Confessions of a teacher: Because school isn't quite what you remember it to be... by Jane Salomon Page A

corridors with her head to the ground. One of the KGB stand-by newbie, Stewart Williamson, is so keen to get in permanently that he has signed his soul to the devil. He is now the Headmaster's most trusted ally and, like his master, starts all his e-mails and various written communication with "Colleagues...". As for Karen, who seemed to have developed a more human side since declaring her intention to retire, she can still reverse to her old self when the situation requires it. Unfortunately for our department, this particular situation does require Karen's forceful hand and general unpleasantness. Jack has been off ill for two weeks now and it looks like it might be a prolonged illness. It's not his fault but the timing is awful as it coincides with the imminent arrival of thirty French kids plus accompanying teachers from our exchange program. Jack is the one who organises it and he's got all the information; except, he's not here and the rest of us are more or less in the dark as to what arrangements have been made. Karen, who is in charge of overseeing school trips, has called us all in, or more to the point summoned us in, for a crisis meeting. She sits with her trousered legs wide apart, elbows on the table and her painted red fingernails, the only touch of feminine power Karen will willingly display, rhythmically pianoing on the wood. Her nasty glare follows everyone of us as we take our place round the table. Once everyone is seated, her menacing eyes go once more from one end of the table to the other, like a bird of prey circling its potential dinner. There is silence, politeness and fear telling us it's probably better to let her have the opening gambit. She delivers it swiftly in a cold and enigmatic tone designed to increase the distance between her and us; ultimate power versus trembling insignificance. "You're looking at me, French department and I'm looking right back at you, right back at you". Whatever the hell she means, it's effective. We're all shaking like twelve years old caught doing something they shouldn't be doing. Karen continues: "As you all know, the French school party is arriving next week and we don't know anything about the organisation. Jack is off sick and we can't phone him at home. We don't even know if he'll be back before the end of term. So let's make some sense out of this mess". Between all of us, we manage to provide Karen with numbers and a list of the planned outings for the week and a half the French will be staying with us. The outings are the same every year. We just don't know if Jack has booked them all or not. Karen delegates to each of us the task to check that each particular event has been booked. Now for the tricky part. The one thing we know for sure is that there is an issue with accommodation for the French group leader. He is due to stay with one of the PE teacher for a week but they couldn't have him over for the first three days of their arrival. As far as we know, Jack hasn't managed to sort out anything before falling ill. Once again, Karen takes the lead and her icy tone makes it quite clear as to what she thinks of our department's efficiency.
    - He'll have to stay in a hotel for those three days, then. There's no other solution.
    We all sheepishly nod in agreement.
    - Okay. I'll book a room at the nearest most decent hotel. What's his name?
    Lea clears her throat timidly before whispering: "Monsieur Guet" (pronounced 'gay'). Karen is just about choking. She looks at us in disbelief, wondering whether this is a joke or a conspiracy.
    - There's no way I'm phoning a hotel and booking a room for Mr Gay! I'll call Sarah. She can do it.
    Sarah, one of the school secretary, is called over and Karen uses her most efficient and matter of fact voice to ask her if she could book a hotel room for the French teacher.
    - Of course. In what name?
    - Mr Gay, replies Karen, trying to make it sound as if it was the most common name in the whole of Britain.
    Sarah gasps but she