Having lounged in bed following an intense hour of lovemaking, we had to hustle to get to our courses. We travelled together and arrived just as classes began for the day. I kissed her and she ran to her workshop.

She was a beautiful sight as she ran down the corridor, her long dark hair weaving a frantic tapestry as she moved. I smiled, walked to my room and ambled inside to a severely angry look on the teacher’s face. I found an empty seat at the back of the room and sat down. The guy snapped his fingers in my direction. I ignored him. He tried again, something snapped inside me. I decided to go into Peter mode.

“I sincerely hope you aren’t snapping your fingers at me, pal,” I said.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, incredulously.

“Are you deaf?”

“What?”

“I know a good ear guy that can sort that out for you.”

“How dare you speak to me in that tone?”

“Listen, pal, if I were you I’d quit while you’re not that far behind.”

“What’s your name?”

“Please.”

“What?”

“There you go again. You really should get that looked at.”

“I won’t ask you again.”

“Great, because it’s getting old and we’re losing time here, so carry on with your work, like a good little man.”

“I’ll have to ask you to leave the group.”

“You can’t ask me that.”

“I’m the instructor, I can do anything I please.”

“No, you can’t. We’re not pupils getting a free ride here, we’re getting paid to be here, and thereby come under the Employee Workers Regulations Act. If you don’t want a strike on your hands or get bound up in court for being a workplace bully, I suggest you turn around and write something on that fucking board so we’re not here until doomsday. Pal.“

He fumed as most of the class started laughing.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, and stormed out of the room.

The chap sitting in the seat beside me started laughing.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Oh, everything,” he said.

“Care to expand?”

“Quit while you’re not that far behind,” he said, “that was fucking brilliant.”

I laughed too.

“Tony Harris,” I said, offering him my hand.

“Deco Carroll,” he said, shaking it.

“A fellow Dub. Where are you from?”

“Coolock.”

“No fucking way,” I said, “whereabouts?”

“Kilmore West, just there at Lorcan Estate.”

“I’m from Cromcastle, small world.”

“Harris?” he said, “my sister, Nikita, goes to school with a girl called Sinéad Harris from there. Any relation?”

“She’s my sister.”

“I’ve been in your house.”

“Doing what?”

“Shagging her.”

“Fuck off,” I said, shaping to stand up.

He started laughing again.

“Relax, I’m messing with you,” he said, “I was collecting Nikki, Sinéad was helping her with her Maths.”

“You’re a wind up merchant, I see.”

“A bit. Not as good as you, though.”