Mrs Evans beamed at me as little Eddie handed over the cellophane package.
‘It's fudge,’ she said. ‘Little Eddie made it himself, didn't you Eddie?’ Eddie smiled and nodded, Dr Jekyll when his mum was around, Mr Hyde as soon as she was out of sight. I tried to force a smile onto my face, tried to look thrilled that the boy who spent half his time with his finger up his nose and the other half torturing little girls by putting bugs in their satchels, had taken the time to make me fudge.
‘Thank you’ I could hear the insincerity in my voice, ‘that looks lovely’ I said with the enthusiasm I last mustered when I was told I had to cover class 4B.
‘I’ll pop it in here for safekeeping.’ I opened my draw and
placed the fudge in it, alongside the 8 other identical packages. As soon as Mrs Evans left with her ‘angel’, I
cursed that bloody mum’s site on the internet.
Every year the oh so helpful website for mums publishes an easy to make recipe for fudge or shortbread or toffee that was a perfect gift for teachers, and every year teachers in classrooms around the country throw their presents straight in the bin. I hate wasting food but there is no way I’m going to eat something made by little Eddie, or little Jake, little Poppy or little Violet, no way in the world. I’m with them all day everyday, I know that for them, hand washing is something to be avoided at all costs. Their fingers have roamed everywhere except near soap and water. Everyone remembers the legendary Llangollen stomach bug in 2011 and ever since then any homemade crap goes straight in the bin.
There's something nice about an empty classroom at the end of term when peace descends at last.
I took the 9 identical packages of homemade fudge from my draw and started aiming at the bin, doing little celebratory dances when I hit. ‘Oohing’ theatrically when I missed.
'And now Eddie Evans’ fudge, a little heavier than the others, probably a higher snot content,' I said, putting on my best commentator voice. ‘Can Jones hit the bulls eye?’ I took aim and fired and hit the bin bang in the middle.
‘Yessss’ I said punching the air. I turned around to look for an imaginary team mate to high five and there was Mrs Evans and little Eddie standing there watching me, looking none to impressed.
Every year the oh so helpful website for mums publishes an easy to make recipe for fudge or shortbread or toffee that was a perfect gift for teachers, and every year teachers in classrooms around the country throw their presents straight in the bin. I hate wasting food but there is no way I’m going to eat something made by little Eddie, or little Jake, little Poppy or little Violet, no way in the world. I’m with them all day everyday, I know that for them, hand washing is something to be avoided at all costs. Their fingers have roamed everywhere except near soap and water. Everyone remembers the legendary Llangollen stomach bug in 2011 and ever since then any homemade crap goes straight in the bin.
There's something nice about an empty classroom at the end of term when peace descends at last.
I took the 9 identical packages of homemade fudge from my draw and started aiming at the bin, doing little celebratory dances when I hit. ‘Oohing’ theatrically when I missed.
'And now Eddie Evans’ fudge, a little heavier than the others, probably a higher snot content,' I said, putting on my best commentator voice. ‘Can Jones hit the bulls eye?’ I took aim and fired and hit the bin bang in the middle.
‘Yessss’ I said punching the air. I turned around to look for an imaginary team mate to high five and there was Mrs Evans and little Eddie standing there watching me, looking none to impressed.
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