“‘Ere, sir, you still licensed then?” says a gruff pupil called Ralph. We’re at the Foxton’s Academy of Excellence. We’re in year 2017. I’m 139 and still at the chalkface. I tried retiring, but the pension’s been binned forever. We’ve got a Lib-Lab Coalition. It is infinitesimally better than the last lot. The Minister of Education, Sir Tristram Hunt, is not. He has defied all odds and out-goved the Gove. His Big Idea is something called The Licence, a rather gruelling, weekly inquisition by his henchmen.
“You’re hardly fit for purpose!” opines a pupil called Felicity. She has a cold caller’s voice. Her chum Fiona, who will be a dental hygienist, concurs with folded arms.
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