Tomorrow is when the fun begins. The first day of my first placement during my PGCE. This one is just a week long, with a return for another week about a month away. Although I’ve immensely enjoyed working in school whenever I’ve done so in the past, I must confess to feeling a little nervous.

This is the beginning of a step up. I will be working with a different class at the same school for several weeks after the new year, during which time I will be assuming more and more responsibility. The main worry to begin with is how to ensure that the class behaves and is on task, which the Faculty have given us a lot of help with so far, but I am told that soon enough the worries are more about lesson plans and whatnot.

In the meantime, I have a list of tasks as long as the M1 to complete whilst on placement. I am wondering if there are enough hours in the day to actually complete them. The need to keep myself organised is growing by the minute, hence my three hours of filing earlier today. Oh joy.

Nonetheless, this is what I’m here to do. The nervousness doesn’t matter. I’m still determined to be an amazing primary school teacher. I still can’t wait to have my own class, hopefully within eleven months’ time.

One of the reasons for my hastily-arranged gap year prior to this September was something I called ‘academic fatigue’. It had been quite a few years in a row that I had completed some kind of exam or coursework, and I was a little tired of being assessed. Starting the PGCE of course meant an end to my exam hiatus. Although I don’t have an exam as such, we all have two 6,000-word assessed assignments and a 2,000 word warm-up to complete. In fact, the latter was handed in last Monday.

Getting back into essay-writing mode was not easy, but was rendered more difficult by a beast of a question, and the fact that an education essay differs from the history essays which I’m used to writing. Academic law also dictates that you are never given enough words to adequately answer the question, because the terminology of the question should be so vaguely-worded that to cover everything you’d need to write a book. Hence, several dissatisfying spells sat in front of a monitor, my eyes turning square, whilst I output a clunkily-written argument which lacks the coherence it needs.

I haven’t received this work back yet, and won’t for a good couple of weeks. When I do, it might be a black day in my academic career. Cambridge pride themselves on failing any trainee who doesn’t complete their PGCE essays to an adequate standard, which apparently is not the usual practice. Although I’m expecting to avoid this pothole (more of a chasm than a pothole really), I’m half expecting to be told that the essay was ‘average at best’, and you gotta hate that. We shall see.

‘First Appointments’ is the ominous name given to the task of gaining my first ever teaching job. Today the Faculty put on an optional lecture for those wanting background information on how the heck to do this. Only a few didn’t turn up, but they should have done. There was plenty to take in. Never mind that I’ve only been in teacher training for three weeks before the first talk about getting a job.

Most people on the course were petrified by the end of the lecture, amidst gruesome tales of rigorous selection processes and easily-disappointed interview panels. “You will be judged” we were told. “Make not one spelling error” we were warned. Saying that you would be prepared to accept a job is a “legally-binding verbal contract” we were informed. Righty-ho.

But, on the way out of the lecture I remembered one handy thing. I’m a man, and a man in primary school teaching is a rare sight. Admittedly it’s not enough to actually get a job solely on that dubious merit, but it is interesting that my gender might prove to be my most distinguishing feature.

On Tuesday, I matriculated, which is apparently a bigger deal than graduation to several Cambridge colleges. This makes me laugh, because the main aim of university is surely the qualification you get when you graduate, as opposed to a fancy dinner at the start of it. Nonetheless, it was a very good Cambridge-y kind of night. Normally, when matriculating from Homerton you would take a sip of drink from the “Homerton Horn”, but apparently swine flu regulations prevented us from so-doing. We were treated to a rather delectable three course meal, with plenty o’wine with which to wash it down. The seat opposite me was never filled, leaving me with essentially a bottle to myself. I remember more of the main course than the dessert, but that’s probably more to do with my propensity to wolf down chocolate without either thinking, breathing, or pausing. I do remember the principal’s welcome speech, which was exceptionally warm and made me proud to be a member of Homerton, which is another splendid reason that the PGCE has gotten off to a good start.

Better still, on Monday some friends and I did something altogether more Cambridge-y. We went punting. When I finally get round to posting the massive backlog of pictures I have to the Internet, you might be able to see some of the photos I took. We did cheat a little, and hired a guide, who happened to be a very funny man from Canada who knew some pretty interesting facts, but I have to say that punting down the Cam was one of the most pleasant and relaxing things I have ever done. That said, he did choose to sing a random song he made up in the military about the “shrinkage of his dinkage”. I’ll let you decide on the appropriateness of that one.

That’s Cambridge for you. I’m getting to love this place already.

One of the things about studentdom is that you seem to take on a nomadic lifestyle. Each new academic year heralds the mass-movement of your possessions and a new bedroom in a different house. It’s hard to feel at home when home is an ever-changing place.

Prior to the PGCE beginning, my intention was to migrate down to London after having gained the much-anticipated qualification, but after a week living in the Romsey Town area of Cambridge, I feel forced to re-evaluate my initial plan. This is a beautiful area of a beautiful city – there are so many quirky pubs and shops, and everyone seems to have a friendly nature about them, contributing to a feeling of vibrancy in the locality. I live about 20 minutes from the town centre, about the same from Homerton College, and the train station is a brief walk away.

Mill Road, which I live a minute from, has an independent feel to it. There are plenty of locally-run establishments, and when a Tesco Express opened recently there was fierce opposition. My policy is to avoid shopping there. You get what you pay for at Tesco. Most Tesco-made products taste of something between ‘nothing’ and ‘next-to-nothing’.

I had a nice chat with a volunteer in the Amnesty International bookshop the other day, whose cheery demeanour seems to typify the locals. Barmen and shop assistants in particular are remarkably polite. This is an area I could settle in, and I may well do just that. It feels homely.