I had an intense feeling of deja vu today. Of exams. Of writing about exams. Then Iremembered writing this, one whole year ago.
Ah November. Cradle of the falling leaves. Ye countdown to Christmas with your thermostat swivelling, present squirreling, daytime dwindling…and mocks. Year 11 mocks. That time of the year when schools frighten their fifth year cohort by giving them a glimpse of what is to come. Mock GCSE exam preparation for them, and for us teachers it is invigilation. Administration. Exasperation.
When our charges are in exams, we become facilitators for the exams, and stand vigilant. Ready with pens, paper and wedges of card to prop up wonky desk legs. A smile of support for the paler faces in that sea of regimentation, and a (mock) stern glare for the rebels, champing at the bit to make a scene, with the whole year group present to witness their antics. Oh, how I understand the rebels. You see, put me in a situation in which I have to be silent, behave formally…
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