The department is looking for "magnet schools", establishments where computers are in use effectively in the classroom. The idea is being tossed around at the 11 a.m. break. Will we apply?

The idea is that certain schools are chosen as centres where others can learn first-hand how to introduce and integrate IT. All schools are about to be presented with a sort of technological goodie-bag - computers, software funding and Internet access; yet most teachers are less than enthusiastic about the whole process.

Why? "Well, it's a bit like getting a dishwasher for Christmas when you don't even have running water," suggests someone at an INTO meeting. "They'll deliver these things in a glare of publicity, and they'll flicker and buzz and leave us all consumed by guilt because we don't even want to turn the blasted things on. We won't have a clue what to use them for - but I suppose parents will approve, and it'll keep the Celtic Tiger purring away for another while."

Anyway, would we qualify? "Why would we want to qualify?" wonders our principal. Would we be drawing every cigire in the country on ourselves, and to what gain? Sure, we don't do that much anyway.

But Gerry says it's all relative. We really do a fair bit - four computers, a website, "Keypals" (email penpals to you!) in far-flung corners of the world and a brand-new scanner gleaming from its throne on a prehistoric wooden stool. What would we want a 24volume encyclopaedia for, we tell the befuddled salesman.

As for me, I arrived here a little over three years ago and immediately suggested that another teacher take the computer out of my classroom. Three classes, four reading groups and a basic distrust of anything more multimedia than the projector - where would I find time to teach computers?

Never mind that I wouldn't even know how to turn the thing on, pride was at stake. "I believe computers only reinforce the expectations children have of life being wall-to-wall entertainment. We as teachers shouldn't try to compete with that."

My principal, a fairly recent convert herself, soothed me gently. "Just turn it on. The children will go down to it in their turn. They'll know exactly what to do." Still, I ignored it, decried it and some days didn't even turn it on. Were it not for the prodding of the children and the enthusiasm of my colleagues, I'd have gladly dumped it.

But the long road to Damascus reached a turning point at the Halloween break. My own five-year-old got stuck in - what could I do but follow suit? I clicked and pointed and by Christmas began to realise that I was hooked.

Anyway, three years down the line, do we want to be a cyber-school? Would we neglect our 3Rs in favour of this vaguely-defined project? Are we buying a pig in a poke?

Then we see Michael, aged five, with counters in one hand, the mouse in another and a huge smile. "Give it a go, so," we all agreed. "If we only pass on as much as we learned ourselves, isn't it a start!"