'Just essays. How's things?'

Mr Roman Kuchar tastes the beginnings of a nicotine-tinged cold. A continuing aftertaste at the sides of the tongue and below the teeth of his bottom jaw. He wants an early night but is spending Friday evening red-penning the Year 10 essays on Bridge to Terabithia. Not a good start to the weekend.

A three minute scan of 750-1000 words indicates the amount of work put into a particular essay. The products of last-minute crams become bloody with errors that slipped past spell check, misused commas, statements based on second-hand knowledge of the source text. Belle not Bell, and Terabithia is a product of Jesse and Leslie's imagination - the monsters are not real. Kuchar refrains from adding So basing your argument on fantasy tropes makes it utterly, utterly redundant to the marginalia. Got to give the kid points for originality.

The majority of grades have been landing around 14/20 to 16/20. Being Year 10s, most of the students see the value of grades but not the usefulness of knowledge, particularly the knowledge of the English syllabus. Symbolism, motifs, themes, analysis, the consensus among students is that it is all paranoia, seeing patterns where there are none. Kuchar does not blame them - in his experience, deeper ideas only emerge from a text, organically and enjoyably, on a second or third read.

Now for the essay by David, an established class clown, albeit one now picking a few choice moments so as to optimise the kicks-to-disruption ratio. The adults of Lark Creek are mostly dumb cunts pressuring their kids into becoming more dumb cunts will cost David some points but his grasp of the text is substantial, he gets the themes of conformity, friendship, growing up. Kuchar chuckles, gives the essay a 15/20, has a brief fit of coughs. This is why he teaches high school English - not the grades, not to produce writers or academic critics, but to give people a greater ability to consume culture.

Kuchar does not want to leave his students limited to reality television or rote videogames. Some will still opt for easy entertainment but the choice should be available - presumably, both would be consumed i.e. two hours of YouTube after hitting the halfway point of London Fields. Kuchar's argument: people work for money, a significant amount of which is spent on kicks. Therefore, people should work for the kicks provided by hard, or moderately difficult, entertainment. No middle-step money - no tax.

The front door opens without even a ceremonious knock. Abigail, or Abby, the young mother of one of Roman's first students and, years back, party to a sexually charged parent-teacher night. A six pack and pouch tobacco hang at her right.

Abby starts a cheeky grin: 'Doesn't look like I'm interrupting anything important.'

Roman sniffs: 'Just essays. How's things?'

Abby places her goods on the counter, plants hands on the table so that her arms squeeze her breasts together and forward: 'Feeling old. The eldest has a party and the youngest is at a sleepover. Bored. You have that cold that's doing the rounds? I'll make you some tea.'

Roman watches her ass as she fills the kettle, has the first flushes of boner: 'Yeah, but I don't have any tea.'

The kettle clicks, Abby searches the cupboard for honey: 'Catnip tea. Good for your immune system and helps you fall asleep. I was going to smoke some after.'

Finding a palm-sized bundle of leaves and stems coloured green, purple, brown and grey, wrapped twice-over with cling-wrap, in the tobacco pouch: 'After?'

Abby cocks a knee out, head turned and tilted left with eyebrows raised, smile closed, a sarcastic Ha ha, very funny.

Roman drops eyes to the alcohol: 'Utopia hard lemonade. Woolshed brewery.'

Raising voice over boiling water: 'Tastes like a good organic lemonade, but too many will knock you on your arse. Good for a drink or two, though.'

Two point one standard drinks. A three-fingered pinch of catnip is steeped  and stirred with a heap teaspoon of honey. Abby holds the tea in her left hand, a cracked lemonade in her right. Somehow her pants have come off and Roman had wanted an early night. A good start to the weekend.