What I did on my training day

Take an empty gym hall, 20 smiley, enthusiastic primary school teachers and a workship on music and movement and what have you got? A recipe for hell, or, as the workshop co-ordinator would undoubtedly refer to it, "'H - E -L - L,' - and don't forget to enunciate clearly. What a great opportunity to reinforce those letter sounds, everyone!"

As we arrive at the school hosting the event, droves of little girls are emerging, the weedier ones struggling with blazers so lavishly embellished with secondary stitching that the sheer weight of the embroidery could easily pile-drive them into the ground.

Before the course begins, we get a compulsory tour of the school. The head introduces us to her all-female staff. All are blond and enormous, display a great deal of decolletage and seem to have taken the term 'foundation stage' very much to heart when it comes to make-up, never mind the curriculum.

The tour is meant to impress, with each increasingly ambitious activity - French and ballet for tinies, cookery andtailored gym sessions for everyone, prefaced by the remark, "....but I'm sure it's the same everywhere," although, judging by the increasingly stupefied looks on the faces of her audience, it quite obviously isn't. The walls are crammed with the children's work: "I like reading books with information. My favourite book is the Atlas," Aimee, 6, writes in perfect, joined up
letters.

The invitation mentions the need for comfortable clothing, which is interpreted by the guests to mean pink sparkly tops worn over leotards, tailored jackets, big, fussy belts and leather gilets with elaborate beading.

Then the course begins with the chilling words, "Make a lovely big circle and hold hands." I search for an escape route, but the door is firmly closed. We walk first to the left, then to the right, singing the words of the first song, "Mrs Bunny," during which we are encouraged to point to our noses, wiggle our toes, and show off our long, long ears. I think leaping up and down and winking with one eye comes into it somewhere as well, though by this time I am in a sort of trance of horror and unable to take in most of it in.

Next, we choose a partner and, arm in arm, perform various manoeuvres. "Very good for encouraging collaborative work!", shouts the instructor, as we hop, bump hips and then parade round for the creative part, which involves choosing what creature we want to be and then being it while going forwards,backwards and sideways, still in pairs.

Next we play air guitar ("Now's your chance, girls!") high, low, quickly and, unsurprisingly, slow. But that's not the end of it. In quick succession we also play air piano, air trumpet and air drums. "Great for sound discrimination," shouts the coordinator. But most of the teachers aren't even listening. I have a horrible feeling that this is the most fun they've had for ages, or possibly ever. While I shrink back against the wall, clinging to the climbing frame ("Great for empathising with borderline personality disorders, girls!" is the cry that should go up, but doesn't), the others are bright-eyed, red-cheeked and whooping with delight as they
career round the hall. Such is their excitement that when the moment comes to choose a leader to stand in the middle of the circle, the rush to get there first, accompanied by cries of, "ME, ME, ME!" almost results in a nasty accident.

The final part involves sitting down and playing some small drums. There aren't quite enough to go round. "If you don't have a drum, you've got a pretty good percussion instrument with your body," says the instructor, patting herself rhythmically all over. "I'll use my knees as my drums." Enthusiastically everyone else joins in.

Later on, I give one of the other teachers a lift to the station. "That was great," she says. "Sometimes you really need something like that to stop getting stale." It's a safe bet, however, that even if I grow so stale that I am covered in green mould, I will never, ever need something even remotely like that ever again.