ou’ve got to do something!’ you stammer. ‘The whole place is about to burn down!’

‘Can’t help that,’ the cleaner grumbles.

‘What do you mean you can’t help that?’ You’re practically screaming at him.

‘I’m on my lunch hour,’ he says.

‘You’re on your lunch hour! You’re on your lunch hour!’ You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You try to keep control of yourself. ‘Um, may I enquire, when does your lunch hour finish?’ you ask politely.

He looks at his watch. ‘Six minutes,’ he says.

‘And,’ you say, still being super-polite, ‘do you think it may be possible that some time this afternoon, among your many duties, you could find time to put out the fire which is currently burning the bloody school down!’

‘Right,’ he says. ‘That’s it. Out you go. I’m not having any swearing in this office.’

‘Office?’ you say, but before you can say any more he bundles you out of the room back into the corridor.