My bosses at school are incompetent. This is a fact I’ve lived with for pretty much the five years I have been employed there, and for most of the time I am at peace with it, since it suits my purposes: I have the freedom to do what I like.

The main boss, the headmistress, is approaching old-age (hastened, no doubt, by alcohol), and tries to keep a tight reign on her baby. This would be admirable if it weren’t for the fact that she lies out of her arse, seldom fulfills her word, and seems to have no idea about the laws that govern the running of a school.

Along with her is the joke that is the headmaster. He is a dyslexic Arab whose grip of the Swedish language is slight, and, despite having an amiable demeanour on the surface, seems to have made some terrible accusations and comments to a few of the women employees. He is the right hand to Maria, and they are completely inapt at knowing what each other (and themselves, come to think of it) is doing.

I am not alone in this opinion, I guarantee, and it is only now, when I feel confident about my role as a teacher, that I can be bothered to put it writing. If The Office hadn’t have already been written, then my school would have surely given Ricky Gervais enough ideas for about 8 seasons.