Before I arrived at Tes the best part of a decade ago, my only experience of FE was an evening class in basic computer skills (CLAIT 1, anyone?). But, as I quickly learned, FE is a sector that changes lives and is packed with the most committed, imaginative professionals I’ve ever encountered.

Once you get beyond the gallows humour borne out of years of real-terms funding cuts, FE hums with a determination to help young people that it’s impossible not to feel inspired by. Before you know it, you’re telling friends’ children about apprenticeships and bellowing “AND COLLEGES!” when commentators fail to recognise anything that isn’t a school.

In recent months there’s one part of the FE sector I’ve become particularly attached to: Esol. We’re not talking about higher-level technical skills here. We’re talking about the most fundamental skill of all: being able to communicate with your neighbours, the council, people in shops. Filling in forms. Reading the paper. Watching the telly. Without Esol, thousands of people who arrive in the UK each year are denied access to the simplest human interactions. That’s why its underfunding over the past decade is so abhorrent.

The tide, though, is turning. Esol played a central role in the government’s integrated communities Green Paper. Policymakers are starting to pay attention. A pilot scheme will give thousands more learners access to free English classes.

But what about the teachers and institutions who take it upon themselves to work with them? Esol is by no means a money spinner; per-qualification funding rates have been unchanged since 2012. Providers increasingly rely on unqualified volunteers.

Just imagine what a difference a modest funding increase would make. There is no shortage of vested interests lobbying for extra cash in the next budget, most of them with much louder voices than the Esol sector. But just remember; without Esol, the most marginalised individuals in society have no voice at all.