Today, nobody told to me to f*** off half-a-dozen times. Nobody threw a tantrum and stormed out because he was asked for his homework for the second day running.

Nobody farted continuously and polluted the room for all the other occupants.

Nobody shouted insults and obscenities as I patrolled the yard - a free babysitting service for the State.

Today, somebody asked me to explain the word "ducats".

Somebody asked me the meaning of the word gamme in Croix Gamme.

Somebody spoke of the similarity between the words "equitation" and "equestrian".

Today, I was allowed to do my job unhindered. Today, as you may have guessed, was a student protest day.

And for the first day in a very long time, I was allowed to do my job and I revelled in the task.

The disaffected, by and large, were outside the gate doing what they do best - being disruptive. I'm not tarring them all with the same brush - sure, there were students making their legitimate protest within the law. But what about the others, the ones who "cared" so much about their exams that they broke windows and attacked cars.

The disaffected - it would not be PC in the sensitive world of teaching in the aftermath of the ASTI dispute to use a stronger word - are preventing the job from being done. Yes, that's right: in a very large number of our classrooms today we are not allowed to do the job.

No, I'm not a raw young recruit to the classroom. I'm a seasoned campaigner, having practised my art at home and abroad for a decade and a half.

One astonishing lesson from the recent bruising campaign is the total lack of awareness on the part of the public at large about what really goes on inside the walls of a classroom. The fossilised version that we are subjected to on TV, where the students sit in neat rows, heads down, hands politely raised to ask a question, is like something out of a Dickens novel.

No f***ing and blinding. No obscenities or missiles hurled. No broken windows. No fights. No kicking of classroom doors. No blood sports like baiting the teacher who is attempting to hold the line - sometimes just about - between anarchy and order. Yes, that's what your little darlings are up to - many, not all of them - during their non-working (for money) hours between 9 a.m. and 4 p.m.

Like those of many of my colleagues, my bags are packed. Get ready to use the by-now-defunct 30 per cent as "hello money" to try to attract anybody and everybody to take care of the nation's children - our most precious possession. Minister, nobody envies you this messy task.