She arrived - young, lively and like a breath of fresh air, in September. "Feng shui," she said in the staffroom one dismal November morning. Feng? Shea? we asked, wondering if Mrs Shea had totally lost the plot and called her youngest "Feng".
"Feng shui," she reiterated, glancing around our staffroom. We followed her glance. It took in the mouldy, flaking ceiling, which constantly covered the table and its environs (and us) with a fine dusting of white. Her glance took in the grimy curtains, the dripping sink and an array of grotty cracked mugs. "Very Miss Havisham," was her verdict, and in all honesty there was more that a grain of truth in her observation.
This was our den, our lair, our sanctum. In a sea of new curricula, new parents, new pupils, new expectations; this was our island of predictability. Nothing has changed here for years. Department circulars, circus adverts, school tour brochures, flyers for exhibitions and lectures, books of summer courses were all to hand, should anyone care to explore - or perhaps exhume - them.
She began by bringing in a small vase of flowers for the staffroom table - a fresh posy every Monday.
As we approached Christmas, the flaking ceiling gave a rather seasonal touch of "snow" to her pine, holly and cone centrepiece. When we arrived back after the holidays the staffroom had been painted. A member of staff offered us her dishwasher, as she was revamping her kitchen, and donated us her china mugs as they now clashed with her new colour scheme.
Feng shui or no, things have certainly changed in our staffroom. We still breeze in and out, grabbing a quick cuppa, but it is no longer a health hazard to do so. The ambience is generally more cheerful and as for our "breath of fresh air", she is off to Australia. She says that if she can survive in our staffroom she can surely take the outback in her stride!
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