I'M ON THE PHONE...

"Damn girl...
Damn you're a sexy chick...
Damn girl..."

You don't recognise it? I'm now informed, courtesy of my sick, phat Year 9 tutor group (honestly, these are accolades now) that these are the lyrics to David Guetta's current tune. Eloquent chap, that David. I hope he doesn't mind that I changed yous to you're; if he'd been in my English class as a child...

Anyway, I digress. How was "sexy chick" an unexpected feature of a GCSE lesson today?

During a 30 minute lesson on the poem "Vultures" by Chinua Achebe, written and presented by a small group of students in the class, I heard the distinctive vibrations of an illicit mobile phone - still switched on in someone's pocket. Three buzzes later and I identified the sinner; he had turned a beautiful autumnal russet.

With just one twitch of my eyebrow, I convinced the culprit to hand me the phone and the lesson ensued. Yoda would be delighted.

No less than three minutes later, the ruddy unit was vibrating again... only this time, yes, that's right: "Damn girl... Damn you're a sexy chick... Damn girl." The culprit is a boy - I thought it an interesting choice of ringtone.

Looking at the phonescreen brought me much delight as it indicated that his friend, in the room next door, was the one calling him. Also a boy. Quick as a flash, I darted next door - phone still squealing out lyrics - and asked the bloke in question what he was doing ringing X in my room, declaring that he was a "sexy chick."

Suffice to say, after a ribbing from more than fifty of their peers, I don't think they'll be using their phones in class again.