Aeons of counting dead chickens should have taught me never to speak too soon. Simple commonsense dictates that should I publish a post bragging about how effective I am, the next day I shall be inundated with examples of my own ineptitude. Just the lowlights

Words I regret hearing
"Miss has a nice arse, eh lads."
"You're the team leader for the performance related pay assessments."
"We want to be in Lord of The Flies, and I'd vote Roger as leader."
"I was only hitting the ****head because he laughed at my hair. I'll hit him again, too, get out of my ****ing way."

Words I regret saying
"Nathan, I seriously don't think it's appropriate for you to goose the teacher in the vitals as you come in."
"I've had enough of talking to you lot, you're sitting there throwing things at each other, I can't be doing with it, and I'm giving you permission to go home three hours early."
"If you fall out of that window I should be incredibly upset, Chesney."
"How in hell could he reach round far enough to stab you in the bollocks with a ruler, Jared?"
"Yes, Jon, technically, pornography is a sub genre of non-fiction, but it's still not appearing in your damn GCSE exam."
"If I see another ****ing child before I see hell itself it will be too soon."

Gems in the mire of swill
"It's stupid, I really wanted you to be my teacher this year."
The nineteen year olds in the local streets who stop the gangsta act, beam, and give you a sudden shy wave, when they recognise you.
"Miss, do me a favour, yeah? Don't stay in all lunchtime marking those books. It's a nice day, and you should be outside, getting yourself a nice meaty MacDonald's burger or something."

That's it. Sod the curriculum. The little* buggers are all doing lines till I regain some sanity. For their own safety.

[* most of whom are six foot two and already halfway through a building apprenticeship.]