Slowly wipes sweat from brow....

My supervisor from uni came out for her second (and last! woohoo!) visit today. She decided she'd check out my feral Year 10s, last period. I didn't have high hopes for this particular class; they're on the cusp of a riot most days.

But I could have kissed every last one of them as they waltzed out the door. Except, oddly enough, the two who intermittently blew me kisses during the lesson. I came into the class, got the little blighters as settled as they were ever going to be, and introduced my supervisor.

"Is she your teacher, miss?"

"Is she here to mark you, miss?"

"Does she get to say whether you get to be a teacher or not, miss?"

"Everybody, be quiet. We have to be good so Miss hb gets to be a teacher!"

It didn't really make a skerrick of difference. They were still more or less revolting. But they'd intermittently remember their mission and for a few seconds peace would reign.

After the last bell I staggered over to my supervisor, who slowly put down her pen, rubbed her tired and bloodshot eyes and said, "I have no idea what I could possibly tell you to help you with this lot."

The little horrors had been not quite bad enough to make me look bad but just bad enough to make my efforts with them look valiant. May they all enjoy an untroubled sleep tonight.