Tuesday started well, which is always a dangerous sign. Too early in the week to be chirpy but the maths were finally starting to go places. Even Lulu (yes, really) was copping on to the intricacies of the dreaded decimal point.

And then it all came crashing down. A car pulled up outside, a tad on the fast side but, recognising the child sitting in the front, reckoned she had slept it out and missed the bus. Back to the joys of estimation, when the classroom door flew open and I was summoned outside as a matter of urgency, i.e. "I want to talk to you NOW!"

My mind raced as I assured the lady (?) in question that I would join her momentarily. What had I done? Paranoia is never far away when faced with a livid parent.

And so we met. And it started. All over a homework assignment that was causing difficulty. Terese, our loyal principal, arrived as soon as the noise went over a certain level, part placatory and part Boadicea. "Now, Mrs Harney, you know that all you have to do is write a note and teacher will try to solve the . . ."

But the trend was already established that no sentence was to be allowed to be finished. The conversation was to be conducted strictly along the lines of she talks, I attempt to reply and she talks louder. I am the problem and I must be punished by listening to all she throws at me. I am a driven, raving bully and her child is afraid to come to school for fear of my wrath. She is so high that I let her rant. Anything else is pointless.

Eventually, a few home truths emerge. She is working shifts and is strung out, her child is struggling to keep up in school and her partner is not homework/housework/any work. The pressure-cooker had to blow eventually.

Terese produces tea and plums and kindly brings her down. We talk. She cries and I feel so low that I consider the same. We have some degree of communication established by the time she eventually leaves. But not before it is pointed out to her that we are generally sympathetic and willing to take circumstances into account for our pupils. But listening to an unprecedented one-sided diatribe of our shortcomings with no dialogue is simply not on. And within earshot of the pupils is definitely not on!

And so we pick up the pieces of Tuesday. I am not able for decimals today. I am still too fragile. Maybe tomorrow.