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Adrian Bristow writes: Sunny Southsea indeed¡ This was the finest spell of weather the annual Summer Meeting of the Association of Technical Institutions has enjoyed for years. Outside a Latin sun beat down, while in the depths of the Portsmouth Guildhall men in dark flannel suits shifted delicately on their chairs and sweated. Principal Davey, of Portsmouth College of Technology, going in first on his home ground, presented a challenging paper on ‘Problems of Expansion’. He should know. In 1959/60 his College had 482 full‐time and sandwich course and Diploma students with a teaching staff of 98. In 1966/67 there were 2520 full‐time and sandwich course and Diploma students, 85 Research Assistants and 2500 post‐graduate special course students, and the teaching staff had more than trebled.

I find the role of the vice‐principal in local colleges a fascinating one. It obsesses me. Why this should be I do not know. My college will probably never have one (unless the ATTI insist on one being appointed as a condition of our doing Industrial Training) and I have never been one or served under one. So in considering his position in the organization structure, I set out in a spirit of friendly enquiry, uncluttered by experience or knowledge.

Slyme Green College of Further Education stands to the north of the town on the edge of a vast new trading estate. A glistening block of glass and concrete, it was opened a little over two years ago by Alderman Joseph Soap, Mayor of Slyme Green and Chairman of Governors. You follow a trail of litter up the drive, past the savaged saplings to the pool in the forecourt, a feature full of orange peel and little bits of stick. In the middle on a stained slab of slate stands a thing in metal, symbolising the Ministry giving birth to Technical Education. And very painful, too. This caused a furore locally, was featured in ‘Panorama’, and nearly cost the Labour Party four seats in the borough elections. (Soap, Chairman of the Education Committee: ‘I was never consulted’.)

Despite the all‐embracing goodwill, Christmas remains a dangerous time. I don't know about you, but I find that Christmas often seems to trigger off the mounting irritations of the year. As we stagger towards the end of term teachers are slightly off balance, kitchen staff are sweating blood in the refectory and even amiable caretakers get tetchy about decorations and humping furniture about. Heads of department pull themselves up the stairs by the hand‐rail and the principal, ageing visibly, looks like the ghost of Christmas past. The wrong word at the wrong time and the harmony is shattered. Staff rooms fall silent, kitchen staff bridle and caretakers retire to chain‐smoke in subterranean snuggeries.

Traditionally, physical education has no place in technical education. Until recently it was quite disregarded and there are still thousands of teachers in FE (of all persuasions) who fail to see what purpose it serves and what relevance it has to the needs of their students. Its only value in their eyes is that, like English and Social Studies, it breaks up the poleaxing slabs of work that form the part‐time students' day. This prejudice is widely held in industry by all except the most enlightened. Industry's view is refreshingly direct. If they are paying for a lad to continue his studies and make himself more useful to them, then PE is an irrelevance. It used to be the same with English, of course.

Few people outside technical education have any idea what the initials APTI stand for. And there are many inside who would be hard pressed to answer. FE teachers probably regard the Association of Principals of Technical Institutions as a small, close‐knit educational Mafia, bent on preserving the last shreds of authority in an increasingly participative world. But this is an unkind view to take of one of the two major professional organisations concerned with technical education.

At breakfast the other day, browsing through The Times, I came across a letter from a correspondent in Piddlehinton in darkest Dorset. I cannot remember what he was rabbiting on about, but I do recall an unexpected unflattering reference to ‘the increasing number of authoritative principals in technical colleges’. It came out — just like that — and brought me up short, choking on my egg.

“Frankly,” said the Doctor, “I can think of no occasion that fills me with greater detestation than a display of competitive athletics.”

Inside every principal there is a refectory manageress yearning to get out. Why this should be I do not know unless, deep down, we fancy ourselves as potential restaurateurs who somehow missed out on vocational guidance. Or perhaps we are possessed by a troll with an unhealthy desire to do other people's jobs for them. (There have been cases.) But whatever the reason, the interesting fact remains: principals seem drawn to refectories like wasps to fallen apples. We hover there, fascinated by the delights of large‐scale catering equipment and by the niceties of refectory organisation and kitchen management. A little holiday of the spirit! It is just like having a shiny new toy to play with — but, like most toys, this one can be pretty sharp at the edges.

Why do otherwise sane and healthy men seek to become principals? Ambition pricks some on; wives needle others forward; mere money (regretfully) fires a number. There are also the odd psychos lusting for power and dominion — though we try to hide these in the cupboard. Yet all these budding principals have one thing in common — no planned preparation for the post.