Or, to put it another way, how come we all end up as managers?

My generation certainly has - I can hardly think of one who could still describe him or herself as a “teacher” pure and simple. And although we are all different, you cannot help notice that in other ways we are all exactly the same. At least, that is, as managers we all fall into the same categories.

Take that most noticeable of managerial animals, the manager who cannot manage. This is the person so lacking in life skills - not to mention managerial skills - that they practically need someone to take them to the toilet.

Interestingly, ineptitude does not seem to be any barrier to progress - in many ways it can help to accelerate it. The manager who cannot manage is often on the move - speeded along by a glowing reference, naturally. But at least you know where you are with incompetence; which is more than you can say for the next managerial type that comes to mind: Mr Nasty to you one minute, Nice the next.

It is always a toss up for those on the receiving end as to which of this warped pair is preferable. Mr Nasty is, well, nasty. But Mr Nice is no better - oily and ingratiating by turns, he knows he overstepped the mark a moment ago, and wants to make you - should that read him? - feel better about it. As the comforting arm snakes around your shoulder, the thought inevitably goes through your mind: I preferred him when he was being nasty.

In practice, though, the nastynice manager is just a sub-category of a much wider grouping: the insecure. Insecure managers are bad news for everybody, not least themselves. Whatever their chronological age, they are still at heart the gawky teenager dressed in their dad’s suit. And however many times they turn up the cuffs or pull in the waistband, it is still a couple of sizes too big.

At least to themselves it is. Because that is where the problem for the insecure manager really lies - in convincing themselves that they are really up to the job. Naturally, this soon becomes a problem for others too, not least the managed.

The insecure manager is always looking over his shoulder. That is why he hates initiatives that come from below. Of course, he knows that what he ought to do is to celebrate the success of his staff - and then quietly take his share of the credit for it. But the thought that someone else is doing good things - particularly the thought that someone who might be eyeing up his job is doing them - always gets the better of him.

Then there is the bully. These days he is not likely to hit you or pinch a vulnerable part of your anatomy when no one else is looking. Unlike his schoolyard equivalent, he does not need to; the power he has over your life gives him all the kicks he needs.

The managerial bully brings to mind another well-worn quotation, not by a poet this time but a politician, David Lloyd George’s son, Gwilam. It too can be easily adapted for our purpose: managers are like monkeys. The higher they climb up the tree, the more revolting are the parts they expose.

Which leads one to wonder: are bullies attracted to power, or do they become bullies as a result of exercising it? Whatever, there are clearly more of them about than there used to be. Perhaps that is not surprising in an FE climate where kicking ass is much more the thing than patting backs.

The asses in question may not have targets painted on them, but targets are what it is about, in part at least. And while everyone knows that most of them are fatuous in conception and impossible in practice, that does not stop those at the top kicking their subordinates and so on down the line.

But didn’t I say earlier that while there are differences, today’s managers are in some ways all alike? It comes back to those targets again. If you know that what your boss wants to hear is good news - “Don’t bring me problems, bring me solutions!” - isn’t that what you end up giving him?

Let us say a section leader is asked to glean the facts about enrolments in a particular class. The class teacher is worried that there are only eight recruits and one of those is looking distinctly dodgy. That is not what his manager - our leader of the section - wants to hear, however, so he pushes it up to 10: “And I know there are others on the way.”

The faculty head, to whom the section leader reports, likes to think positively too. So she is told that there are 14 now with another five sniffing around. She in turn wants to please the VP. So, while she confidently reports there are only 18 bums on seats at present, when the other 12 possibles sign up, we can open a new class.

“Good news,” says the VP, walking into the principal’s office. “Down on the frontline there are so many students they don’t know where to put them all.”

Stephen Jones is an FE lecturer