It's raining again

Last year was apparently a fantastic, sunny summer. This year, however, we've been blessed with an abundance of clouds and rain. Karen, my hairdresses says, 'Last year the sun shines and everybody blames it on global warming. This year, it's raining and cold all the time, and again people say it's because of global warming. Make up ye minds!'

Karen is just one of the good things that's happened to me since we've moved to this charming nook called Fife. After a disastrous, five-second cut at a local salon, the piano teacher at school told me about Karen's salon, tucked away in the most quaint of villages, Aberdour. She took a long time cutting my hair, gave me cappuccino, and after two hours we've covered family, love, sex, and surprisingly, Christianity. And my hair looks great!

It is the start of the long summer holidays and I've completed one almost-term at my new job. (From now on I'll refer to the school as "The School" until such time I can establish what my rights are re discussing my job, colleagues, students and so forth in this blog. Don't want nae lawsuit.) I enjoy the work most of the time, but there are days and moments when I want to run, screeching, from the place, snatching out chunks of hair in exasparation and frustration. What I find hardest is dealing with 13 year- olds who feel they have the right to inform me what they will and won't do in my class. MY class!!!! Of course they have a right to speak, I usually grant them that, but my patience starts wearing thin if they don't get it after the fourth or fifth time of the same discussion.
'I cannae do this. I don't wanna do this, I don't like music.' Big sulk.
'Fair enough, you've said how you've felt and I listened, but unfortunately you don't have much of a choice in the matter. Since you have to be in school - go look at the country's constitution - and since you've decided to come to this school and adhere to these rules - go check your school contract - you have to do the work, as set out in the syllabus, that I am kind enough to interpret for you in as user-friendly a manner as possible.'
But usually I say, 'Shut up and get working.'
And then the whole spectacle rolls on, of having to cajole him/her, mostly ending up handing out a punishment or detention , and so forth and so long, ad infinitum, ad nauseaum, et al. The joys of having to work with teenagers.

But apart from my struggles to establish a dictatorship, these kids are mostly great. As John Smeaton, the hero of the terror attacks on Glasgow Airport, aptly illustrates: Scots are tough, resilient, take things in their stride, and are blessed with a sense of humour as dry as puddle in a heat wave.