I wake up at 6 (ish) in the morning. I get washed and drink coffee in a bid to wake myself up enough to be able to drive. I count on a 50/50 success rate.
I get to school for between 7.15 and 7.30. I work until 8.30 when I have a meeting. After that I will teach for up to five hours solid. My lunch and break times are often taken up with dealing with pupils.
During that time I may have to break up fights, deal with late work, deal with parental issues, liaise with other members of staff, fill out paper work, mark work, plan, resource, coordinate my area of responsibility and take care of any pastoral issues that have arisen. Oh, and teach. The actual teaching bit is exhausting. You can't expect 30 kids to engage with Shakespeare if you sit at your desk and read it to them. So it's all about jumping around, doing voices, acting out scenes, being enthusiastic (because enthusiasm is infectious). Sounds like a laugh. And it is. One great exhausting laugh.
I then 'finish' with the pupils at 3.15. At this point I will sit at my desk and work until 6 pm. I then drive home and will work until 8 or 9 pm.
I do this Monday - Friday.
At the weekend I will generally do 3 or 4 hours work.
So the next person that says that teaching is a doss is likely to get fucked up.
Actually, I have a better idea.
Any half-witted cretin that decides that all teachers are somehow having an easy ride should be plucked from whatever job they currently do, given a fifteen minute 'orientation' talk and put in the classroom with a full teaching timetable.
Imagine the scenario as Dave Watkins, a corpulent and hirsute middle-manager from a consultancy firm is dropped in front of bottom set Year 10. See the terror sweep across his face as thirty pairs of teenage eyes glare hungrily at the fresh meat placed in their view. There will be that moment of silence where they gauge this 'new teacher'.
'OK guys' Dave says with the wobble of fear straining his now squeaky - almost pig like - voice. The pupils smile to each other as they note the scent of abject horror flowing unhindered from Dave's rotund body.
55 minutes later...
Dave crawls from the classroom in tears. He's covered in post-it notes all with profanities written on them. His shoelaces have been tied together. His tie has been covered in Lynx and set alight. He has a Pritt Stick inserted into his rectum. Someone has scrawled 'twat' into his forehead with a compass. Bizarrely, he is now wearing mascara and lipstick. An interactive board pen and sellotape have been used to make a rudimentary ball gag. There is a collection of Polaroid photos pinned to the lapel of his blazer showing him being spanked by a metre rule. It looks like the kids have been charging each other to 'Pwn the Prof'. The jokers.
Now imagine that Dave has been asked to do this four more times today and then work late into the night to get ready for the same again tomorrow.
Not such a doss now is it Davey my lad?
You see, I love my job (not too many can say that) but it is hard, hard work. The sooner people realise that teachers do an incredible job for essentially bugger all pay the sooner society will show them the respect they deserve.
Until that happy day teaching will be looked down on as a profession. Shame really because I really rather like it.