The following Friday 

Early start this morning. I teach an executive from 7.30-9.00 before he starts work. The pay is good but who in their right mind would want to study at this time of the day? Is he in fact human? And so we sit in his pokey little office - an insomniac executive who obviously hates his wife and can't wait to leave home in the morning, and a teacher wearing the face of a man who has had no breakfast, too little sleep and no time for a decent bowel movement. By 10.00 in the morning I'm exhausted.

Friday is workshop day. I love the word 'workshop'. I'm positive that it was brought into academic circles by radical feminists . . . simply because I blame them for everything else. The word workshop should be used to describe an environment of wooden work surfaces and blokes in grimy overalls with a pencil stuck behind their ear. But no - at our school it's the opportunity for the only teacher with an RSA certificate to stand up and bore us to death for two hours. Today's workshop is titled – ‘Should we be overloading young learners with grammar rules?'. Last week's was just as exciting - 'Can we let students run wild with role-plays?' 

The answer to both questions is obviously ‘No’ so why do we need two hours to discuss it? Why don't we get it over with in five minutes and head down to Toi's bar for the happy hour? Oh I'm sorry - it's called professional development. I knew I was missing the point somewhere.