Happy New Year bloggers! Only two more days till term starts, what a toxic thrill that is. I am paralysed by the fear that I haven’t done anything that I should have done, especially the school improvement report thingy we were supposed to ‘brainstorm ideas on’. Somehow I was just too busy eating turkey. And mince pies. And Christmas Cake. And mulled wine. And cheese.

Worst thing of all is that I don’t forsee any time to go to the gym this term. New Year, New Dress size?

Two days in, and I miss the kids. What a tragedy. But it’s true. I’d take their bickering, pointless chatter about their supposed sex lives and always inventive homework excuses over the debate that is now raging downstairs between my wife and my mother about who deserves a Christmas Number One, out of Angelic Faced Jo, Rage against the Machine, and SuBo. To demonstrate how little I care about this debate let me share this gem with you. Until about five minutes ago I thought SuBo was a black rapper from Peckham who grabbed his crotch a lot. No, in fact he is actually a generally unattractive Scottish woman with odd hair and a moustache. Christ, really, you chose this circus to be celebrate your birthday? Why?

So, the ‘top’ Christmas presents from my pupils this year include:

1) A Waitrose Christmas Hamper – amazing present, am eating my way through the mince pies rather well.

2) 35 different coloured pencils….in a High School Musical Tin

3) A set of stamps chronicling the locomotive history of England, address to Mr Wilson. (I have swapped these with Mr Wilson who was given a pink, glittery scarf by the same child. I think he wanted to keep the scarf, actually.)

4) A bottle of wine – I love this child.

5) A book on summer flowers, which had written on the inside cover: “Dearest Mary, lots of love on your birthday, From Auntie Sally.” (Don’t you just love recycled presents.)

Still, it’s the first day of the Christmas holidays and I am full of festive cheer! Happy Christmas readers.

The end of term has come finally. And I am free to wake at midday and consume hot wine all day. It’s been a fairly bearable last few days, actually, showing videos in class, putting up decorations, getting presents from my students – luckily as a man I am always bought wine, preferable to the seriously questionable scarves my female colleagues in the maths department have been blessed with. Yuck.

So, all in all, a fairly inoffensive end of term. Apart from, that is, the horror of the School Christmas Show, for which I somehow got roped into singing Mistletoe and Wine while wearing a pink reindeer costume, a ‘sexy’ santa hat and some Jimmy Mallet specs. A whole world of badness that I would rather forget. I’m not even sure the kids thought it was funny; some of the looks I got as I was leaving this afternoon verged on pity, I think.

It always astounds me that teachers still approach this end of term concert hooha as an opportunity to make their students like and respect them more. Our students will only ever laugh AT us, not with us. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will change this. Certainly not a poorly executed comedy routine from a bunch of overtired teachers. But still they persist in this tragic silliness; with bad costumes, and dated jokes. And, as it does every year, the tumbleweed rolls across the school hall, the kids check their watches and roll their eyes, and we’re still the idiots they always thought we were. Happy Christmas One and All.

The big question on everyone’s lips this term has not been about SATS, funding or whether the new Year Five teacher is in actual fact insane.

No, this term we have mainly been consumed with the big dilemma of who will eventually play Mary in the Nativity Show tomorrow. Regular readers will remember that a certain possible act of sabotage meant Mary 1: aka Little Lucy, grazed her cheek, and Mary 2: aka Little Rosie had to become her understudy. Suddenly a compromise has presented itself – we are having two nativity shows; one on Thursday and one on Friday – they can both be Mary.

We can sell more tickets, make more money for the new school rabbit hutch, and I won’t have one devastated ten year old on hands. Hallelujah.

We have decided on a vaguely traditional nativity – usual No-Room-at-the-Inn, shepherds, kings and the Virgin Mary story (as we are a technically Christian school), interspersed with songs and readings from other religions, some classic carols sung by our small but sweet choir, and a whole school rendition of Jingle Bells in several different languages. I predict a large amount of carnage.

I have also chosen a Mary, after a short audition process that mainly revolved around which child would be most likely to a) not cry throughout the performance b) not stamp her foot throughout the performance c) not  shout ‘hello granny’ throughout the performance. And my Mary of choice, Little Lucy, was doing rather well, she’s definitely got that sweet, innocent smile down, and looks good in blue; but then disaster struck this morning, as she apparently ‘tripped over’ in the playground and has grazed her left cheek – not a good look for the Mother of Christ. Her role as Mary is in peril, will it heal in time? Will she able to rehearse? Can we replace her? Will she ever stop crying?

However, what is perplexing me the most is how she ‘tripped’ over in a playground that is virtually new, and has no holes, bumps or anything trip worthy. With the raft of health and safety these days we basically like our children to play sitting down, on cotton wool.

So, I suspect foul play – and am wondering if the girl who is to potentially take her place  – Little Rosie – might be the culprit. She seems far to pleased about becoming the Virgin Mary.

Good Lord. I’ve been put in charge of the Christmas nativity this year, which is a terrifying and alarming prospect. With over seven different religions and 15 ethnic groups at the school, the traditional Bible story is usually adapted to ensure we’re inclusive. I’m still not exactly sure how to adapt one sacred religious story, to turn it into a mishmash of seven different religious stories, five of which don’t recognise Christmas at all.

And then I’ve got to pick a girl to play the Virgin Mary, a process that I am sure will produce scarier scenes that those on America’s Next Top Model. I mean seven year old actually really know how to pull each other’s hair.