China's rush for Olympic glory has made unlikely heroes of some of its older citizens. Summer and Rose, two septuagenarian English students who run the show at the weekly Olympic English class at Chaoyang Library in Beijing every Saturday, are typical representatives of these people.

I know them because I was recruited one night by a plucky, perennially optimistic local secondary school teacher, Dana, while buying bananas at the fruit stall on my quiet residential street. A long-time teacher couldn't make the next day to class and I filled in.

Around the corner from the People's Daily on a leafy strip of the city's business district, Chaoyang Library has always been a weekend haven for senior citizens wanting to use their time productively: singing classes, art classes and financial advice shops. But they've taken it up a huge notch with Olympic English. A 12-month course hammered out, typed and printed by volunteers, which introduces locals to the kind of dialogue they'll be expected to replicate with lost Olympic-going foreigners. Phrases are written in a chatty, informal style to encourage chat between students and the Olympic visitors they'll speak to. "There are plenty of restaurants near your hotel, which kind of food would you like?" There are concessions to modernity too: "You can find wireless Internet connections in most of Beijing's downtown hotels and cafes."

I give the course most of the Saturday mornings when I'm in Beijing. Friends have come to share the space behind the microphones in a large library auditorium. The eager 70 or so students cram together on blue plastic seats below us. Sitting next to us on the stage was one of the local organizers, a retired civil servant, patiently projects each lesson onto a screen using his laptop. We read, the students repeat.

I come back every week because it's reassuring. Sitting in the class on Saturday morning far from the road rage and frequent arrogance of the city's nouveau riche, I'm reassured of the decency of Beijingers. The students' incredible eagerness to learn is compelling too. The classes are also hugely educative for the teachers. Generations of locals enthusiastically share their views and histories. They're always a good barometer of local feelings on everything from local coffee shop prices ("too expensive!") to the evolution of the local transport system. Since most students are compelled to use public transport and the aforementioned Rose spends two hours traveling to class from Fengtai District on Beijing's southwesterly fringes.

In the 90-minute English corner that leads to lunchtime, we sit with the students, rimmed by eager faces with questions and curiosity. Some come with lists for translation: What's an esophagus? Tang brings a book of film dialogues. He finds Roman Holiday and Casablanca boring. Better English is tough, I try to tell him. Next week he's studying a script for Basic Instinct plucked off the Internet. There's some words there he needn't learn, I say. With him, like other students, I've become friends and can count on a script-like call if I'm late or absent from class: "Where are you man? You comin' down here?"

The novelty factor of elderly people learning English from volunteer foreigners means teacher and students have sometimes become an unnecessary spectacle, asked to perform for the camera by visiting and local TV crews. "Make them play games," I was asked by a camerawoman. Another foreign documentary maker expected we'd choreograph the entire class for the benefit of her crew. The honest, tough grind of learning a foreign language didn't seem to be worthy of the camera.

Learning a language is a hard-slog business after all. Already I often worry about the sustainability of the program

we're teaching. We badly need more frequent English corners, with more teachers, to allow the students to troubleshoot the phrases they've been learning. A 90-minute dose of Olympic English, no matter how well explained, translated and repeated by the teachers on the stage, will not sink in without practice.

I can imagine there are armies of expatriates out there with a couple of hours to give on a Saturday morning. It needn't be Saturday: Our students in their eagerness are also keen on Sunday afternoon slots. A previous teacher, since returned to an American boardroom, began a Sunday afternoon film club that needs subtitled English-language films and someone to explain any unfathomed dialogue afterwards.

I hope our Saturday morning Olympic English survives this summer's Games. I'm not sure what we'd call it. Maybe Life English. Certainly we don't want for students or enthusiasm. We just need more teachers!

The author is from Ireland and lives in Beijing