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With four weeks of teaching done and dusted, now seems like a good time to reflect. In between the moments of self-doubt and despite discovering new levels of tiredness, actually it’s going rather well. I’ve fostered some encouraging relationships with my classes, shared a hearty laugh with each of my classes at least once and begun to really see the potential of some very talented pupils. Plus I scored on my debut for the staff football team, contributing to what was, you’ll be glad to hear, a rout.

However, what has struck me most throughout this first month of teaching is my almost Pavlovian reaction to the school bell: it rings and I start sweating. And yet, more often than not, it goes well and I find myself enjoying it. Like a performance I suppose; only with fewer scripts and more at stake.

Open Evening next week – my first taste of a late, late night at school and chance to meet future pupils and their parents. As we speed face-first towards half-term, everything is a gathering an unforgiving momentum. Fortunately it’s Saturday today, my own personal 24-hour haven from the stresses of life and I’ve spent most of it eating profiteroles in the Sussex countryside. Nothing can touch me.