But he said it in a mean way," complained six-year-old Maurice, who would not be fobbed off. He had tearfully entered the staffroom complaining of name-calling by a bigger boy, and, like a constitutional lawyer, he wanted justice. Our PO commended him for his perspicacity and analytical prowess. He suggested that maybe we had an embryonic James Joyce in our midst. The placated infant, happy to have heard sweet, consoling words from the "master", ran from the staffroom to join his pals.

Then the PO became melancholy and confided to us that while this boy was six, he himself was 60, and we, too, marvelled at the wisdom of babes and at the transience of life. Anna, who refuses to acknowledge the passing of years and who likes to have an axe to grind, changed the subject pronto. She is still bemoaning the fact that she has to make up lost ground after four weeks of student teaching.

According to her, they - the student teachers - are a waste of space and a very annoying intrusion into her September educational trail. Happily she is the only one on our staff who is of that opinion.

There is slight amusement at the supervisors who arrive from Dublin on an apparent ego trip and seem pompous and self-important. We are not impressed.

Which reminds me - I came home from school one evening recently and switched the television. The presenter was interviewing a UCD person on gender inequity in secondary schools. The said professor tossed out some facts on parental attitudes and good communication between home and school. She concluded with a reminder that parents should encourage children to say "I can". Well where has she been living for the last few decades, or has she ever heard of Thomas the Tank Engine? Yes indeed, out of the mouths of babes.