Page 58 of A Class Act

‘No, that’s not really…’

‘Dinner.’

‘Hungry…’

‘No!’

‘Pizza…’

‘Whoah, whoah.’ I put my own hands up to stop them. ‘You can’tpizzasomething…’

‘I have pizza every night for my tea.’

A hand shot up. ‘Miss, there’s a bug on my desk.’ The girl stood, scraping back her chair in dramatic horror. ‘I’ve got arachnophobia,’ she explained proudly.

‘I’ve got eczema,’ another said, holding up an arm with a rolled-back shirtsleeve and scratching dutifully at the red rash on his wrist.

‘OK, OK, what’s the bugdoing?’ I asked, in an attempt to get back to the lesson in hand.

‘Crawling, miss,’ the kid in front bellowed.

‘And how’s it crawling?’ I asked.

‘Quickly, miss.’

‘That’s an adverb. Great, let’s have more.’

‘Silently.’

‘Crazily.’

‘Sexily,’ a boy named Stefan called out, crossing his eyes in what I assumed he thought the throes of passion required.

Hoots of mirth all round.

‘So, bugs.’ Thinking on my feet, I decided to abandon bloody boring fronted adverbials, clapping out a rhythm as I spoke:

‘Bed bugs, red bugs, crawling on your head bugs.

Rat bugs, bat bugs, riding round in hat bugs.

Blue bugs, glue bugs, those that give you flu bugs.’

I turned to the whiteboard, writing as the kids gave me ideas:

‘Pink bugs, sink bugs, swimming in your ink bugs

Stew bugs, poo bugs…’

‘Really?’

‘Flush ’em down the loo bugs.’

We were on a roll and I was enjoying myself as much as they were. With five minutes of the lesson to go, the kids stood, clapping out the rhythm, clicking fingers, patting knees and moving to the beat while acting out the words.

I looked up at the open classroom door where Mason Donoghue, accompanied by two other adults, stood smiling,totally engrossed in the lesson. Mason put two thumbs up before moving away.

‘That were great, miss,’ Jack said. ‘Are you tekking us for English all the time?’

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