Tuesday I go online to check the arts news on the web before getting down to work. Under "literary news" is an item about David Beckham's forthcoming autobiography. Will I be teaching "Beckham studies" in 10 years' time? I get into the office, put the kettle on and am told coffee on tap will be a thing of the past. Just like Shakespeare, I suppose. A leisurely trip to the staff loo reminds me of something I read about teachers and constipation.
WEDNESDAY Whoever dictated this tape I'm typing up must have done it underwater while eating Kettle chips. I rewind it several times, grit my teeth and feel glad about my imminent change of career. Someone comes in and suggests lunch at the local pizzeria. Suddenly I'm less glad about the move.
THURSDAY I take the morning off to visit my GP to ask about removing ugly skin tags. I joke with him that I want to get rid of everything pupils might tease me about. He gives me a funny look. When I get out of the surgery, I realise what he was thinking. Why is a woman with three chins worried about being called Warty?
FRIDAY At 5.30pm I collect my belongings, including the favourite pens I shall never take to work again. My PC, Dictaphone and kettle have a misty romantic glow around them as I take one last look. I console myself that I'll be leaving work two hours earlier when I'm teaching. Well, a little self-deception doesn't hurt when you're facing the rest of your life without coffee.
Fran Hill Fran Hill has just started a secondary English PGCE at Brunel University