Friday, 27 September 2013

I'm always happier to see the back of it.

September.  September and March.  I can't wait to see them come lurching to an end.  They both crawl interminably to a conclusion that delivers promise of more to come, reminding us bitterly how much they have kept us back.

March always dangles Spring in front of us, before ending our days with a spiteful hint of cold as if to say "No, no, no. Not yet. Only when I say so."  The lengthy depths of March span the time like a chasm, striding two banks of the seasonal tide.  Daffodils dare to show their face, scared of March's damning touch, only parading into greatness when April finally skips into view.  Lambs can barely ... no, wait, now I've just gone too far. A man like me does but one thing with lambs, and it involves garlic, rosemary and mint sauce.  I will conclude by saying March annoys me.  I'm just that kind of guy.  

September always crawls for me too.  I long for the school to get into some sort of pattern, some type of routine to kick start a new school year.  I am desperate for the established patterns of the year to become embedded and for our successes to start coming in like coins at the bottom of a one arm bandit.  (Yes, I was doing similes with a class recently.)

I've not felt that way this year, except for one thing.  More of this later.

I've not felt this way because of one important thing: the end of August.  When I first dared to venture into the school in the summer holidays after my various travels, I was anxious as to what I might find.  Schools in the midst of August can resemble building sites, war zones, meteor craters (too far? Again?) despondent of life form without more than six legs and a breeding ground for e coli.

Not this school.  Not this summer.

I walked in on that final Wednesday and was amazed.  I walked around and saw the same thing over and over again: colour.  I think I've already been ludicrously, almost embarrassingly prosaic during this blog, so I am not about to rummage through my bag of rainbow metaphors - you get the picture.  The entire school was awash with the results of teachers' and colleagues' efforts to preserve our school's status as a place of learning.  (I just mistyped and it came up palace of learning...or did I mistype?).

Once it was then filled with the most important thing in the world, it truly became the place we all know and love.  The uniform is mesmeric (a sentence never used before I believe - ever) and the work quite brilliant.  I took 72 books home last night to look at the quality, marking, range, you know the stuff, and I was humbled and very proud at how much our children and our school can produce.  And I haven't even started on our amazing new reception children.

So, no September blues for me this year.  In fact, I'll be sorry to see it go.  What we must do instead is ensure it has served as our foundation for what should be more success around the corner.

My only September blues this year have arisen from the fact that they offer us Strictly Come Dancing, then take it away for three weeks! Demagogues and dictators throughout the annals of history have as yet to devise a torture so cruel.  Once it's back on, I shall breathe easily again.

Whilst I slip into something a little more sequined, that is all.