I was wondering what to write about. I could have done a blog about Arsenal vs Barcelona, and how losses in football seem to matter less to me than they used to, but I decided that I didn’t want to dwell on something that is over with and so I want to talk about teachers and teaching.

Maybe this was prompted by that Jamie Oliver programme, where famous experts in their field attempt to teach some unruly children. However contrived the idea was, I think the one thing it shows excellently is that teaching is hard.

You remember your good teachers, the ones who encouraged you, the ones who got you interested in a subject, the ones who made you love a subject. I was lucky in that I had quite a few teachers who I liked a lot, and who helped me achieve more than I would have done with a non inspirational teacher.

I wouldn’t have passed GCSE German if it wasn’t for Mr Fields and Mrs Davies having faith in me. I remember them telling me I could do it, and some how I did. Even if in the exam, Mr Fields came over, looked at my paper, smirked, and then walked off.

My love of writing comes directly from Ms Chappell (that's Ms) and Mr Newall, who encouraged me during A level English. I did poorly in the actual exam, but that was more to do with me being a self important knob, and not answering questions properly, not their teaching ability.  A shout out has to go also to Mr Botha, who was a substitute teacher, who also encouraged me to write. He wrote the following novel, The Reluctant Playwright, and I remember him telling me that a short story I had written was nothing short of brilliant. It lit a fire in me of what I wanted to do, and it has never gone away.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Reluctant-Playwright-African-Writers/dp/0435905899

I had a similar interest in history, but I never pursued it, even though Mr Culpin was excellent (and prodigiously hairy, like Richard Keys), and told us about his days as a truck driver.

Yet we had other teachers who put me off subjects which, in later life, I have come to enjoy reading about. I have a real interest in physics, and often wish I was smart enough to be an astro physicist, or a particle physicist. Trying to crack fundamental questions about reality. And there are often beautiful ways to describe the way things interact around us, yet at school, we had DR Taylor (don’t call him Mr). The man made you hate the subject, and he had such a lack of patience with his pupils that I saw nothing interesting in what he was telling us. He also had lock jaw or something, which meant he growled his lessons. Now I wish I had paid more attention. Maybe I had a chance to crack the universal code, but it is gone.

Then you have the three other teachers in my life. My Mum, Dad and Sister. My mum has a very gentle teaching style, obviously giving more moral guidance. She did, and I don’t care how this sounds, teach me how to sew which is an invaluable skill. Then you have my dad, who I hope knows it is nothing personal, but is a rubbish teacher. I had one driving lesson with him, and learning fractions was even worse! As a moral guide however, he is great, and I have learnt everything from him and my mum. Which leaves my sister.

My sister has always been a teacher. From when she was 11, helping me and my cousins with our homework, giving us projects to do in the summer holiday etc. She has always seemed to have infinite patience, a skill which is fundamental part of being a teacher, and now that she is one, she has a love for her subject. Actually, I am not sure if she does still love it, and I think there is still a large part of her that wishes she was writing comedy, but that is a dream that she can still fulfil.

And it is this dream thing that people don’t realise teachers facilitate. Teachers light the fuse for dreams, and they nurture them. They give children hope for the future. They are our frontline against prejudice, as are our schools, and they are the custodians of what we as mankind can be.

So thank you to all my teachers, and all those out there.

- Anand