Thursday, November 15

The Goood Life?
A guest blog by REDACTED

It’s that part of the semester again. All the mature age students are pumped up and us lazy regulars are slowly accepting the fact that we might have to do some work now. As an education student, our practicum placements represent only a small part of our third year at uni. This semester, we are supposed to do 6 days with 5 lessons across those days. For each lesson you have to make lesson plans, sequences of learning and lesson evaluations. All in all, a pain in my lazy ass. Such a predicament is added to by the fact that I have been placed this semester to teach Year 6 at one of the richest, most exclusive Sydney all boys Primary Schools.

The most major thing I realized during prac was the difference seen between this particular school and any other Primary school I’ve spent time at. I realize it first when I’m driving up the road on the first morning. I slowly roll my ’84 Civic past a line of parents dropping their little brats off, looking as each car I drive past has another 10 grand attached to the price tag. Beamers, Jag’s, MG’s and four Lexus’ 4WD’s that were identical but for the colour. There were even a couple of freakin Bentleys. The Staff carpark is similarly arranged except for a vintage Volvo and the Art teachers Vespa. I carefully park my Civic around the corner and walk the rest of the way. While my suit might present me as a straight up and down kinda guy, seeing my bomb isn’t going to instill any feelings of professionalism in either the students or the staff.

The new Bentley, for when being a massive prick just isn't good enough.

Dropping in the Staff Room before school starts the gap between reality and this school grows even more. I glance at one of the kid’s canteen menus. What other Primary school has sushi and smoked salmon sandwiches on its menu? The staff fridge does have half a case of Coopers green though. The bell goes and I head for the classroom.

My master teacher is an old man who started at the school 37 years ago. He lives onsite, has no car and basically never leaves the grounds. I figure this kind of imprisonment cannot be healthy. The kids seem to like him though so I’ll give him the benefit. He takes me on tours or the grounds while the students are at Art, Music, Italian, PE, Drama, Computer, Science or Library lessons. I discover that he only teaches Math’s and English and so has the students only half of everyday.

When touring the school, I can see great similarities between him and Johnny Depps ‘Willy Wonka’. He gets on heaps well with the children but avoids most of the other staff and it seems he doesn’t like adults company, rarely going into the staff room. He also tries to present almost prepared facts about the school in casual conversation and then forgets he’s said them and re-tells me on the way back. “We had Eddie Jones here last month for a bit of extra rugby training” “This is our new library mural, each student in the school placed a piece in the mosaic” “A couple of weeks ago we had Eddie Jones here. He did some extra training with the boys.” He seems a bit stupid but apparently he spent 5 years tutoring the PM, the GG and the vice PM’s sons back in the 70’s.

An artist's impression of Eddie Jones

We’re back in the class and I’m doing some marking. Use ‘among’ in a sentence. “I am among poor people.” I feel so sorry for you buddy. Having to spend time with all these other kids whose Daddy doesn’t earn as many millions as yours does. The kids name was Robin and he was as poncy as his name suggests.

Flicking through the newsletter at lunch waiting for my turn to go on playground duty, I discover that the exclusivity of such a school brings opportunities we don’t even get at uni. A reminder to all students that Athletics, Rifle Shooting and Fencing Photos are on next week. Archery practice this afternoon has been postponed till Thursday. Thanks to Dom and Chaz from The Chaser for running our Trivia night last week.

Ahhhhhh. It drives me mental. These little bastards will never, never, never land in reality. The privilege gained cause their old man runs a sweatshop in Ghana means they don’t have to worry about normal things. Kids in the playground only get teased if they go to an inferior sports coaching place or their personal tutor has less references. This is insane. These are kids. Where else to do you see a 5 year old with a tie, a boater and garters to hold his socks at his knees? Where else is a point made of calling a woman Headmaster instead of Headmistress? This school is crazy.


It is nice getting called Sir.