Saturday after

I’ve volunteered to do a few extra classes. Little bit of overtime if you like. Six hours of kid’s classes. Six hours of Incey Wincey Spider climbed a little spout. Six hours of I’m a teapot, what the f*** are you? Six hours of look at me, I’m walking on a floor made of treacle. Six hours of babysitting while the sofas in reception are occupied by mothers in designer clothes sitting on their fat, idle backsides.

On the journey to work by sky-train, I sit opposite a young man preparing a lesson in full view of the commuting massive. He scribbles notes on a jotter pad while the cover of his Interchange 2 textbook flaps around for all and sundry to see. I am so full of admiration for people who see no shame in being a Bangkok English teacher. Here is a young guy putting his heart and soul into the language education of Thailand’s baby boom generation and he doesn’t care who knows it. When the train stops at Ekkami, a young European-looking executive gets on board. He sits down next to me to take the weight off his suit. No sooner has he sat down than his mobile phone goes off. The phone is tiny and expensive – you can barely see it when it’s pressed against an ear. There begins a protracted conversation, which contains loud references to ‘closing down the Stockholm office’ and ‘getting Ludwig to meet the client at the Sheraton on Monday’. The teacher puts his lesson preparation to one side and listens to the one-sided conversation. When the phone call is finished, the teacher and executive look at each other. They each have only one question on their mind ‘What’s it like being you?’