The Lesser-Spotted Substitute Teacher...

So, today the class next door had a supply. Miss was sick and the supply agency had had to be called at some unearthly hour of the morning to request a willing victim. You'd have thought this might be a difficult task; finding someone at 7 o'clock in the morning to jump in the shower, grab some breakfast, cross London in rush-hour and arrive at an unknown class ready to teach they-don't-know-what, but it never ceases to amaze me that these agencies always manage to rustle someone up. Someone is the operative word in that sentence, for you can never be quite sure who's going to turn up. Beggars can't be choosers, you know.

All regular teachers know that supply teachers come in three types: the hippy-I've-gone-on-supply-because-the-real-world-of-teaching-is-way-too-stressy-man teacher; the way too keen newly-qualified-I-haven't-got-a-proper-job-yet-but-not-because-I'm-crap teacher; and the I'm-too-strict-for-the-army ultra hard bruiser (sorry...teacher).

The most common of these breeds is the NQT (or Newly Qualified Teacher or in Latin teacherius terrifdius). They are usually young women and can always be recognised by their sprightly eyes, shot through with a hint of red and a large dose of terror. They nearly always dress in sharp trouser suits, with plenty of pockets for small wandering hands to creep into and usually in a light beige, ideal for displaying the smallest of glue/paint/pen/pencil/snot marks. They begin the day with a sickeningly bouncy demeanour, which, at 7.30 in the morning, is enough to make you want to round up the roughest kids you can find and shove them in the class before she gets there. You don't, of course, because you know that that smile's not going to last long. She'll be eaten alive. The newly-qualified-I-haven't-got-a-proper-job-yet-but-not-because-I'm-crap supply teacher is closely related to the hopeless romantic and the eternal optimist.

The hippy supply teacher is a rare breed, preferring, as it does, the freedom of home schooling and experimental teaching, to the restrictive environment of the classroom, but if you're lucky enough to catch sight of one who has been lured/coaxed/forced into school, you're in for a treat. They come in a variety of colours, all worn at the same time, and their hair resembles a bird's nest recently attacked by a fox. Their clothes trail behind them in a feast of tassles, chiffon and organic, breathable cotton and their footwear, if they choose to wear any, is, somewhat inevitably, a sandal. Their voice is as distinctive as they come: a feathery-light, breathy whisper, at a pitch barely audible to human beings, and which they use to justify their less than traditional methods: Yeah, right, like I didn't do that Maths lesson. The kids were just too stressed yeah after taking the register. We just needed a break from all that academic stuff, yeah, for an hour or two. Yeah...right. If you ever meet a hippy-I've-gone-on-supply-because-the-real-world-of-teaching-is-way-too-stressy-man teacher, take a picture. You'll never see the same one twice.

The final type of supply teacher is the most common and it was one of these who walked into the class next door today. They are usually women, although sometimes, to be truthful, it's difficult to tell. This one was definitely female and I could tell she was one of the I'm-too-strict-for-the-army types when I saw her getting the riot gear out of the boot of her car. These supplies usually wear combat trousers and lead-tipped boots and she was no exception, topping off the look with a full-length body shield and a handily accessible pepper spray canister clipped to her all-purpose utility belt. This was admirable forward-planning I thought, but I could only stand back and applaud when she added a Taser to the belt - that's a woman who takes no crap. And if Miss Chalk's handshake was anything to go by (I still have my hand in ice), she certainly meant to take no crap. Unfortunately, she hadn't bargained on the class next door being the class from hell. 6 hours after arriving, several strangled cries and exactly 18 Taser blasts later, she emerged from Next Door like a bullet from a gun and pounded downstairs faster than you could say Territorial Army. She didn't stop to tell me how it had gone, but I'm sure I saw, through my wry smiling eyes, a cracked body shield being thrown into the boot of her car.

My colleague next door was certainly ill enough for one day off school, possibly two. I secretly hope she will be off again tomorrow. Not because I wish her any ill, but if she is sick again, you never know, if I'm really lucky, I might just get to catch a glimpse of a hippy-I've-gone-on-supply-because-the-real-world-of-teaching-is-way-too-stressy-man supply, and, for a closet Supply Spotter, that's an opportunity too good to miss.