Wherever I spend my Easter vacation, be it reading British newspapers on a foreign beach or at home struggling to remove reluctant anaglypta, I am reminded of my profession by the teacher union conferences.
Ladies in black leggings and men looking like Jim Royle on a bad day huddle together in the conference hall ready to challenge the fragile fabric of the English education system.
Yes, I belong to the National Association of Schoolmasters Union of Women Teachers. I pay my dues and hope never to employ its services. It is just an insurance policy against false accusations and professional injustice.
Unfotunately, part of the subscription goes to sending the militant to Margate or the bolshy to Blackpool claiming to represent the interests of their members. Can I say that they do not represent my interests!
I love teaching, but abhor the image of the profession given to the public by so-called union representatives. Have you ever seen such a scruffy, peculiar, off-beat collection of humanity as those who frequent the conferences?
No wonder teachers get such a bad press. And is it surprising that no one wants to enter the profession?
Steve Devrell 10 Swinbrook Way, Shirley Solihull, Birmingham.