The weather this week has been beyond fantastic and the whole school seems bathed in a warm glow. The honey-coloured stones turn from yellow to a deep orange as the sun sets and the staff sit sipping Pimms from mugs to ensure the pupils think that it is simply late tea.

Beyond the stone verandah outside the Headmaster's office the flower beds are bursting with a gorgeous clash of colour and the whole school seems sparkling, or is it just that we are waving off the last of the pupils today?

Next term I return in my new role as a House Ma'am (I know - I am going to get cards made up) but for now I can enjoy just sitting out the end of my first term as a humble History teacher.

I turn to the Second Master who has joined our small party and is sitting, eyes closing on a bench behind me.

"Any plans for the holiday?" I ask.

"I'm going to work on my book," he states.

I'm impressed until the Head's PA whispers to me that this is his stock answer for every holiday but no one has yet to see any glorious tome.

"You?" he enquires, one eye swivelled on me.

I'm flustered, "Ibiza," I shout, feeling that I have somewhat let the side down.

Fortunately at that moment a group of sixth formers come up to start shaking some of the staff by the hand. A lot of them are carrying mugs...

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