at the same time; interesting yet frustrating. How well I'm coping with returning to studentdom remains to be determined... some days I'm full of the joys of spring, others I want to be in a dead-end office job just because it brings in the wages at the end of each month. So currently, in-between looking through my window at planes flying precariously low on their final descent en route to the nearest airport, I'm bemoaning this new chapter.

In case I haven't explicitly mentioned, this new chapter is a PGCE (or teacher training, for you international readers). Now while the thought of teaching and igniting the sparks of motivation in the next generation ignites my motivation, I'm not so keen on the academic side associated with my course. Not because I don't understand it (unlike my undergraduate degree), but because I'm limited in words. For the first time since I was at school (really...) I'm reading and writing about stuff that invokes a reaction in me: a passionate reaction. The literature I read at uni caused a reaction, don't get me wrong, and it's definitely having a bearing on my reaction to the new stuff I'm reading now. In fact, I'm even able to link part of my undergrad course to my teacher training assignments.

As an aside, my course carries Masters credits, which basically means that if I get a mark of 50 or above in each assignment, I get 15 Masters credits per assignment that can be transferred onto a Masters course in education or specialist teaching. At the moment, I have no desire whatsoever to do a Masters in the near future, but I know I need to push myself to get that mark of 50 in each paper, just in case I change my mind. I am very prone to doing that. It's having this thought at the back of my mind that's causing me to struggle, I think, with getting back into the habit of writing critical essays.

Having spent all day today trying to write the introduction to my first assignment, I realised that I've already used up around 20% of my word count - and that's just in one side of A4, single spaced. I dread to think what my pre-editting total is going to end up being. The course handbook specifies:

Student teachers sometimes submit assignments that are far longer than required, in the mistaken belief that a longer assignment is a better assignment. In order to encourage student teachers to focus on the quality of their writing rather than on the length, the following penalties are applied.

Now whilst I agree with this in principle, when you look at the assessment criteria and the list of objectives for the assignment, the first thing you think is "how the hell will I write all that in so few words?!?" And seriously, I have no idea how I'm going to edit it down - 20% is taken up in my introduction...

I just had the brainwave of analogising something in the assignment, but quickly dismissed it because of the word count problem. And I've already forgotten what the analogy was. If it comes back to me I promise to write it down.

Then I'll bore you with the details.

Some you win, some you lose... At the end of the day it means next to nothing

This week I returned to my new abode "up North" having had rather limited success with the estate agent about the cleanliness of my flat. Luckily, I can happily update you, my faithful readers, that just one of my complaints was attended to. I had numerous conversations with the office last week as a result of a letter of complaint - that was simultaneously a disclaimer for any damage they might try stinging me for at the end of my contract -, where I was told that the maintenance manager had inspected my flat and that it was clean and up to standard - my objective opinion is that he doesn't do much cleaning; my subjective opinion is that he didn't go there at all. So as it was so clean, how come I ruined three cloths cleaning the kitchen alone on Wednesday morning? Note that just cleaning the outside of the fridge (I couldn't bring myself to do the inside just yet) took one of those three...

Needless to say, the place is looking rather homely and relatively clean (although I'd like to give it the once over again when I move in permanently in the middle of next week) in comparison to what it was. Making me a lot more smiley than I was when I last posted, you'll be pleased to hear (read?).

So onto more pressing matters. Yesterday saw the first day of my PGCE course - the induction day. As induction days go, it was pretty painless. Menial introductions, reluctance to talk to one person for too long and forgetting names as quickly as they'd been introduced was pretty much the agenda for the day. As for the organisation, well it was pretty well managed I'd say. I've seen a lot worse and most of the problems were for the people who'd made late applications for the course. The only thing that affected almost everybody was that everyone had to print out their registration certificate they could get their student card and suchlike - which, of course, many hadn't as it didn't say at the time that we would need a print-out. So those who generally obsess about printing everything just in case, myself included, were OK and got through the process quickly enough with enough time left for a coffee before the next session.

Then the wonderful habitual repetition so commonly associated with inductions began. As you can imagine, it got rather tedious at times but as the staff and we all very well know, there'll be at least one person who still won't quite be up to speed after being told a gazillion times. I hope to God that person isn't me.