FraserWords

Since last week’s piece, wildly critical of such folks as bankers and solicitors, I have been deluged by protests: hundreds of people have sprung to the defence of the banking and legal industries, angrily declaring that such professionals are worth every penny they earn and insisting they are beloved of the majority of the public.

Or not.

In fact, not one person to whom I have spoken about the process of moving house has a single good syllable to say about most of the people involved. Not. One. Person.

(I say only ‘most’, because the three surveyors we’ve met have all been very quick, efficient and helpful. I’ve just had a good old debate with one of them, actually, and enjoyed it).

The answer, it seems to me, is simple: change the process.

So in coming weeks we’ll have a look at how we could make the process of buying and selling houses simpler and more affordable. The nation will weep on our shoulders in gratitude.

To kick us off, please use the comment facility to make any suggestions you feel could be helpful. And remember that most of the suggestions we may all like to make about, for example, bankers, are highly illegal and will have to be removed.

A life of luxury?

I’m second to none in my admiration for the writer and journalist Simon Parker and all he has done for Cornish life. His play Gonamena was one of the finest things I’ve seen in a theatre, and his commitment to Cornish arts and culture is precious indeed.

However… as the partner of a teacher, I thought I’d reply to his piece in our regional daily newspaper, the Western Morning News, on September 9: ‘With 15 weeks off, life would feel like one long holiday…’ In it, Simon described the luxury of lengthy holidays.

It’s a frequently heard yarn which always touches a nerve with teachers and their families. I know Simon Parker is as committed to fairness and decency as the next person, and his ire was sparked only by the rudeness of a teacher to whom he spoke. He’s done so much for his local schools that nobody could doubt his good will.

But I thought I’d put the record straight about teachers’ working lives.

My partner’s at school, teaching, from 8.55am to 3.15pm each weekday, delivering lessons. Presumably, people imagine that she plans these lessons – the equivalent of a presentation, illustrated, to 30-odd people – while delivering them? Sadly not. She plans these lessons at home, at night, from around 8pm, when the children go to bed, to midnight, or whenever she finishes. Lots of lessons are planned during those 15 weeks ‘holidays’. For example, my partner was at work each day in the week preceding the children’s return to school this month.

Perhaps people think she marks the results of those lessons during school days? No. That’s fitted into evenings and weekends too. That’s what she was doing yesterday, on our family Sunday together.

Quite when she fills in the voluminous forms and other forms of bureaucracy that the Government requires, assesses the pupils’ progress, monitors achievement, cares for children with special needs, prepares for Ofsted inspections, takes part in the charitable work of the PTA, attends training courses, writes reports, goes to meetings, meets parents, organises and runs after-school clubs, plans visits, rehearses nativity plays, scripts assemblies, writes and organises Christmas and leavers’ events, organises her pupils’ involvement in fund-raising events for school – quite when she does these things I’ve never been able to discover.

But never mind, we chuckle, because she has 15 weeks of holiday – 6 whole weeks in the summer, plus Bank Holidays.

Only…most Bank Holidays (Christmas Day, Good Friday, August Bank Holiday, etc, etc) fall during the 15 weeks of holidays, so Bank Holidays are not extra at all, as many believe.

As to the luxury provided by those 15 weeks, let’s look at it this way: the Government says you have the right not to work more than 48 hours per week averaged over 17-week periods, of which there are 3 in the year. That’s 2,496 hours a year.

My partner works 6 hours and 20 minutes in school (8.55am to 3.15pm) 5 days a week, 37 weeks of the year (52 minus 15 weeks’ holiday). That’s 31 hours and 40 minutes in school a week, 1,167 hours a year.

However.

She’s at school at 8am to set up for the day and greet children and parents. She leaves between 5pm and 6pm – call it 5.30pm for cash. So it’s actually 7.5 hours a day five days a week. 37.5 hours a week, 37 weeks a year. 1,387.5 hours a year.

But.

She works from 8 to midnight at least 4 days a week, and one 6-hour day every weekend in term-time. That’s an extra 22 hours a week, 37 weeks a year. An extra 814 hours unaccounted for in the cosy picture painted of holiday luxury, added to her ‘basic’ 1,387.5 hours a year. That’s 2,201.5 hours a year.

I won’t go into issues of responsibility and duty of care, or the effects of such intense and demanding long hours packed into short bursts. I will say my partner values her job and her school community incredibly highly, and loves with a fierce passion those parts of her job that involve sharing her love of life, knowledge and achievement with children.

Let’s just say that at a total of 2,201.5 hours a year we can see that my partner is working near to the recommended healthy limit of 2,448 hours a year, a limit strenuously disputed by many involved in the health, safety and welfare of working people and far in excess of the hours worked by many in the private sector. A limit the rest of Europe very sensibly sneers at in contempt.

Figures for 2007-08 show UK workers in full-time jobs put in an average of 41.4 hours a week, almost two hours more than the average among the 15 original members of the European Union. My partner’s hours, averaged over the 52-week year in this way, mean she works an average of 42.33 hours a week.

At least being in the public sector means a teacher’s pay is good and her terms and conditions of employment excellent, something to which all should aspire.