Nick Names and Sellotape

Today, a child tried to convince me he would prefer to be called 'Cow Pat' rather than his given name which neither looked nor sounded like Cow Pat.

I declined his request. I said, 'I shall call everyone in this class by the names I have in my register until I know you well enough to call you anything else.' And I suspect I shall never know this small child well enough to feel comfortable calling him Cow Pat.

Of course, if a student called Joshua, or Joseph, or Benjamin for example, asks to be called Josh, Joe or Ben, then I'll do that. Mostly because I think it is effective to re-lengthen the name in order to show disapproval about something. My son, Chris, certainly knew when he was younger that if I called him 'Christopher' he'd probably committed some kind of misdemeanour.

My nick-name when I was a child was kindly bestowed upon me by my fairy god-mothers aka my aunties Pollie and Nece, who called me 'Sneezy.' I don't know why. I suppose it rhymes vaguely with Denise; I don't remember being a particularly sneezy child.

At primary school. Jeremy Saunders called me 'Pink Elephant.' Only once, though. A dead arm was called for and duly delivered. I wasn't very practiced in self-control at that age.

And then I was nick-nameless until I got married for the first time and my then husband's family took it upon themselves to call me 'Den.' I didn't like it. No-one had shortened my already short name before then, and no-one has shortened it since. 'Den' indeed. Ha!

Odd request of the day goes to a Year 11 girl who bounced into my classroom Period 2 and asked if I had any sellotape.
'My tights are covered in bobbles and fluff,' she said.
I duly provided her with some sellotape and watched as she tore reams of it from the roll, and used it a la leg-wax style to de-bobble and de-fluff her 40 derniers.

It's odd, some of things youngsters worry about these days, isn't it?

Meanwhile, the snow here is now Pandora and a half deep. I have been requested, because I am within walking distance of the school, to be ready to go in tomorrow as one of 8 skeleton staff to teach Year 11. Now, walking distance is 45 minutes at a brisk trot on clean and dry pavements. Factor in eight inches of snow covered in ice, and with a nasty gale blowing, I'm thinking I may need to set off at 6 am to arrive by 8.30. This is one instance where a bunch of 15 year olds may prove to be more sensible than us adults.

Wish me luck, then, as I struggle to work in the morning. I may be gone some time...