MOST people would run a mile rather than join a room full of teenagers for their school dinner.
At best, you might imagine making awkward conversation with sullen adolescents, at worst, a Grange Hill-style food fight.
What actually happened at the Michaela Community School — dubbed “Britain’s strictest school” — was certainly noisy, but not in the way you might expect.
Pupils file into lunch chanting lines from classic poetry such as Julius Caesar and Invictus.
“I am the master of my fate,” they yell. “I am the captain of my soul.”
It goes on and on, led by maths teacher Mr Bullock, who only needs to shout one line for them to recite the rest. The most passionate are rewarded with merits.
Over cheesy pasta and a hunk of cake, engaging, ambitious young people tell me how much they love their school. Yes, even with the many, many detentions, of which more later.
But there’s little time for chitchat — and that’s deliberate — before they are clearing plates, checking for crumbs under their chairs and practising their “appreciations”.
Volunteers are then picked to address the hall. One lad thanks the teacher who taught him the pulmonary system that morning, another kid is grateful for their parents encouraging them to save money, and each little speech is followed by a sharp, two-beat clap.
The Sun is thanked — twice — for visiting.
