Back at the chalkface aged 129

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We’re somewhere in the year 2018. I’ve just been retrained, rebooted, rebranded, reborn and recycled back to the chalkface. I could well be cutting edge. Why? Let me explain...

We’re somewhere in the year 2018. I’ve just been retrained, rebooted, rebranded, reborn and recycled back to the chalkface. I could well be cutting edge. Why? 

I‘ve just spent my entire pension on a “Recently Sacked Old Gits” Degree, another of David “Two Brains” Willetts’ fab wheezes. I had no choice. My old school had put me out to grass, what with being a raving old dotard, who was off message, target and trolley and kept losing the will to live in Management Briefings. I died in one Motivational Address. They took it personally. 

So I did a PHD in The Higher Modern Gibberish. I came out with flying honours and a distinction in the Special Paper – on “Not Laughing in Keynote Speeches”. I’m now your modern inter-activating, omni-tasking, media hip-hopping Super-teacher – on-stream, message and heat. 

You can take me anywhere with my new tufty syrup and whizzo Prada-parents’ evenings, open evenings, Newsnight interviews. I can flog, fib, finesse the figures and fob you off with ease.

I’ve got the jargon down and can divest whole sentences of all meaning. I can turn whole classes into vegetable acquiescence, bovine vacancy. I just park the Zimmer and sit like Buddha on my modish Russell Pinchbum chair at the nerve centre of my multimedia learning emporium. 

I can download whole Master Classes – like Prime Minister Gove’s “Back to the Nineteen Fifties”. Or the Lynne Truss Box Set “Death by Grammar”. The pupils just sit there spellbound. And discipline is perfect, because the terminally curious and conspicuously stroppy have been disappeared. A couple of my old pupils seem to have somehow survived. Dave Mania is now 51 and working towards level 3-plus or 4-minus. Shaka Lynch is now 55 and on Level 1 or 17 or Jamaican weed. It keeps them off the unemployment register. 

The only problem is my age. I am 129. They’ve given me a new name on my gown. “Methuselah Wigwam”. Mobility is a bit of a bother. I have a sort of pope-mobile for playground duty. I’m permanently knackered and, on occasions, narcoleptic. I fell off the desk in Citizenship, but no-one noticed.

My present gig is at The Dutch Elm Academy, the most modern school in the universe, a cool £100 million glass palace of measurably transparent learning.

It can only get better. This is the future. We’ve a visit from the Prime Minister this afternoon. I’ve been so turned around, he won’t recognise me.


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