August 15, 2015 by helenwaldron
“What actually happens at a G8 summit?” asked Speakeasy.
“Nothing much,” answered Writewell. “It’s just for heads of state to wine and dine and schmooze. It’s a networking event.”
“Hmm”, said Speakeasy. “That could be my sort of job.”
“Yes,” agreed Writewell. “It’s a bit like doing this seminar. A life of luxury and not much work. We’re offering less for our money than usual this week.”
“Not our fault,” protested Speakeasy.
It was true. On the third and fourth day, their lessons had been constantly interrupted by mobile phones beeping. It wasn’t like their students to be so rude. Ken was shouting in what sounded like Russian. Jean-Claude’s French was too fast for Speakeasy and Writewell to follow very well. When Oscar spoke very slow Portuguese, Ken pointed to him on the phone and said “Spanish.” Ken and Jean-Claude appeared to be sending Oscar email addresses and website links every few minutes and each time he received one he looked out a huge file to forward to the new address.
“He’s sending films and audio files,” whispered Writewell.
That evening Speakeasy and Writewell sat in their hotel foyer drinking champagne.
“I feel such a failure,” exclaimed Writewell suddenly. “Deborah’s right. We must be bad teachers.”
There was a silence as they drank more.
“We should give up.”
“What give up completely?”
“No, give up teaching the AB – you know – this group.”
“Well, I’ll go into politics then. Jump on the gravy train. Go where my schmoozing is genuinely appreciated.”
“Drinking champagne always makes me depressed,” said Writewell.
“Bedtime,” said Speakeasy schmoozily.