Back to school

If ever anything has proved that I am still a child, it`s returning to school.

Essentially I spent the first long holiday I`ve had since I was a teenager behaving exactly like a teenager. I ruined my body clock by staying up until three and waking up at two. I ate junk food whenever I felt like it, which was constantly: pizza and chocolate for breakfast, crisps scattered throughout the day, packets of jelly. I used plastic cutlery so I wouldn`t have to wash up; I touched no fruit and no vegetables whatsoever, apart from the plane food I prodded; I didn`t prepare myself one single meal; I washed my hair in washing up liquid. I either lolled around the house, reading and faffing around on in the internet in my pyjamas, or I went to the beach or pool and got drunk and ate icecream with my friends. I did no homework, prepared no lessons, read nothing remotely educational. I studied no Japanese at all. I even bought a can of squirty cream and ate it straight out of the fridge: squeezed it straight into my big fat tummy. And – frankly – it was all glorious.

I think school saved me just in the nick of time.

This morning, my alarm forced me out of bed at 6:30am; groaning and moaning and convinced that the process would kill me. I had to eat breakfast before 8am; was made to converse with real adults – not my friends, who are just pretending – and smile before I`d had any coffee; was told to sit down on the floor and listen to a two hour - unbelievably boring and yet somehow cleansing - assembly. I accidentally passed the uniform check for 13 year olds - even though, as a teacher, I didn`t need to - because I had no makeup on, no nail varnish, no jewellery and no decent, feminine hair cut. The school shoved hot, nutritious food down my protesting throat at noon; made me drink a bottle of water when I wanted Cola; encouraged me to brush my teeth so that I smelt nice. Then they made me go outside and help prepare for an upcoming Sports Day, and this involved, apparently, standing in fresh air and sunshine without some kind of wine in my hand.

And - when I tried to muck around and continue treating authority with no respect whatsoever - I got into trouble.

“What`s this?” I asked Harai, staring at my schedule as we walked in single file outside.
“Practice earthquake.”
I laughed far too loudly.
“It says Practice earthquack. That`s the noise a duck makes. And why are they all holding their textbooks over their heads?”
“If rocks crash down.”
“I don`t think a few sheets of A4 are going to help much. Aren`t they supposed to hide under desks?”
“Yes, but when earth stops…. What is it? They come outside.”
Harai made a trembling motion with his hand.
“Quacking,” I told him. “When the earth stops quacking.”
“Yes, when the earth stops quacking maybe they go outside. I think maybe the big goat is cross, and goes meh meh and makes earth go quack quack.”
And I shouted with genuine laughter so hard that the headmaster frowned at me gently, and shook his head.
“We are bad,” Harai said solemnly, and then we spent the rest of the afternoon sniggering at the back of 300 perfectly behaved schoolchildren like…. Well. Like schoolchildren. Just not well behaved ones.

I`m an independent, well educated 28 year old - I`m a teacher of young minds and young sensibilities - and the only thing that stops me being a lazy, glutinous, unhealthy teenager, apparently, is being sent to school and looked after properly. The fact that I get paid not to be a child is neither here nor there.

School is for teaching us all how to grow up properly. And thank God I`ve finally found one that can do that.