I want to be a psychotic killer when I grow up.

My student begins this conversation. 

'I want to be a dictator. Or a spy. What was the name of that guy? Burgess?'

'Guy.'

'Yes, what was that guy's name?'
 
'It was Guy. He's called Guy Burgess.' 

'Yeah, that's pretty cool. Being a spy would be ok. I would like that.'

'Why?'

'The power and that. The girls too.'

'You know I am not sure Guy was that interested in girls.'

'How do you mean?'

'I think he preferred men.'

'No.'

'Yes, I think so.'

'That's fine. I don't have a problem with that.'

'In fact it was quite common that spies were gay. Even in the time of Elizabeth I. Although gay might be an anachronistic term. Male friends with early modern benefits might be more appropriate. 

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'Why were spies gays?'

'You mean why did some people who were gay become spies?'

'Yeah.'

'Perhaps it was a way to feel loyal but remain on the outside. Or perhaps they just liked to travel.'

'Burgess was a traitor though.'

'He was.'

'The thing is not to get caught.'

'Yeah. That is one of the drawbacks of the job although some gay men might go in for that scene in the new Casino Royale with the chair.'

'What?'

'Plus you wouldn't be able to tell anyone you were a spy.'

'Perhaps not then. A dictator is easier.'

'Whatever you say.'

'Call me sir.'

'I don't do role play.'

'You are my servant.'

'No, I'm your teacher.'

'My mum pays you.'

'Ok. I work for your mum.' 

'I could have you killed.'

What we don't say.  

'Or we could just do this source paper so you can grow up and become an investment banker like your daddy.'

'What is wrong with my dad's job?'

'He is fat and bald and he does bad things with money. He probably has a mistress too.'

'Don't talk about my dad that way.'

'Go f**k your dad.'

'Daddy pays your rent.'

'Damn. You win that one. But you are losing the game of free choice. You're really good at drawing and photography and your parents are making you drop art.'

'So.'

'Feels like you are giving in to their desires rather than thinking about what you actually want to do with your life.'

'No.'

'You won't be a spy. You'll be an investment banker and, you'll be just the same as your daddy.'

'My dad will fire you.'

'Too late, I'm quitting. This is my last lesson because I feel degraded.'

'Degraded?'

'You aren't worth my time.'

'Whatever.'

'But really you aren't.' 

'Stop it.'

'No. Let's not pretend anymore.'

'What?'

'I hate this time with you. I hate your attitude and I hate mine too. Let's end this now.'

We sit and stare at the work and understand that we have nothing to give one another. An abyss opens up and we wonder who is going to jump first. 

The racism still inbuilt to our educator role models

So there are currently two stories making the rounds. The first was that St Edmunds College at Cambrige was planning a Gone With the Wind ball and the second, equally disturbing, that teacher training courses have accepted far less African and black Caribbean students to train on their courses. Not only are their lower number of applicants but their success rate is lower.

For all the education reforms that are being pushed through at the moment, Michael Gove has not really tackled the issue of who is doing the teaching. Of course, part of the problem is encouraging more applications from African and Caribbean individuals but then to accept, in some cases, ten per cent while accepting a quarter of white applicants does not send out the right message. 

Teachers are powerful role models for students. Other than parents or guardians they are the key example of a working adult. We really should see a greater diversity of teachers. I recently visited a special needs primary school and was overwhelmed that all the teachers were female. Encouraging a greater variety of applications should be a key aim in broadening the experiences of our children. It is more important than questions of exam performance. This kind of inbuilt prejudice in selection does nothing to help such diversity. 

March 17th

I quit one of my big teaching jobs today and it felt like most productive thing I have done in a long while. When I was working as an actor private tuition was a useful subsidiary income but when you've been out of theatre work for six months, it becomes clear quite quickly, that private tuition can never really provide a satisfying career. Apart from meeting new clients, the work remains pretty much the same. There is also the issue of age. When you are a fresh graduate in his early twenties, A Levels are part of your recent life. You are still able to emotionally connect with the students over the problems, challenges and anxieties of preparing for an exam. As a thirty-year-old, my attitude has changed. I am frustrated by the laziness and lack of initiative amongst many of the students. I am like a band-aid rather than a teacher; there to patch up a gaping wound of inertia inflicted by too much privilege.

I hope to finish tutoring completely by the end of this year, or take it down to a bare minimum of three or fours a week. There. I've said it. I've written it down on a blog on the internet, so now I have to stick to it. I have two students I like and will see through to their final exams. One of them is from a working class background. I would like to throw my energies into helping him more. He is polite and hard working but doesn't read enough. His parents' first language is Spanish and so they have not been able to help him with much of the reading.

Home school kids today were being difficult for the last half an hour. Their energy levels dropped and mine did too if I'm being honest. Not sure that teaching for three hours with a ten minute break isn't asking a bit much of a ten-year-old. Part of the issue is that the girl is much further ahead than the boy and while I set her extra work and more advanced she has a habit of misbehaving to entertain him. I may split them up a bit more. They kept asking if I had a girlfriend. Oh dear, if only they knew. Perhaps they do. 

Feb 24th

According to his mother Samuel is a stoner. Oh, and his father also found ecstasy in his coat pocket. He's not even clever enough to hide his drugs. Although his lassez-faire approach may have been encouraged by a speaker who came to his school (Westminster) and apparently said ecstasy was less dangerous than smoking. 

It seems Sam and his mother are at loggerheads. He doesn't listen and he has basically checked out as far as his education is concerned. Samuel is the youngest of five kids and, boy, he doesn't half live up to it. He can't make his own breakfast. Apparently he asked his mum: 'how do you make fried egg?' 

This is a kid who managed to get himself 8 A* grades at GCSE but now there is nothing that interests him. Although I know that there is something more going on. He has become infatuated with another boy at his school. A kid who regularly spends a couple of thousand pounds every weekend.

Samuel also explains to me how he wants to have power when he grows up. 'I'd be a good mafia boss,' he says, 'accept the mafia aren't as glamorous as they used to be.' To which I reply: 'you mean they don't kill people as elegantly as they used to?' 'Whatever brings in the...' And he rubs his fingers together in the universal gesture of money. 

I tell him about a woman I know who is not only suffering from cancer but is also waiting to hear about her asylum case. She is from Zimbabwe and has been terribly abused. I wonder if this will shake him up, awaken some kind of emotional response but he just shrugs his shoulders: 'nothing to do with me.' 

The trouble is that he knows how easy he's got it and so is making a decent attempt at destroying his future. At some level I think it's about a lack of identity. A vacuum of testosterone he looks to his rich friend as a role model. It makes me think, more than ever, that we need more diversity in our schools. 

A selection of diary entries...

Tuesday 8th October 2013

Today I began to work with a new set of clients, a Jehovah Witness family in North West London. They are a very pleasant family. The father works in business of some sort although I have not been able to deduce what this is yet. The mother is at home and cares for the children, one of whom has Edward's Syndrome.

Where to begin? Well my partner said that Jehovah Witnesses are more fringe than Mormons. I don't think there is a musical about them just as yet. I did a little research to see what I might be getting myself in for and it turns out they emerged from a Bible Study group in the 1870s. Their doctrine centres around the belief that they are modelled more closely on first century Christianity. They believe the Bible to be pretty much historically and scientifically accurate which, as I found out today, will present problems in Geography and History because they don't want me to teach or mention Evolution. In fact the boy laughed and said it was stupid to say we come from apes.

So what do I choose to teach for my first lesson but good old (and I mean literally as old as the hills) plate tectonics and volcanoes. 'Hey kids, let's look at these processes which have been happening for millions of years.' I won't mention the word evolution, but I am not going to pretend that Versuvius and Pompei happened last Tuesday. We looked at some of the worst volcano eruptions in History and then began to design our own volcano. They have the most fabulous school room at the back of the house with text books, white boards and arts materials most schools would kill for.

The children were very well behaved and actually pretty down-to-earth. They have been home schooled for a year and have a Nigerian man with a false leg who teaches them Science and Maths. I don't envy him. Geography is partially doable without too many direct references to evolution but biology and chemistry?!

The kids do circus and gynastics twice a week and the boy, in particular, is amazing. The front living room is big enough that he can do cart wheels, flips and handstands. The girl is quite earnest and is always eager to please with her work. I will have to encourage her to take more risks with her writing. Her reading age is well above average; the boy's slightly below.

It is the mother who intrigues me most. She is in her early forties and from what I can make out quite a strident woman and yet she is clearly distraught by her young baby's illness. I had never heard of Edward's Syndrome but when I googled it I was shocked that most baby's die before they are born and almost none live to the age of ten. The child is two and she cannot talk or walk. It is a genetic illness which is caused by an extra 18th chromosone and the child is usually born or develops heart and other organ defects. Basically the long-term outlook is not good. I'm not sure the kids realize how serious it is. 

More to follow...