Tuesday: Today I'm at one school in the morning, and another after lunch.
The schools are not even close, so I spend my lunch hour on the train. I eat my sandwiches in transit. For some reason, this earns me a few odd looks from fellow passengers. Perhaps they think I'm some sort of bag lady.
Given that I have a rucksack and a couple of bulging carriers containing resources for the day, it's a reasonable supposition.
Wednesday: A school for pupils with moderate learning difficulties, teaching a small class of juniors. We seem to be getting along nicely, but one pupil is absent, on a medical appointment. "Wait till Mark comes, Miss," I am told. "It won't be so quiet then." Mark arrives later and, to my surprise, behaves like a model pupil. It turns out that he has just been put on new medication.
Thursday: I'm teaching Year 3 at a Catholic primary school. The head wonders if I feel confident about teaching RE as it is part of their preparation for first communion. He offers me the choice of swapping with another teacher just for this lesson: I could take Year 6 drama instead. I hastily assure him that I have the Catholic teachers' certificate and so will stick with Year 3 (the last time I took Year 6 drama, they wanted to re-enact Reservoir Dogs).
Friday: Today's school is a stone's throw from home, so I can have what counts as a lie-in, setting off at 8.20. A nice class and an uneventful day, until hometime, when one pupil suddenly announces: "I've seen you going to the pub." I can feel all eyes on me. Going to the pub right now feels like a very good idea.
Helen McNulty is a supply teacher in Lancashire. If you have a diary to share (no more than 450 words), write to TES Friday, Admiral House, 66-68 East Smithfield, London E1W 1BX or email firstname.lastname@example.org. We pay for every article we publish