Studs and Stilettos

Lesson 12 - always prepare for parent's evenings

The school hall is transformed from a chair filled auditorium facing sun bleached pink velvet stage curtains into a ploughed and manicured field of small tables in parallel rows each with two carefully arranged chairs. Earnest parents hover uncertainly clutching reports between sweaty fingers. Finding my desk in this melee of bodies is going to be quite difficult and I'm already 10 minutes late for my first appointment due to the fact that I've been stuck in the ladies trying to organise my sebum coated hair into something that looks stylish and clean. Now, with a swingy pony tail and face scrubbed clean with the vicious paper hand towels, I flop down in the spare desk next to Charlie behind the little name plate which tells parents that I am Mrs Nachos!!

Doris! SSSssssssss!

Appointment number one (according to my list) should be the parents of Moisin Quercha but the couple who hover over me like a pair of potential vultures don't look as if they fit the surname. I offer my hand politely.

'Brakspear!'

'Pardon?'

'It's Mrs Brakspear. Come to talk about Jeremy... Jeremy Brakspear.' the woman clad in trainers, woolly leggings and a flasher mac lets go of my rather flaccid grip and grabs a chair.

Right! So this is how it works.

I scan my list and see that this couple have wrecked the system in one fell swoop. Their appointment is in an hour's time but, hey, who am I to argue. It's my first time. I shall go with the flow.

'Good evening I'm Miss Niccus, Jeremy's Chemistry teacher. Have you anything you would like to ask?'

Mr Brakspear obviously doesn't intend asking anything. He sits next to his wife – or partner – drooling , a tiny blobbet of saliva wobbling on the edge of his raw sausage lip, eyes riveted like sonic beams on my chest. Mrs Brakspear, a mound like woman with hair greasier than mine and the broken veined complexion of someone who has a penchant for a whisky nightcap, smacks his leg.

'Jeremy likes Chemistry. Is he doing well? Mr Bicks said he had great potential.'

I have no idea who Jeremy is and from my fleeting experience of the class, I cannot match the separately presented genes of these parents into any sort of coherent image.

'Let's have a look at Mr Bicks mark book. I think that will be more useful to us in making a sound judgement of progress, dont you?' I smile and crinkle my eyes in what I hope is a confident and winning expression.

'Ah! Here we are! Jeremy Brakspear...and some comments.'

The hieroglyphics are quite tiny and I have to lift the book right up to my face to read them.

'Excuse me for just a moment, I need to decipher the writing. Mr Bicks has been very thorough and has ensured that all students marks are up to date with relevant comments.'

Ma Brakspear harrumphs like a baby elephant – I think the noise emitted from her mouth rather than from a less glamorous orifice, but I cannot be sure – and starkly comments in a loud voice. 'Did that man really do drugs? He seemed so nice; so competent. What a scandal! Jeremy liked him too. Difficult to get new teachers mid-way through the important time in a youngster's school life.'

'Indeed it is.' I agree wholeheartedly. Where would I be without these random teachers leaving their schools in the lurch? I very much doubt that I would be employed otherwise.

'Now – this is what Mr Bicks has written...Jeremy Bratspeak. A rude, ignorant little moron who....I do beg your pardon Mr and Mrs Brakspear, I'm afraid my eye slipped down to the comment underneath. Let me read it again' (Hell's bells! I should have looked at these notes before). Jeremy Brakspear. A potentially excellent Chemist who works hard and is on track to get a good result in his examinations. Well...' I turn to the now gloating mother. 'I think that speaks for itself. Mr Bicks was impressed with Jeremy's progress and I shall endeavour to ensure that he continues in the same way.'