I found out today which classes I’ll be having next term, and, providing nothing changes, I’m rather happy.

Not only have my worries about not having the two class 4’s (next term’s 5’s) been assuaged, but I’ll also have the pleasure of getting back class 6.

The bi-product of these changes means only having time for 1 hebdomadal lesson with the 6-year olds. Whilst I have nothing against the younger children, I find the older pupils easier to communicate with, as they understand why they and I are there.

I never understood why I did not have English with class 5 this year. At the end of the fifth year all children in Sweden must sit a national test. To change teachers the very year they are to take their exams seems less than courteous, so I am anticipating smiles and hugs (at least from my side) when we start again in August.

Famed goalkeeper, Jon, ran off the field in this afternoon’s teachers vs pupils match, with a suspected broken arm.

Rated by some of the onlooking crowd of younger pupils, with such comments as “owning”, the 39-year old English keeper rushed himself to hospital to receive treatment a short time into the second half.

This has not been the first time Jon has been injured. In a similar match two years ago he fell awkwardly and, as a result, seriously damaged his foot and ankle. Despite several attempts by his manager, Jo, to seek medical assistance for this injury, Jon stupidly ignored what was obviously sound advice.

On arrival at the hospital, Jon was ushered in by waiting staff, who informed the aging star that there was a 5-6 hour wait to see the specialist.

The Brit made his way home, with the intention of trying again early tomorrow morning.

I was sitting in the staff-room today (after a rather eventful early morning), trying my best not to dehydrate in the oppressive heat, when I heard some pupils chanting, “We want Jon!”

The sound of demonstrating travelled across the playground and ended somewhere in or near the entrance to the school’s front doors, where it stopped when met by the headmaster, Naged.

I had told the children yesterday, during our last lesson of the year, that it was uncertain that, due to time constraints, I’d be their teacher next year.

I felt it was suitable to tell them, to finish our 4 years together in an appropriate manner, and I never expected to hear later on that day that they were planning to appeal.

I have had good relations with the pupils in 4a for a few years now, but this year in particular things have really come together, and I have a lot of time and respect for them as a class. It bought a smile to my lips and a warm feeling to hear a chorused demand for my continuation. A warmth that was not diminished by the searing sun.

After a very turbulent half year back at work, things seem to have reached a relatively harmonious state. The irksome lower classes, who had never had me as a teacher before this year, have learnt to accept me and my authority, for the most part, and a radical change has occurred with Class 1 and 2.

I’d started a less-then-liberal regime a few months ago, ringing up troublesome children’s parents after 3 breaches of the stringent rules I had introduced. At first I thought this to be an overreaction, but now I realise it to be an effective and necessary action, and I do not regret it a bit.

I still have a few problems now and again, though the general ambiance during these lessons is both relaxed and enjoyable. I can have more fun with the pupils, and I enjoy their company. On top of this, this is the first year I feel I am really able to teach English to the younger children, which can only be a plus for them.