Dean in my bottom set Year 9 class barges into my room and announces that I can get stuffed because he’s not doing French next year. The gist is that I have more chance of marrying Thierry Henry than getting him to do any more work ever again. Apparently this means that he is now allowed to sit with his feet on the desk reading Fit Birds in Bikinis (or something like that).

When I dare to suggest he stop, he informs me that I’m just jealous.

Clearly.

Tuesday

My Year 8 class celebrate having miraculously made it through another term with an authentic French breakfast; well, mini-croissants and the local supermarket’s value orange juice. Laurence wrinkles his nose and informs me that Mummy doesn’t let him have non-organic food and do I know how many additives there are in a croissant? Demi-Leigh is simply amazed that I made it all the way across the Channel and back by the end of break.

Wednesday

I tell the caretaker that there are now 27 holes in my classroom walls, one of which has rather dangerous looking wires poking through it. He tells me that Mr Singh has 32 holes in his classroom and that unless there are sparks coming from the wires it does not constitute an emergency. He takes to walking past me singing Burn Baby Burn. I get the impression he doesn’t care.

Thursday

Jake in Year 11 asks me how my week’s going. Touched at his uncharacteristic communication, I tell him it’s been a tad hectic. “Thought so Miss, you look really rough this morning.” So much for communication.

Apparently his mum relies on Estee Lauder: “It takes 10 years off, you know.” When I inform him that that would make me the same age as him he laughs so hard he bashes his head into the wall. Make that 28 holes.

Friday

Prising bits of chewed-up croissant out of the holes in the classroom walls with Dean’s exercise book, I realise that they are actually doing a pretty good job of sealing the cracks. Stuff them back in and resolve to pop back to the supermarket for a few more packets over the weekend. Wonder if they do an anti-wrinkle cream.

The writer, who wants to remain anonymous, teaches MFL in the North-east.If you have a diary you would like to share, write to TES Friday, Admiral House, 66-68 East Smithfield, London E1W 1BX or email friday@tes.co.uk. We pay for every article we publish