When I was on teaching practice, a sage piece of advice was handed down to me by a harassed member of my department: after the first time, you will never attempt teaching with a hangover again. But did I listen? Indeed, in those hazy days of teaching just two or three lessons a day, interspersed with easy access to the never-ending supply of cold Kit-Kats in the staffroom vending machine, a hangover was an unwelcome yet inevitable part of the routine. The banging, the shouting, the screaming... was that me, the kids, or the voices in my head? The nausea and dizziness was not helped by the enforced standing up (or swaying, as it seemed).
But the vicious circle of life means that a bad day at school these days is followed by a couple of beers, some wine, perhaps a chug or two of whisky... it always seems like a good idea at the time. At least it cheers up my spirit in the evening, but come the morning it's a very different tale.
If the hair dryer sounds too loud, then I know I'm in for a rough ride. Hungover teaching
usually goes one of two ways. The first way is preferable, as the day shimmies past like an
alternate reality. To minimise the noise damage and save a ravaged throat, lots of activities
can be knocked together that require almost independent work from the kids. The favourite
is aptly called "Making a poster", which requires only coloured paper and a faint glimmer
of an idea. Very limited educational content, in my opinion, but if pushed I could justify
the lesson to anyone who cared or dared to ask - from curriculum specific content to key skills
to citizenship (that means things like sharing glue and working together without a punch-up).
The kids love it, aside from the occasional squabble or slap over the stationery, and so
noise levels are peacefully low.
Ah yes, making a poster. Make a poster to show what a certain character was like or how a
combustion engine works. Make a poster explaining why beggars would be hanged in a Tudor
village or showing the rules of multiplication. Make a poster of whatever you like because I
can't be bothered arguing; just look busy. That's one of the most important lessons you
need for life anyway.
The first hangover solution requires a minimal five minutes of shouting at the beginning of the lesson, probably followed by ten minutes of repetition to the usual idiots who weren't listening, before the luxury of sitting down at the desk with thumping head in hands.
The responsibly hungover teacher will also take a dizzy stagger around the room from time to time, ostensibly to check on progress, in reality to make sure nobody at the back is texting on their mobile phone, and also to stay awake of course. There's also the delicate matter of wind, but good timing of the classroom wander means there are a plethora of small victims to blame.
This is also one of the times when those "magic moments" of teaching take place. In a relaxed hungover state of blurry reality, the pressures of making sure that every child has negotiated the clearly defined learning objectives of the lesson go out the window, and allows the teacher to have a good laugh at their crappy attempts at drawing and writing, thanking the lord that they were never such a slow-wit. I guarantee, pass a classroom where a teacher is honestly laughing - and I don't mean in a manic or sarcastic way - and that teacher is probably enjoying the detached reality of a hangover. Double guaranteed if the kids are making posters.
The second type of hangover, though, is not the fun and games of the first. It is cruel,
vicious, and probably some kind of karma payback. It's usually raining and the room gets stuffy,
with the steamed up windows only adding to the oppressive and claustrophobic atmosphere.
The kids are shouty, argumentative and unco-operative - not much change there, I know - but
the noise is intensified when it rattles around in my vacuous skull whilst my booze-
shrivelled brain cowers in the corner.
To make matters worse, the need to shout frequently arises, and the booze's laxative effect starts to be quite a pressing matter - fine for office workers who can saunter to the toilet at will, but not for the classbound teacher who can't desert their post for another two hours. It's a miserable, miserable situation, and one that, knowing the spite of Sod's Law, will probably be topped by a surprise lesson observation or the Head dropping in to discuss something you suddenly remember should have been prepared last night when you decided to push the books out of the way and start knocking back the vodkas.
At least you know that, like all things, this time will pass. Albeit slowly and excruciatingly. And perhaps with some new insight into the laughable stupidity of some of your pupils. And of course, the stupidity of yourself, for drinking on a school night when you should know better.
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