Free Bella's Christmas Bake Off by Sue Watson Page B

myself – thank you,’ I said and put down the phone, feeling mixed but knowing if by some miracle I won a Bella Christmas, she’d better be ready for an Amy Christmas too... because it wouldn’t be the cosy day in my suburban semi slum they were all expecting.
     
    W hen I arrived in school , Crimson had already emailed asking if I could send a photo of myself so they could put it up on screen during the call. This was real, and if I was going to be on the phone on TV during school time I needed to let my colleagues know.
    I went straight in to see Sylvia who was beside herself with excitement when I told her about the competition. I didn’t go into too much detail, as far as Sylvia was concerned Bella Bradley was an old school friend I hadn’t stayed in touch with – but she was very impressed.
    ‘I’ll look after your class and you can take the call in my office,’ she said excitedly. ‘It will be declared a student no-go and Bella Bradley HQ from 9.30am.’
    This was a great relief as I didn’t fancy having a difficult conversation with 10B shouting obscenities in the background. Some of the boys had recently taken to calling out varied and colourful words representing the male member and I doubted that would be allowed live on air. After several difficult sessions the previous week while trying to explain equations over a barrage of ‘willy’ words and associated sniggering, I’d decided if you can’t beat them join them and harnessed their enthusiasm for the penis into a maths game.
    ‘Okay – so if a willy is three quarters and a knob is fourteen, multiply this by a penis, which is one sixth – write down the equation and the answer,’ I suddenly announced over the racket of a particularly difficult lesson.
    I had been greeted with blissful silence, their faces were a picture, and their deep shock was soon replaced with uncharacteristic fervour for the subject, which as a teacher is all I ever wanted. This went on for the whole lesson until Mr Jones the head teacher popped in. I wasn’t initially aware of his presence, but looking back I can see that opening a classroom door to hear a member of the maths department reeling off a list of words signifying male genitalia must have been a shock (bearing in mind our last encounter was him finding me in a stationery cupboard with a brown paper bag over my mouth). I turned to see him standing, rooted to the spot, staring at me as I looked straight back, causing much merriment in class. He made an enquiry as to the whereabouts of some textbooks and I smiled sweetly and answered his question like I hadn’t just been multiplying three quarters of a willy by fourteen knobs for Year Ten. Consequently, the idea of Year Ten live and unleashed while I called in to a daytime Christmas cookery programme had made me even more nervous. So after the first lesson, where I’d blindly forged ahead with fractions, I popped outside into the freezing cold for a breath of iced air.
    ‘Ooh they’ve all got it on them today haven’t they?’ Marie the French teacher hissed from her position by the back wall. She wasn’t just a caffeine addict she also smoked about forty a day and could often be found sheltering round the back doors for a quick one. The psychology teacher said Marie had an addictive personality, but I reckoned I’d be mainlining more than coffee and fags if I had to teach a foreign language to Year Ten.
    ‘Yes, I’m not in the mood for their antics, they’re already swearing and switching off but there’s still two long days left before we break up,’ I sighed.
    ’I feel like getting flu and doing a sickie. Billy McBride in 10R has memorised every French swear word ever invented – I’ve just had to listen to an hour of French filth.’
    ‘Hey, that’s a romantic night in for some people,’ I joked.
    She sniggered. ‘Yeah, I guess. But I feel violated and stressed...then there’s bloody Christmas,’ she dropped her cigarette to the ground