WHY THE PIED PIPER WAS MISTAKEN

In theory, the TEFL-specific position of Social Organiser definitely has its charms, an obvious one being a fully financed social life at somebody else’s expense. When I first started teaching, the individual who at the time occupied the post glided skilfully around all summer like a sequined Come Dancing natural, alternately the master of ceremonies, the life and soul of the various parties he organised, and the subject of seemingly constant infatuations involving as wide a variety of the female species as it is possible to cram into a busy seaside language school in the middle of a British summer. These factors combined, it took little to convince me that I was a Social Organiser in waiting. One day, I fantasised, I would return triumphant and, like a Pied Piper without the period costume and the tin whistle, I would lead my students on a merry dance in my vacant hours, perhaps even emulating the near-fatal attraction that my colleague unmistakably exercised over virtually every member of the opposite sex.

So it was that, three years later, I did indeed return, albeit less with an air of triumph than a deflated, resigned realism, having just spent nine months with my nose firmly pressed against the TEFL grindstone, and consequently courting financial ruin, on the Costa del Sol, which I must admit, as the name suggests, is pleasantly sunny, if not the best place in the world to seek highly paid English teaching hours. Heartily weary of teaching the same repetitive chapters from galling textbooks, I also found the prospect of only giving four lessons a day instead of the regulation six mightily attractive, as I would only be expected to teach until lunchtime, after which I would be free to organise and promote the events before slipping into my Sunday trousers for an evening of effervescent, hedonistic whoopy making. All whilst legitimately dipping my hand in the till.

In fact, the arrangement was less than ideal in practice, the principal issue being that no time for class preparation had been built into my timetable. Often events started straight after school and ended around midnight, which actually made me more stressed about the next morning’s classes than I would otherwise have been. This I got used to, however. What I failed to accustom myself to was the powder keg of conflicting interests, cultural expectations and downright petulance that I encountered on the various events I organised, as students would take it in turns to sidle up to me and point out with how much more of a swing things would have been going had I arranged events in the way they felt appropriate.

On more than one occasion I began to wish I was all alone, sitting soberly in a quiet pub with a soft drink, a pair of scissors and some glue, thoroughly planning the next day’s classes.

Part Two to follow shortly...