The story of Megan Stammers and Jeremy Forrest running away to Europe together disturbs me.  She is only 15 years old and he’s a dirty thirty.  What, really, is he thinking?  As a teacher he is supposed to be an intelligent man, and he must know that this relationship is doomed to fail.  Firstly, er, it’s illegal Mr Forrest.  Secondly, um, you are already married Mr Forrest.  Thirdly, well, she’s 15 and in no time at all will find you old and boring – trust me.  Either that or you, Mr Forrest, will tire of the distinct lack of shared cultural references because for half of your life the child wasn’t even born.  I know this because my last boyfriend was 12 years younger than me and having to explain who the Fun Boy Three were, and that Live Aid wasn’t a can of fizzy pop was just too tedious.  I didn’t however start going out with him when he was 12 because I’m not insane like you clearly are Mr Forrest. 

As for lovely Megan.  Now, who hasn’t had a wee bit of a crush on a teacher?  Eh?  Well, not me actually.  Much as I enjoyed singing Abba’s ‘When I kissed the Teacher’ into my hairbrush, it was all just a fantastic dream.  My maths teacher was a strange little woman who constantly wore a neck brace, closely followed by the next maths teacher whose shining pate and duck-like face made him singularly unattractive (he was a bit ‘touchy feely’ too, which made our flesh crawl.  We called him ‘Randy Rousell’).  My science teachers were psychopaths or christians, neither trait holding any real attraction and my english teacher looked and smelled like a wolverine.  Now the history teacher was manly enough – developing his 5 o’clock shadow by about half eleven in the morning, and wearing his tie with a becoming nonchalant slackness – but the thought that he might actually cause us physical harm if we so much as squeaked kind of leeched the charm out of him.  My french teachers held no attraction, mainly because they taught French, which was a quite major turn-off to a young teen.  Finally our head of year looked like a Thunderbird.  So all in all, not very rich pickings for a young girl looking for romance and adventure. But then look at Mr Forrest.

There’s a very tiny part of me that really wants to see Megan and Mr Forrest as a shining example of love against the odds, a modern day Romeo and Juliet, that true love can really triumph against a sea of outrage and stick two fingers up to societal pressure to conform.  But to be honest, the bigger part of me thinks ‘you’re her TEACHER you big perv!!’ and wants to kick him in the crackers.  It’s all a bit scary that this could happen, but I don’t have to be brave as I have no children to worry about and if my niece wanted to run away with a teacher I’d just track them down within 24 hours with my ninja skills and despatch him quietly in the middle of the night, making it look like a freak accident with a pillow and an anvil.


2 thoughts on “kissing the teacher

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