The most humiliating, thrilling and shattering year of my working life is over. School is (almost) out, end-of-year exams have been marked, data entered into spreadsheets and classroom displays taken down.

This week, I will join a few dozen former lawyers, bankers and civil servants at a party at the Bank of England to celebrate us becoming the oldest and possibly oddest bunch of newly qualified teachers in town.

After the dramas of the year, the awarding of my own teaching qualification last week was a bit of a let down. The certificate plopped into my spam folder while I was incarcerated in a windowless book cupboard repairing damaged textbooks with a roll of Sellotape. When I fished it out I could not download it as I had lost my Teacher Reference Number and had no idea how to get a new one.