Holidays

School`s out for summer, and - for the first time in a decade - that`s a statement I can actually participate in. And I feel 13 all over again.

I now have five and a half weeks of unbridled free time: time to write and swim and surf and get my arse on a plane back to England and Morocco and Paris for a whirlwind trip, so the unbridled free time isn`t perhaps quite as free as it could be. In fact, considering the fact that I`ve spent the last four months sitting in the staff room, using Google and eating biscuits and staring at my fingernails, there`s a good chance that my unbridled free time is going to be a damn sight busier and more tiring than my bridled work time. Which sounds delightful, and I`m going to thoroughly enjoy wearing myself out so I can come back to work and sleep at my desk in September.

This school, though, certainly knows how to send the students off. I can`t remember much about the last day of term in England, but I`m pretty sure it involved writing on t-shirts, tossing shoes over the hedge and covering the teachers in some kind of gunk. This morning, as I sat in a hall full of 400 dark little heads, all sitting in exactly the same position (on their knees), with their hands neatly in their laps, bowing in perfect timing and in utter silence, I eventually came to the conclusion that my chances of being gunked were slim to none; my chances of being respectfully bowed to 400 times, on the other hand, were pretty much total. There was a traditional Japanese ribbon dance from Hokkaido performed by 20 students - so brilliantly, and with so much energy, that I got little bumps all over my arms - there was a 15 minute performance from the brass band that was without exception one of the best live music events I`ve ever been to, and - to top it off - each of the teachers was re-introduced informally to the hall by the oldest students, and I was declared "the most beautiful and sweet teacher," which meant that I immediately screwed up my lines, went red, bowed five or six times and burst into tears.

I`m very lucky: as much as I am looking forward to being able to see my friends and family and write the damn book (and it will be written: I am focusing on that now as a priority), I am also part of a school that I`m not at all sad to be returning to in September. A school with warmth, humour, intelligence and - just as importantly - very, very good taste in female attractiveness. Which is all a teacher can ever really hope for. That and presents. I have high hopes for my birthday in December.

I`m not 13 anymore, but it feels like I am. School is out, and the holidays - in all of their teenage, summer glory - begin now.

And I couldn`t be happier about it.