Cluster. We're discussing what images the word conjures up. Blisters or grapes is the consensus. Then, collectively, a cluster of what? Communists, criminals, caterpillars? Well, schools actually. This is what we're described as in the eyes of the organisers of our in-service training. We are called forth to be re-energised, re-challenged and retrained in our clusters - small groups of schools jumping on the conveyor belt to hear how we should face the future of education and succeed.

Cluster. The word is redolent of other words; huddle, cower, maybe. This goes some way to describe how we felt the other day as we clustered to hear how we could plan for the revised English curriculum. The cold of our surroundings did little to enthuse us and we left on coats and huddled around the blowheater as we waited to be enlightened.

So, what's new? Well, oral language is to be given formal recognition rather than idly treated as a kind of optional extra - you recognised its validity but you never get around to devoting proper time to it. Sheila described it as the "fondue set" of the English curriculum.

It was amazing. As many as 30 teachers on the wrong side of the desk and we regressed instantly into stereotypes. Our brave facilitator divided us into groups and gave us worksheets with oral language games to try out. The good group went at it in an are-we-having-fun-yet way. Huh! Sucks! Others felt a bit foolish trying to decipher the Hinky-Pinks (if I said "Orchestra on a beach" and you replied "Sand Band" then you'd be on the right track), but rallied when they realised that they were expected to report back to the class on their progress.

But we were soon copped as the bold group. We read the worksheets, gossiped about the other members of our profession present and decided we were too old/experienced to be taken in by this type of mullarkey. As usual in this type of company, we descended into telling yarns. Great fun, until you're caught dossing.

Jimmy told us about one lad in his class who told another that he was a "whole eejit" the other day. When questioned on what exactly this meant, he became very defensive and eventually mouthed "Ah, Sir, he's a real clawhammer!" No shortage of descriptive language there, we agreed.

The nicotiners among us decided that the best option was to cluster again - outside the door for a restorative fag. We're not used to this, so "De reir a cheile" and all that.