|"What is your problem?"
"I HATE COMPUTERS." Kirsty scraped back her chair and squared up to the tutor. "I have spent years studying calligraphy. Now I'm tied to this bloody machine." She began pacing. "Give me my quill, give me my parchment; those are the tools of a true poet." Her hands did a lot of the talking.
The rest of the group applauded her performance.
"This is an IT class, essential if you want to complete your degree."
"Did Shakespeare have a machine to print his words? Did Wordsworth run his fingers over a keyboard?" Kirsty flounced around the room, addressing her questions to members of the group, each trying not to laugh.
"Shakespeare was a show-off. He would almost certainly have had a website if such a thing existed in his time." The tutor stood her ground.
"If I want a website, I'll pay someone like you to create it. I am a woman of imagination, a crafter of words. Now, if you will excuse me, my muse is calling." Kirsty swished from the room.
"Is anyone else's muse calling?"
"No, but my lunch is." The whole group followed Kirsty.