School's Out For Summer

School's out for summer  School's out forever  School's been blown to pieces

(Alice Cooper, School's Out)

Alice Cooper’s School’s Out is an invocation to freedom. In writing the song Cooper said he wanted to capture the anticipation of the final school bell: that period where time’s remorseless beat reduces to such a point to render six weeks eternal. For a child, there is no greater pleasure in knowing that soon those shutters of conformity will be lifted to reveal a glittering collage of tomorrows.

Well, as someone who works in a school, let me be the first to say that whatever joy a children may experience in breaking up: triple it, add a billion, times to infinitum – that’s what staff experience. I’m aware that unlike children we have volunteered to be there; therefore it stands to reason that the captives would feel more relieved than the captors when the abduction finally ends. However the pressure of holding children against their will, in cramped conditions, without regular access to the toilet is sometimes so great that it’s in fact of great relief when a SWAT team of calendars finally arrive to kick down the door, shine in a torch and shout: “It’s over. We’ve got you surrounded.’ Trust me, the handover of children from teachers to parents is done with no resistance.

So here I am today on the first day of my holiday. I won’t lie: I’m bloody excited. I’ve got plans. I’ve got big plans. Plans to read my way into enlightenment. Plans to write my way into Waterstones. I appreciate I should relax after what has been a long year in a new school. The joy of any new job means you start afresh, your copybook isn’t blotted by past mistakes; the paper is clean, pristine, allowing you the opportunity to write a new success story. The challenge of starting a new job means your achievements are unknown; the paper is clean, pristine, allowing you the opportunity to blot your copybook. A reputation isn’t built in a day. It takes time, energy and effort. This year I’ve begun the backbreaking labour of building something that I can be proud of. And I won’t lie, I’m now grateful for the extended tea break. But for all that, I don’t want to rest – not in the conventional sense anyway. I don’t want to lay back stupefied, consuming culture; I want to have a go at creating it. Short stories, poems, travelogues, funny incidences: I want to write everything down. Because I think I enjoy teaching, but I know I love writing.

At the moment, writing for a living is the stuff of fantasy, not autobiography. Simply, I do not commit enough time to it. I do not read enough to inform a style. I do not write enough to fashion my own. I need to do more. And here on Day One of my summer holiday I begin. I hope that these dreams and ambitions are not the stuff of every English teacher’s favourite Of Mice and Men and destined to go awry. I hope I don’t get seduced by the red dress of Netflix or the sausage curls of Facebook. I hope I don't put a bullet in the back of my productivity. I hope to one day get my own acre of land.

Now, I'm off to holiday in the South of France for a week. But when I get back I'll begin. I promise.