Friday Class Dismissed

This is Dockbridge High - a school just like yours,

a school like any other.

A place where bright young minds are taught by some of the wisest,

most respected members of the teaching profession.

Our cameras filmed for a year to find out what life is really like

for the students and their teachers at this most ordinary of schools.

Welcome to Class Dismissed.

BELL RINGS Morning.

Everyone who walks through the doors of Dockbridge High

is energised and raring to go.

Well, nearly everyone.

HE SNORES

Why do we have to start so early?

In food technology, Miss Davis has a new initiative

to help kick-start the pupils' day.

OK, children.

Welcome to the very first Dockbridge High breakfast club.

Without wanting to blow my own trumpet...

-SHE FARTS

-..or toot my own horn...

-SHE FARTS

-..I really think

-I've come up trumps.

-SHE FARTS

This breakfast club idea

is going to be a real breath of fresh air around here.

-SHE FARTS

-Don't you think, Emily?

Actually, miss, I'm feeling a bit ill.

In that case, you need something to settle your stomach.

-SHE FARTS

-Eggs.

I always start the day with eggs.

-Well, that explains a lot.

-Then a shot of cabbage juice.

-SHE FARTS

-And a lovely glass of cold milk.

Ooh. Can you smell that, everyone?

Ooh, I think the milk is off. Eugh! Pew-whee!

SHE FARTS

-Unbelievable.

-STUDENTS COUGH AND GROAN

That's not a pleasant way to start the day.

BELL RINGS

Having recovered from breakfast club,

year eight are being subjected to the subject of English

with Mr Capp.

Hashtag Shakespeare!

Cool. Cool. Well, today we're going to be eyeballing Macbeth.

I know you're going to be proper vexed.

You're going to be like, "Shakespeare? Ridonk!

-"That's well boring," right?

-No, Mr Capp.

-Hey!

-What have I told you about calling me Mr Capp?

-Sorry.

The Cappmeister.

That's rad, T-dog.

Please don't call me T-dog.

Cool. Cool. All right, well, let's get back to chatting Macbeth.

MB! Mackie B!

Oh! We're going to make this really boss.

Take off your ties.

Put them round your heads. Come on!

Take off your ties, put them around your heads.

That's already very boss.

-Very boss?

-Who even says that.

IMITATES ELECTRIC GUITAR

Banter.

Having read Hamlet like a boss,

year eight has now moved its attentions to art.

Today's lesson is focused on pottery.

Oh, Emily! Lovely vase.

-Wonderful.

-Thanks, miss.

Fabulous. Are you going to add anything else?

No, it's fi...

-Done.

-You mean it's finished?

Finished?

Is it? Yes.

Or is it?

Yes. No. No, it isn't.

I wonder, does it need...

No, miss. It's...complete.

Finished.

-Finished. Yes.

-SHE CHUCKLES

Of course. How silly of me.

No, it's still not quite right. Don't worry.

I've got just the solution.

Stand back everyone.

Artist. And work.

..building it heavily. You build!

Mould it! You've only got to get one...

Really, really mould it!

Emily, just a few tweaks...

A little tweak. Oh.

Ah!

There. Very creative.

It's in my hair, miss.

Class dismissed.

Yes.

This school gets weirder every day.

Billy has a slight headache and a great excuse for missing PE,

so he's off to see Mr Hart, the school nurse,

to make it official.

Being a medic at Dockbridge High is easy compared to my last job.

I saw some terrible things. Chaos, destruction.

The terrible, terrible screaming.

I will never work in a kindergarten again.

-Come in!

-MACHINES BEEP

Ah. What seems to be the problem, scout?

I've got a headache. Are you doing an operation?

Oh! Sure am.

What's wrong with him?

-Paper cut.

-What?

-I'm not going to lie to you, kid. It's serious.

-He took a sheet of A4 to the thumb. I had to go in.

-Into his thumb?

Into everywhere, just to be sure.

Anyway, about this headache...

Actually, uh, it feels a lot better now. Got to go!

Where was I?

I'm never bunking off again.

Don't worry, Mrs Smith. You'll be OK in a week.

BEEPING INTENSIFIES

Lunchtime, but rather than going to the canteen,

Mrs Crampon has gone fishing.

Hi, miss. Want some quiche?

Thanks but no thanks, lovey.

This old girl is catching her own lunch today.

Gotcha!

Oi!

Ooh!

Look at the size of her.

Over in the canteen,

dinner lady Mrs Tucker is about to give Tahj his just desserts.

Hey, you inquired about the availability

of a certain dessert, am I right?

Apple crumble? Yes, but they said they'd run out.

Shh. Listen...

I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy,

if you know what I mean.

-No.

-I'm saying I have obtained the merchandise.

So, there is some left?

Only I've got sticky toffee pudding.

Don't try and back out now. Put the pudding in the bag.

-What?

-Quick! They'll be onto us.

All right. Fine.

We never met.

In the deputy head's office

there's some disagreement about the afternoon's activities.

This is your deputy head speaking.

Could all pupils doing their cycling proficiency

please make their way to the playground?

No, this is your deputy head speaking.

To the sports field, cyclists.

-Playground.

-Sports field.

Playground!

Sports field!

-Playground!

-Sports field!

-Playground!

-Sports field!

Playground!

Cycling proficiency is inexplicably overseen

by inexplicably employed trainee teacher Miss Pinkham.

OK, so, we're here to learn to ride safely.

Serious face.

But let me start by saying I love, love, love your ponies!

This one's adorbs! Hello, little horsey.

Would you like a sugar lump?

Oh, and look at this one.

Ooh, great fetlocks. Part Arabian?

Cressey Dixon would be just green.

Anyway, the totes most important thing about riding safely

is to wear the correct headgear.

Anything too feathered is tacky, and family jewellery only, please.

New jewels are totes vulgar. Blah-blah.

Cool!

So, let's mount up. Magda will show you how.

Go, go, Magda.

SHE LAUGHS

Oh, this is too funny.

Oh, mega lolz!

I'm most defs posting these.

Thank you, darling. Tweet-tweet. Tweet-tweet, Magda.

Oh, cool. Cool.

So, now you know how to ride safely, you can play polo,

and I'll sit in the marquee and watch, so mount up.

That's it.

Give your horsey a sugar lump and tally-ho!

Oh. YOLO.

Ah!

Go, go, Magda. That's it. Whoop-whoop!

Go, go, go.

After an exhausting game of bike polo,

Team Thrust settle down to the serious business

of business with Mr Windlow.

Good afternoon, everyone.

-ALL:

-Good afternoon, Lord Windlow.

Sir is fine.

Right, Team Thrust, you were divided into two groups.

-Jasmine, you were team leader for the girls.

-Yep.

Good team leader?

Sounds promising(!)

You were asked to make money by baking and selling cupcakes.

Emily and Martine were my eyes and ears.

Emily, how did the girls get on?

Not well, sir.

Jasmine, what went wrong?

The food tech kitchen was busy so we had to buy the cakes instead.

Then Katie dropped them down the stairs.

Unbelievable. What did you do next?

We put all the squashed cakes into a box, called them flapjacks

and sold them for a quid.

Like it. Initiative.

The wheels on the car of business.

Emily, what was their profit?

1p.

Boys, Tahj - good team leader?

-ALL:

-Yeah.

-So, what did you do?

-I split the team into nine subgroups.

There are only four of you.

Each team drew up a strengths and weaknesses PowerPoint presentation.

Sounds a bit over-the-top.

Then all nine subgroups went paintballing

as part of a team bonding weekend.

I was there. They did do that. I thrashed them.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Talk is cheap and time is money. How many cakes did you sell?

Um, none.

We ran out of time.

Muppets.

Which means with 1p profit, the girls are the winners.

Hand it over.

Boys, take yourselves off

and decide who is responsible for this mess,

because one of you is going to be leaving the process.

It's no use just knowing the theory. They've got to put it into practice.

I know all the words to Shake It Off.

Don't make me Taylor Swift.

BELL RINGS It's the end of the day,

but the five-a-side football team have been called to the locker room

for a special unveiling of the latest sports kit,

as designed by Miss Dior-Durant.

-IN FOREIGN ACCENT:

-OK, ballers.

Team uniform is mortally important.

No-one cares if you're good player or bad player.

They only care what you wear.

Bad fashions get you laughed off the catwalk.

You mean pitch.

So, I spy on opposing team.

Want to know inside information of how they will play?

-Yeah!

-They will play...in stripes!

Ha!

So unfashion!

They're too ashamed too even come on to the catwalk.

-Pitch.

-So, I now unveil the new season kit.

I am NOT wearing that.

Beckham is so jealous. I said, "David, it's not for you."

He cry.

So, you need to keep tight at the back.

Finally, some tactics.

With this zip.

OK, kick off in half an hour. Come on, everybody.

Let's go.

OK, let's do this. Let's go out there.

Stick together, work as a team and we'll get this done.

-Ready?

-OTHERS:

-Ready.

-Yeah!

-THEY ALL CHEER

Let's go!

Hey! Where you going?

Come back!

Don't believe the haters, darlings.

As the five-a-side football team makes a swift exit,

everyone else heads home too.

Flapjack, anyone? Five quid.

Mint condition. I give you my personal guarantee.

Oh.

Flapjacks. Like it.

Well, nearly everyone.

HE SNORES

Night, all!

# You shook me all night long

# Yeah, you shook me all night long

# Working double time

# On the seduction line

-# She was one of... #

-BELL RINGS