My school is... a split site, which means nearly killing myself, children and the public in the two-mile car journey between lessons in very little time. It also means that the boot of my car is so full of equipment that it looks like I’m off to the local car boot sale. A pristine copy of An Inspector Calls anyone?

In five years’ time I’d like to be... in senior management so that I can pretend I know things just because of my title while sitting in an office and hiding from other teachers.

If I had the guts I’d tell the head that... you are only an acting head. That means you didn’t get the job when you applied and that makes you a pretend head.

My worst work nightmare is... being asked probing questions by the gifted and talented because the smart Alecs know the answer and want to watch me squirm, because they know I don’t.

Senior management don’t know it but... we can see you in that office, hiding and drinking copious amounts of coffee. A title does not maketh the man (or woman).

My favourite bit of the week is... my free period last thing on a Friday. There is a god, but he has a twisted sense of humour in that he gave me bus duty immediately afterwards.

I hate teachers who... have been in the profession for years and go away on exotic holidays in half-term while I spend every waking hour planning and marking, then have the audacity to ask me, “Did you have a nice half-term?” Sadists.

The weekend is for... liquid refreshment in the pub and boring all your non-teaching friends with more tales of little Johnny who decided this week to chuck himself out of the classroom window. Unfortunately, in a classroom on the ground floor. Good friends always listen no matter how bored they are.

pound;50 paid for your true confessions. Share your secrets by sending an e-mail (in the strictest confidence) to dorothy.lepkowska@tes.co.uk