'So,' she said, 'it seems that we need to switch off.'
He ignored her. Deep down, he thought her a toff. She spoke too nice, and somewhat posh.
She went on:
'The electricity bills; they're proving too much. If we don't turn out the lights, we could be kicked into touch.'
(There you go, he noted. Just look at her analogy. She makes reference to rugby; that's what they play at school in Surrey.)
'I wouldn't mind,' she continued not seeing the chip on his shoulder; indeed, she rarely listened to the things he often told her. 'But switching off suggests having first been switched on. The days of plugged-in students are - am I wrong? - long gone.'
(And this he allowed for, despite her southern vowels, she stuck her neck out as was needed, never quit, threw in the towel. Perhaps being middle-class gave one a confidence-advantage, he pondered to himself as he gulped his Mother's Pride sandwich.)
'Please don't think I'm merely airing my discontents. Here's the missive from the Press and Marketing department. It's all in their newsletter; their environmental pages. According to this document, we must head back into the dark ages.'
'You mean the Age of Enlightenment has come to and end?' The demise of old-school education drove him round the bend.
'Of course, I understand the need for economy', she blathered on blithely. 'In fact, though it might surprise you some, I'm used to living frugally. I might be a snob but my childhood wasn't easy. Just the thought of those bread-and-dripping days makes me feel quite queasy. It was never a case of living with plenty. More often than not, the kitchen cupboard was tantamount to empty.'
'Really?'
'Now, they're saying we have to cut electricity bills drastically. (And I'm sorry to report, it's written bombastically.) We are, it appears, to resist consuming fossil fuels. But, without any power, don't we lose our teaching tools?'
He paused for a second, and then offered a thought. 'Just because we lack electricity, things don't have to come to nought. Listen up you, you know, I think I might have a plan, which feels good for a working-class, emasculated man. Let's give them some parchment, an ink-well and a feather. Let's conduct our classes in the park, regardless of the weather.'
And, for once she believed that he might have it right. There was nothing she liked more than spending the night wrapped up in her sleeping bag under the stars. Away from suburbia and the noise of its cars. There was nothing she liked more than making coffee on her stove as the dimming twilight sky shifted from golden-red to mauve. Why not vacate the lecture rooms and teach, instead, outdoors. Yes, for once he had it right and his rightness gave her pause.
