Six Seven!

In spite of always trying to be aware of the world around me, and to keep up with developments, especially the kind of developments that may be relevant to school-aged children, I must admit that I have now drawn a blank.

Not only have I drawn a blank,  but I have also no desire whatsoever to educate myself on the latest nonsense that has been rearing its ugly head in my classroom (and in my home) for the last half term.

I grew up with a brother who coached me in the art of getting annoyed by a repeated phrase. “Jimmy Reckons”, “I’ll be back”, “Cowabunga” and something to do with Danny Bullen(!?) left his mouth every five seconds, in an apparently uncontrollable stream of repetitive drivel. I used to think that he did it purely for my detriment – to piss me off. But now I realise that it was a habit, born out of a compulsion that twelve year old boys seems to have instinctively. Lines from films, odd names, a phrase that had once gained a laugh – something stuck and for the next few weeks, it was all I’d hear.

No wonder I kicked him under the table at mealtimes and pushed him in ponds.

So, whilst he may have enjoyed riling me, in the same way that Boy Seymour likes to, it was probably just in his Y chromosome – a gene that requires the bearer to spout nonsense, for no good reason, whatever the current nonsense may be.

Back then,  in the 90s, we couldn’t even blame TikTok. Lord knows, such apps have only made the whole shite-spouting thing worse, but my brother seemed to manage without them. Yet here we are, in 2025, with endless uncensored bollo@ks being fed into our children’s brains through their eyes for hours at a time, and the next thing we know, there’s a “trend” – one thing that catches on for no fathomable reason and the trap is set; parents and teachers alike will soon unwittingly fall prey to the youth and say the wrong thing out loud, to much mirth and mocking (and a fair bit of time wasting)  from the young people in the vicinity.

I mean, what is so funny about the numbers six and seven?

Please, somebody tell me. I caught a headline somewhere the other day suggesting that NOTHING is in fact funny about those numbers. It is a pointless fuss over zilch – that the “meme” that started this is actually highly insignificant. I cannot bring myself to actually look it up – I am stubborn (and I don’t understand TikTok). But I refuse to believe that I can no longer approximate a number between 5 and 8 without being heckled joyously, guffawed at or cheered. I mean, I’m all for being cheered, but not for saying “six or seven”. That is ridiculous.

In my mind, this six seven thing is possibly about boobs. Or melons. There seems to be some sort of hand movement that goes alongside the phrase – maybe a weighing up of some type? I don’t think it’s particularly sexual. It does not achieve the same kind of embarrassed quiet snigger one gets if one accidentally combines the numbers six and nine, for example. Six seven generates a bolder, more unifying response. Which goes in its favour.

But in spite of this, I now have another no-go phrase to add to my litany, alongside skibbidy toilet (which, for a while, made saying even toilet a problem), something about Rizzlas, Hawk Tuah (which IS filthy) and of course, the word “sperm” (nb – I’m a Science Teacher).  Of them all, six seven is the most banal and pointless, and the hardest to avoid – indeed this whole farce has given me cause to ponder many times if, when approximating anything in a classroom setting, six and seven are the most common numbers to choose. When all  of our mini assessments are out of ten, I am guessing this might be so.

Language is a funny old thing –  I do love a spot of etymology. And I find it secretly quite heartwarming that kids across the country (possibly even across the world) are brought together in this way. It can be almost sweet. Especially for a phrase as innocuous as six seven. As a teacher of eleven to thirteen year-olds, I can handle it. But when my fifteen year old son or my seven year-old nephew spout it in my kitchen, the old Busman’s Holiday notion has never been more apparent, and I find myself mysteriously down in the chicken run, or in the aviary, amongst the animals instead…. there is only so much “boy” one can take. (I am not one for gender sterotypes, but I have to confess, I have NEVER heard a girl use six seven in any way other than for counting.)

In a strange way, I look forward to what’s next. What happens when six and seven are gone? What will be next term’s catchphrase? Where will it come from? I choose to ignore the possibility that our kids are being subjected to a form of brainwashing, and instead try to consider it a kind of global, online camerarderie. We must choose our battles, and in the scheme of things, six seven doesn’t seem to be too sinister..

It’s just REALLY annoying.

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