C.A.E. they call it here – Council of Adult Education – though you don’t have to be an adult I guess, everything from macrame to blues harmonica to entry level English. It used to be in one pokey building but over the years it has spider-webbed out to consume the other buildings around it, in various nooks and niches on unexpected places like the eighth floor of 140 Flinders Lane. An elegant Corinthian stone facade leads to a lift well. My finger pushes the cool metal. The arrow seems to leave an imprint in my skin, I wait as other lift riders appear from the active outdoors, into the tranquility of the foyer. No hums, just an arrival announced by a bell. A slippering door shudders open.

Inside we self consciously ignore each other- strangers who have to ride for 8 floors! I think of what might be in this week’s class. My assignment is neatly typed on two A4 pages, whether I get to read it is a matter of chance and fate. The upward push of the elevator halts at five, doors open to a window of activity, some type of office with large TV screens with play backs of sports events – might be a news room. The doors glumph closed. And my souls feel the upward nudge, the fight against gravity, the almost floating sensation as we rise to Eight. A jar and we stop, a bell sounds as the doors once again concertina and wait for me to alight. It’s our second week here – they had us in the main building but somehow chose to move us. Now, we have a weird pillar a third way into the room so the desks and sightlines all have to work around that – strange! The first week here none of us could find the darn room – it had no number.

I deposit myself on a chair, half of us are here, some random questions from last week are thrown at the teacher, all of us hold our precious bundles in our fore-thoughts like we’re rocking a baby to sleep, will I get a chance this week? It’s an all ages affair, retirees, a girl just out of school……