Just cutting and pasting an article in The Times by a former pupil. I think it probably answers your question, because it just shows his thorough enjoyment of Reading school (and in case you're interested, I know all the boys mentioned in the article and the author. Tom got 6 As at A-Level and now, obviously, writes for The Times. Kieron got a PhD and makes a lot of money periodically doing something brilliant that nobody understands with computers, Mike is a biologist and is carrying out research into spiders):
Tom Whipple June 22 2011 12:01AM
Michael Gove has been urging state secondary schools to open at weekends. A former pupil explains why it?s a bad idea
The business studies teacher looked up (extremely slowly). His head moved (extremely slowly) from left to right. As with the week before, and the week before that, he registered with disappointment that his class had decided to turn up. ?Right,? he said at last, his forehead returning to the desk, his hand moving to the remote control. ?Since you?re all here: video time.?
Our Saturday morning lessons had begun, as was traditional with the younger teachers, with two periods of Double Hangover.
It was with a sense of overwhelming injustice that every Saturday for seven years I woke up to realise that I, well, had to wake up. Almost alone among state secondaries mine (Reading School) had decided to inflict an extra half-day?s lesson on us. The idea, doubtless, was to make us an academic powerhouse. That is clearly what Michael Gove was thinking when this week he called on more state schools to open on Saturdays.
But the problem for the Education Secretary is not just that his proposal will nurture a generation of irate Labour voters. It is also that everyone, from the head to the keenest Year 7, does not want to be there, and believe me they never will.
For us, Saturday school was five eighths of a normal day. After the first two periods of teacher-has-a-headache- so-please-be-quiet, we normally had a single period of why-the-hell-aren?t-we- all-in-bed? The day would end with double it?s-nearly-over-so-let?s-wind- down-a-bit. For those unlucky enough not to be picked up by guilt-ridden parents, there was then an hour of let?s-get-home-in-our-school- uniform-without-being-beaten-up.
It was during double physics that the incident happened which, I fondly imagine, convinced management that it was time to reappraise the Saturday school policy.
Double physics on a Saturday had long been designated by the teacher as an extra practical lesson. This particular day, Kieron, a good friend, was investigating conservation of momentum through the medium of a rubber ball and a metre stick held like a golf club. At the back of the class Mike was exploring thermodynamics with a physics game of his own devising. Called ?thermometer masturbation?, the goal was to make a thermometer reach the highest temperature possible using friction alone. Mike was so dedicated, he even had blisters. That day he was to achieve a personal best of 61C.
But there was another reason that this class would prove notable. It was the one that the headmaster had chosen to visit with some parents. So it was that he opened the door to see Kieron mid golf-stroke and Mike mid another sort of stroke, his oscillating hands partially hidden by a cheering crowd. Kieron looked slightly abashed. Mike, ever the sportsman, barely lost his stride.
The headmaster did not, alas, stay to see him reach his record. Instead he shut the door and ushered the parents into chemistry. A few years later, Saturday school was abolished.