Hysteria

Occasionally, people I know get disappointed. "I was sure you were going to blog about that," they frown.  It happened this morning.  There had been so much to write about yesterday that most of it stayed in my head.  It was one of those days: everyone thought that our conversation was blogworthy. The colleagues queued up to tell me of their displeasure; re-told stories adding details they would be sad not to read about.  Sometimes they embellished the tale just to make certain that I knew how entertaining a blog it would make.  Of course, they were right and I really should have made an effort, describing each funny incident with the accuracy they deserved.

Funny things happen in schools all the time.  The staffroom is a sitcom waiting to happen but not one of those terrible ones that try to make teachers seem cool and have amusing friendships or relationships with pupils, or those that are obviously written by people who had a bad time at school or have some axe to grind against their children's teachers.  What the world needs is a sitcom that is just set in a staffroom, where children are almost incidental and it is the relationship between teachers that is interesting.  Teachers often have a reputation of being a bit boring, mainly because they are always talking about their work, never switching off and quoting data, targets and acronyms at anyone who will listen.  However, in the staffroom there are moments when the conversation moves to more amusing subjects.  (Note to my headteacher:  Don't panic! I'm not planning to write it......yet)

Silly hysterics can burst forth at any time.  For example, the caretaker can come through to the staffroom wearing his rubber gloves, asking the male teacher if he has a moment. The women will burst into hysterical cackles as the men walk out together, the teacher with his hands clasped over his butt. When the teacher returns the women cry, "That was quick," and the teacher explains that it doesn't take long to look at the biggest poo, ever in the reception children's toilets.


Teachers of the menopausal variety often have wardrobe malfunctions.  Remembering how to dress yourself and cope with all those acronyms never goes too well.  Odd shoes, tights with holes in and yokes poking out of the back of dresses are quite normal.  Particularly at times of stress.  Yesterday I think I had all of these and when confessing that the yoke of my dress had been out all morning the conversation turned to the tags you get on tops and dresses to hang them up.  "They always end up round your boobs," I said.  That's when things started to get even sillier, as we wondered if that's what they were for.  Some of us felt that we would need considerably more support and others noticed how long their straps were and thought that they weren't yet at the stage of needing to keep their breasts off their knees.
Ends of school days can feel very long.  Sometimes, after the clubs have finished and children have gone home teachers gather in the staffroom to mark books, eat the remains of the cake or biscuits that miraculously appear most days and to wait to find out what new acronyms they have to learn.
During these waits the hysteria reaches fever pitch.  The laughter becomes uncontrollable and teachers worry that the 'small lady', who isn't at all small might hear.  While they wait they try to describe the lady and realise that they would be hopeless in describing a criminal to the police.  They are all agreed on the green flower broach. The next day will still have hysteria but it will be the tired variety.