Little victories - the new triathlon (boxing, fencing, knitting)

I have always been a strange and unusual voice amongst the head teacher fraternity (no, I do not expected you to have swooned from surprise).  There are those who decry it the most difficult job to do, and those who say it’s the best in the world.  I veer somewhere between these two standpoints, claiming humbly that I am extremely lucky to do a job I thoroughly enjoy and pay some kind of service in the performing of it.

I often lecture people when I am asked what’s the difference between being a teacher and a head (which is never) that I think it is quite simple: when you’re a teacher, and a good one, you secure hundreds of little victories on a daily basis that warm your soul – you know the kind of thing; a child conquering a barrier, a brilliant lesson coming off, a colleague commenting on your displays.  When you’re a head, the victories come along far less often, but when they do, they are huge.  In both cases, you need to learn to ride the wave, because if you care about your job and what you do, there will almost always be hard times around the corner, and you need to store up the victories, camel-like, to see you through the negative winters.

Many of my victories as a head will come as no surprise: outcomes, improvements and the successful culmination of large scale projects always put a spring in the step.  Good inset days and staff meetings, and, as I’ve blogged before, the forging of a strong team.  It may seem odd, but I take not a little victory from our staff being snapped up by other schools and settings – is that not, after all, an extremely tall compliment?

But, do you know, I also take enormous personal victories out of the seemingly obvious, and it is only as I’ve got a little older, a bit fatter and a whole lot balder that I’ve come to appreciate it.  Because here’s the big secret, the real  game changer, the greatest victory: every so often, almost without noticing, several things you set in motion a thousand years ago suddenly click and – boom! You have something epic on your hands. 

It happens seldom, and I am in no way so arrogant to think it is all my doing.  However, I hope I was in some way a little instrumental in setting some of these things into motion.  The first head I worked for once told us “You all know when you do a good lesson, you get that warm feeling” and he was right.  It’s the same as a head, only that warm feeling comes along once in a blue lunar cycle, and it gives you a glow that would make ready-brek seem frosty.

It happened to me last night.  It was after school, and we were preparing for the full governing body.  Yet despite the fact that it was long gone 4.00 and school long finished, it buzzed with a vibrancy and activity redolent of 10.00 on a Tuesday morning.  Having delivered my governors stuff to the allotted room and snaffled a biscuit (you always get decent quality at governors) I needed to wander, to see what this pulsating energy was and where it was emanating from, praying it wasn’t the boiler, again.

No, it was nothing to do with any of the nuts and bolts.  Far from it.  In one hall, 6 of our oldest children were enjoying (I use that word loosely) the pains of the boot camp regime at the start of their boxing club.  The music pounded from the system as our learning mentor / boxing coach encouraged our charges to go for “ten more seconds, come on!” in one of the most uncomfortable positions imaginable.  They lasted.  They crumbled.  The groaned.  Then the solitary girl in the pack looked up at me and smiled. 

As I walked out from one building to the other, a legion of three foot high warriors had stormed the playground, all clad in visors and protective armour and wielding swords.  Momentarily, I feared world domination by a group of stealth minion . oompah loompah style ninjas, only to realise it was the key stage 1 multi sports group enjoying their fencing lesson.  The coach put one gladiator through his paces, then stepped back as he faced up to a year one girl, missed his time to thrust and lost the point with a sword to the guts, blood splattering the tarmac and entrails oozing … okay, too far.  Soz, LOL.

From around the corner, on the way to the other hall came some of our previous inmates, splendidly replete in their new secondary uniforms, collecting things from all around the site.  When I say things, I mean teddies, for they were gathering in the protagonists of the teddy bears picnic organised by our outstanding BoBs team.  In the hall itself, 50+ children were enjoying picnic treats and stories, joined by younger siblings, and having a ball.  Yet another triumphant event for our brilliant buddies who never cease to take things to the next level.

As I walked back to governors, feeling the starting salvos of the afore mentioned warm glow, it was further stoked and fuelled by the conversations I overheard in classrooms; colleagues working together on trips and displays, friends helping each other meet the (twenty minutes previously elapsed) deadline for data submission, and just adding greater weight to the meaning of a real team.  As I headed into the governors’ meeting room I thought I had seen it all but I was stopped by a gran I know well.  “Have you seen him?” she enquired.

“No, I haven’t I’m afraid.” I wracked my brains; too old for teddy bears and key stage 1, and not the boxing type, I hadn’t seen him at all.  Gran sensed my confusion.

“He’s at knitting club.” Knitting club.  How could I forget them?  I sent gran down to the library for the end of knitting club, only to see them strolling up the corridor together as a group to meet gran halfway, one of our year 6 girls carrying the box full of knitting club gear, and one of our year 6 boys covered in wool like a naughty kitten.

Governors went well, thanks for asking.  Long, but well; we got the chance to talk about some massive things: assessment, nursery provision, the budget, and an amazing potential vision for the future.  We also tackled some of the tougher issues out there: domestic violence awareness education for key stage 2 – should we place it on the SIP?  Dealing with staff conduct.  Almost three hours, but a thoroughly good and packed meeting focussing on what it so special about our school and where we are heading, and – isn’t this what it’s all about – who we want to be.

I drove home last night thinking three things:

11.  I’m later than I told the babysitter – she’ll be cross.

22.  What’s for tea?

33.  Sometimes, I am so lucky to do the job I do.  Another little victory.  Thank you.

Other than to say it was left-over-bolognese, that is all.

Privileges all round

Regular and frequent sufferers of this emumble will know I am a great fan of songs and, to be more precise, song lyrics.  This blog has been largely inspired by the little known “This Life” by the wonderful (and should be more famous) Kristina Train.  It is a beautiful song all about longing to live and lead an exciting and fulfilling life, then suddenly realising that that is exactly what she is doing.  She sings in the chorus

One day, I’ll call

That life I dreamed of

This life.

Poetic, eh? 

Anyway, its lines struck me when I was, to be honest, struggling to come up with a decent subject.  Attendance is, as ever, a prominent issue.  Recruitment, strategic planning, budgeting all highly pertinent right now.  Chances are though you’d turn away from this claptrap even sooner than usual.

So, what to write about?  It has been bothering me, in the midst of all these exciting projects I’m being invited into, in amongst all the great work I’ve been seeing, all the interesting discussions I have been privy to and the ability to look on in Christmas Eve-esque anticipation at some of the great things happening in education this moment.  Yeah, what to write about…

Then, like a (Kristina) train, it hit me.  Especially now, when the election (only mention, I promise) is reducing education to a we-care-more-than-they-do football, it seems only right that we spend time celebrating what we’ve actually built, and been privileged to be a part of.

I know it has its detractors, but I think the current educational landscape is incredibly exciting.  We have so much to celebrate that we didn’t have a few years ago, yet we never take the time to say how fortunate we are, to be both architects and beneficiaries of the new view.  The different styles of schools has been a previous topic of mine (http://badockshead.blogspot.co.uk/2013/06/whats-in-word.html) but I still believe it is an exciting state of affairs; yes, scary and potential confusing, but it has made schools of all styles and shapes thoughtfully consider what and, ultimately, who they really are. 

Never, in my time in education, have schools communicated, co-operated and collaborated so openly, and with such good effect.  It was always somewhere on our wish list, often a long way down, and more lip service was paid to it that real energy.  Yet that has changed, and it is a strong and privileged position to find oneself in.  We now collaborate on teaching, learning, assessment, staffing, training, you name it,  more effectively than we have ever done before, and with far greater effect.  If you asked some of the teachers in  my school to name another school that has had some impact in our own, I hope all staff could name at least three – hopefully our Trym partners, but possibly some of the local schools with whom we work and some further afield who may have shared a good idea. I don’t recall being in that situation before.

When I moved to Badock’s Wood in 2008, there was in the city a little half-soaked sentiment about schools working together.  It was underwhelming, and slightly embarrassing, sending me away from the table for a few years.  Now, however, there is genuine desire and passion to be collective leaders of a system, not individual silos within it.  The lip service has been replaced with action, the sentiment with strategy, and the heads talk as one.  It is fascinating, exciting and not a little humbling to play a part.

Only this evening, I have been to a meeting about our local teaching school alliance, and I was so pleased to be invited, but more than that, I was a little awestruck at the potential of what this team had already achieved, and how far we could potentially collaboratively go. 

However, the most amazing this is this: this is the landscape we have built for ourselves.  Yes, we have had to succumb to certain limitations, and pretend to follow certain rules, but ask yourself this about what we have created: who does it suit better, the politicians who will take credit for it or the children who will enjoy it? 

“Thing is, your life may be brilliant already” Andy Cope

And the impact back in our own schools is tangible and undeniable – we’re all reaping the benefits.  Far from waiting for a (hopefully decent) course to crop up, we can now get on the phone to another head and arrange CPD of far greater value for the very next week or even day.  Teachers now talk to colleagues in other schools like never before.  LSAs lead on subjects and projects in a way unthinkable 5 years ago, but that’s the landscape we’re building.

Our new curriculum, decried and bemoaned by many a Daily Mail reader, is, I’m not ashamed to admit it, wonderful.  We love it, all of us, from our youngest newest nursery children to our most cool year 6.  Why? Because we have professionally, collaboratively and with a great deal of tender loving flair created something deeply enjoyable and meaningful.

Those young nursery children make binoculars and then create tally charts of the birds they have spotted – yes, tally charts for three year olds.  Those most cool year 6 walk from their class to the suite with the earphones and headsets ready to get onto the web and compose music, using some of the most complex coding I have ever see.  In between, year 3 and 4 compose music using notes on staves, performing their compositions on a whole range of instruments, and year 1 and 2 are planning what they would grow in their garden … if they lived in Japan, or the Arctic, or wherever they took their place as a global citizen.

“Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.” Helen Keller

I consider myself unbelievably lucky that I am the person who gets to take pride in all this when I show more and more new parents around.  Furthermore, I am privileged (and I have deliberately used that word repeatedly) to be invited and involved in several discussions and projects at the minutes which are all about Badock’s Wood benefitting from exciting and purposeful collaboration. Times have never been so exciting, and we should grab every chance, savour every moment, and squeeze every drop out of it.

Otherwise, aren’t we just guilty of watching a potential “this life” float on by?

Thank you Kristina, I needed a good kick for this one, but what a kick.

Let me finish with a story I’ve always enjoyed.  Henrik Ibsen, a born worrier, was dining with his mate George Bernard Shaw.  Ibsen, as ever, was being all existential.  “But Shaw, what if there is no point; what if there is nothing more; what if life is a really all one huge joke?

“Better make it a good one,” replied Shaw.  Enough said.

That is, quite merrily and happily, all.

"Are you in a good mood or should we avoid you completely?" The Science of the good team

I really didn’t like him as a player.  I couldn’t abide him, even when he played for England.  It was never open dislike, it was begrudging, even deferential acknowledgement that my mighty Villa did not possess anyone with the passion, skill and determination as he did throughout a highly successful career.  Yes, I openly admit it: I used to hate Gary Neville. 

However, now he is a pundit and a columnist in the Telegraph (other Saturday sports pages are available, but “why” I don’t know) I have to confess I have an enormous amount of respect for him and his opinion.  I enjoy watching him as a pundit who doesn’t spare any punches – including in the direction of his beloved united.  Moreover, I love reading his take on the modern game, and his interpretation of how the game is developing. 

Recently, he has had much to say on the creation and sustenance of teams; what occurs when teams go through a massive change process, and how they re-attain their previous dizzy heights.  He manages to couple business phraseology (such as the old form – storm – norm – perform soundbite) with his encyclopaedic knowledge of the game and his own brand of northern philosophy.  Within these pieces, he has made some points that have really set me to thinking, because this is something that has been in the forefront of my mind for some time.

When I get asked, which I regularly do (because headteachers have very limited conversation skills) how things are going, I often give a trite or blasé answer (because I have even more limited conversational skills).  When asked this at the excellent PHAB conference last week (more of this later) I gave an answer very off the cuff but very earnest.  Gary Neville-esque you might say.  I said, waiting interminably for coffee “It is just about the best team I have put together so far.” 

I realised that this thought had been crystallizing in the crazy landscape of my mind for some time.  

Since January, I have been struck time and again by the ways in which a team forms and starts to take shape, and the habits and actions that occur when that team is starting to perform to the very best of its collective abilities.

Work teams are little different from sports teams in essence.  True enough, there are no shorts to worry about, and schools, by and large, don’t have a Portuguese physio ready to run on when someone hurts their interactive whiteboard dragging finger.  However, teams in all disciplines exhibit fairly similar traits, with subject specific nuances, in all walks of team life.

Successful teams, and their members, work well together without knowing it.  They come to each other’s aid without a request, and they complement one another’s skills and talents without worrying about its weaknesses.  Successful teams achieve great outcomes without asking “Who did that?” but by celebrating shared successes and saying quietly, almost in awe of itself, “We did that”. 

When I have reflected on this, stuck in a traffic Jam on my way back from #phab15 (yes, I’m getting there) I realised that our school has been full of these signs for some time now.  Even more than this, I felt more proud of the fact that I can’t really take credit for it, but it is the collective will of the core of this team that must take the plaudits. 

I reflected on a number of key incidents, which may, taken in isolation, not mean too much.  

However, look at them as a collective, as a series of events, actions and habits that take place on a daily, weekly and monthly basis.

I reflected on how, when a vulnerable child had a real moment recently, I was called to assist only to find 3 people already there, dealing with it with far greater skills and aplomb than I ever could.  Within a short space of time, a child who was swearing and spitting was sitting on the sofa reading a book to his teacher.

I reflected on how people came forward to volunteer to be guinea pigs for our new assessment system, thus putting their hand up for MORE work.  Furthermore, how some of my youngest team members are coming to ask would I mind terribly if they did a staff meeting.

Last night in a staff meeting with most of the governors present, we had what to all intents and purposes was a contentious debate.  However, no-one left feeling disgruntled or offended.  Everyone left thinking “Okay, how do we improve on that then?”

During twilight training sessions recently, a whole gang of the team order take away, which they then shared, including with the trainers who said “Really? You got pizza?  Really?”

I thought about how I no longer need to set or impose the standard we have agreed on without discussing it; instead, two members of staff have told a new addition “He won’t stand for it you know, you need to put the effort in”.  Needless to say said person has put some hours in this week.  A lot.

Probably the most telling was how the entire team is worried – deliberate choice of word – about the team’s success, and keen to share, not take, any forthcoming plaudits.  We had a big visit today.  

After I shook hands and waved the visitor off, who was waiting for me?  Our NQT, the least experienced member of our team, who tried to gauge my feelings and the outcomes by trying to work out if it was thumbs up or down.  (It was a big thumbs up.) 

It was the same in the staffroom, where everyone – from our oldest teachers to our youngest LSAs and some teacher training students - wanted to know.  “Are you in a good mood or should we avoid you completely?” one asked, the one who takes my phone every Friday to fill in our twitter record of praise assemblies.  Everyone in the room smiled; they already knew the answer, but wanted to give me an entrée to make the announcement. 

Last week, when my deputy and I were at PHAB 15, a truly exciting and inspirational conference, and the first time we had left the baby with sitters, what reassured us the most was the unfailing willingness of the whole team to support the leaders-for-the-day, and do jobs and roles above and beyond the call in every sense imaginable.

Good teams also know when a member needs to be alone.  Several of our team – yours truly included - enjoy a headphone moment.  No-one takes umbrage at this, but we all appreciate that some of the members of the team need to return to the solace of their caves from time to time.

There are negative indicators however, but you have to take them as a kind of compliment.  You know you have a good team growing when you have someone who arrives and tries to take on the team – sometimes subconsciously – by challenging the team without any personal credibility, by putting themselves above the needs of the team.  Everyone, even the leaders, need to acknowledge that they play their part, not spurn their chance to do so.

The next level of building any team is the outcome; successful teams are magnetic, and the draw and attract more and more positive energy.  As a result, we have a growing army of volunteers with the amazing Buddies of Badock’s, a staff team that is as big as it has ever been, former colleagues attempting to return to the fold, and a school that continues to grow and grow.  The result is infectious.  And addictive.

So when we get big calls from big visits on big days like today, it is only right that the team takes the collective glory.  Every member of the team today deserves more than their fair quotient of glory in which to bask over the break, and I hope they love it.  Because in term 5 and 6, this team could achieve more than it ever has before.

That is … nearly all.

I just wanted to mention my last blog (http://badockshead.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/two-wrongs-dont-make-fat-bloke-write.html).  Many people have taken the time to ask me “Are you okay?” as a result of my last set of emumbling.  I am so sorry if it sounded negative or self-pitying, that was never my intention. My mum and dad always told me to say please and thank you, so:

Please don’t worry about me, I am having the time of my life with this team

&

Thank you so much for caring; it is appreciated.

And the petition still strolls on, by all accounts…

That is, with a lot of gratitude for our stunning team, all.

Two wrongs don't make a fat bloke write

This week I have been informed twice as to the exact nature of my popularity.  On one occasion, in a meeting to which I was not permitted, a parent told a colleague that “everyone hates that bloke, and loads of people are going to sign my petition to get rid of him”.   This is the same parent who shouted at me for sending children out in the rain, and told me loads of parents felt the same.  No-one else complained (largely because it never happened). 

On the second occasion, someone said to me “Mr Willis, lots of people moan about you, but you just give it to us straight”.  He then shook my hand.  Once again, this morning, in the rain, every parent said “good morning” or some such.  (Except one petition wielder.) 

Before you worry, it hasn’t caused me any lack of sleep, and I haven’t been panic eating, merely gluttonous.  Yet, please don’t think I’m being flippant, nor that I don’t consider the feelings and motivations of the persons involved.  However, I think this needs a little contextualisation and consideration.

Schools are deeply emotive subjects – that’s what makes them such special places to work and serve (and, let us not deny it, so stressful).  The adults left in charge of the learning of these amazing children are privileged, and it is only right that parents (after all, I’m one of them as well) have one eye and heartstring on this situation.  Also, schools are possibly one of the last few groups where the main customers forge a truly meaningful relationship.  Where else do you see someone with that regularity and frequency, and with whom you will share a deeply important part of your family’s life?

So it is a relationship – no other way of putting it.  Any relationship involves tension and compromise.  Any relationship contains someone or something that causes friction.  The more deeply you travel into that relationship, and the more comfortable you become with it, the easier it is to spot those causes of friction.  Furthermore, it also becomes easier to vent your frustrations or air any tensions.

So, having been head of our school for some years now (it’s coming up to 7 years) I’ve forged thousands of relationships, and have enjoyed all but a very few of them.  More often than not, those that are not satisfactory are those where I have to be the person in the relationship to say no, or to deliver unwanted news, or to make the decisions that will not be universally popular. 

Because of our familiarity, because of the fact that people see me every day (if I’m here) and because I often have to make those difficult calls and decisions, people will rail against it.  People always complain when they feel comfortable enough to do so.  The key word there is comfortable; how did that comfort come about?  It is due to the closeness and proximity of the people within that relationship.

Just ask yourself:  do you think I honestly get up in the morning hell bent on refusing applications for holidays which are, by their very nature, against the law?  Do you honestly think that, as I’m brushing my teeth each morning, I am looking forward with relish to refusing full time nursery places?  For one second, do you honestly think I enjoy having to tell parents that their four year old has …. (insert own horror story – mine was when, as a parent, the teacher had to tell me that my son had been playing cats and dogs and had accidentally bitten his best friend). 

Of course not.  However, sadly, they are part of my job.  Sometimes, people think that my answers are unfair; but isn’t that just the nature of a relationship?  Sometimes I have to make decisions based on nothing more than the rule of the law and the principles and guidelines I am expected to follow.  I dare say that, to those whom it affects negatively, there may quite understandably be an aspect of “why me?”

However, every organisation needs someone to make the decisions.  Every large group of people needs someone who says “no”, with rational justification, otherwise such organisations falter.  It bothers me intensely that I have to say no to some deserving families and children over certain aspects of their schooling and life, but it is my role, my responsibility, and conversely part of the enormously privilege it is to be the head. 

Yet that’s just the big stuff.  Sometimes we have to say no because we’re trying to achieve something much bigger and greater on behalf of every one in the community.  Sometimes, when we have to say “it’s not good enough” it sounds like we’re enacting a harsh throw back to the 1970s.  Actually, we’re saying so much more.  We’re saying that we value your contributions as a member of our community, but is this the best you can do, right here, right now?  Is this the best you you can be?  As with all other decisions, it may sound harsh, but it is irrevocably rooted in a spirit of support and empowerment.

Equally, as old fashioned and as disciplinarian as it sounds, sometimes it is an adult’s job (by which I mean moral role, not paid employment) to make decisions on behalf of children, e.g., eat yer greens.  Guess what – sometimes, kids don’t like that.

So, sadly, unless there is a serendipitous break out of bonhomie, there will always be tension, which will lead to my popularity rating always hovering between 0 and 0.5 on the 0-100 scale.  Such are the compromises you make when you sign on the dotted line.  And then there’s the stuff that gets put on facebook about you, which people think you don’t see and that it doesn’t matter…

A word of caution to this tale – if parents want outstanding schools and leaders, then they need to love them just a little bit more.  Three big headship have recently gone up in Bristol, and, if my sources are correct, they had one applicant.  Not one each; one.   Equally, we have gone from having in excess of 100 applications for teaching jobs to being grateful for 15.  This job is being made  no easier by external pressures.  Do you really want to be one of those?

Let me not finish this sounding like a moaner; regular followers will know that’s not my style.  Look at it like this: if you’ve got a problem, my door is so open it doesn’t even exist. Come and see me.  Talk to me (and I mean talk) and, if you still feel disenchanted, then I would be enormously disappointed.  However, I will not bend on the standards we have set ourselves, however high they may be.  Although individuals will not like that, and that is completely within their right, they must remember that there are hundreds of parents who do agree with us, and who not only want us to keep high standards, but expect and demand it.  All I’m asking is don’t isolate yourself on the sidelines – come and be a part of what we’re doing.

Come and look at the hundreds of books that are left on my desk every week (as I write this blog they contain persuasive arguments about lunchtimes and national graffiti, year 7 level algebraic equations, geometry and journalistic writing).  Come and watch a praise assembly (when I’m not doing it, if you’d rather, but the kids fall out with me every time I miss one – just FYI).  Come and join in Making Moves at the Children’s Centre.  Come and see our amazing new EYFS outdoor space.  Come and look at our displays, at the playpod, at the zone, at acorn class.  Come and look at the effect our decisions have on the lives of the children of Southmead, and the families and community we are enormous proud and privileged to serve.  Above all, come and do it with us.  No-one can aspire-achieve-enjoy alone.

Therefore, holding out the olive branch of conciliation, that is all.

Whilst in the midst of the tempest...

My office was as dark as a cave, the light above me blocked by the conditions.  All around us, the wind hurled and threw a thousand upturned litter bins our way.  I garbed myself in a futile attempt to block out the conditions, and headed for the playground.

All doors were open; all barriers removed; my simple task was to usher people in safe and warm, complete in the knowledge that they were not late, but their endeavours to reach us through the storm were welcomed, and we were thankful.

I looked up at the trees, usually proud and straight sentinels above our playground, suddenly struggling in vain to remain upright.  The plants and the bins clung to each other in an attempt to stay safe in a tumultuous ocean of gales.   The moon was a ghostly galleon... no wait, that's the Highwayman. The sky turned a duller and duller black, and the lights within looked like welcoming beacons.    Even the playpod looked as if it were apologetically clinging to its moorings.

And then, the rain began.  Small rivers, at first, the torrent that was to follow sending out its vanguard of smaller arsenals as frontriders.  Then the storm swelled.  Then the rain truly began.  The umbrella in my hand felt as much use as a teapot made of chocolate; to use it would be like using a teaspoon to defend yourself against an angry dragon.

Yet I did not feel despondent or upset.  Soggy, yes, as my trousers turned a deeper shade and my socks retreated to warmer climes.  No, I felt fine actually.  Three things were almost exclusively responsible for my bright humours in dark times.

Firstly, not a single child - or for that matter, adult or preschool age sibling - ignored me as they came running in, wellies permitting.  Every single one said a cheery (albeit breakneck paced) "morning", or a "thank you" or even a "aaarrrggghhh I'm soaked mind!".  One was good enough to point out that my glasses were wet.  Bless them.  I really had not noticed.

The adults were all good-natured and encouraging, despite the fact that they had the return journey to look forward to.   There were plenty of camaraderie-laden "Alright?"s and "How's it going?"s and more than one encouragement for me to join the kids indoors.

A school community sharing an experience of adversity, however it is presented, often shows the strength of said community, and isn't it great?

Secondly, in among the PE kits and book bags there were some of the most bizarre objects.  Yet they went on to demonstrate that, whatever the weather, our children are committed to their new topics and their learning.  Several of the older girls were carrying additions to their amazing displays about their topic of China (Why is it always made in China? for those of you who want the topic question).  Another child was carrying in a pile of their grandad's vinyl, which, as you can imagine, got me very excited.  Why?  For key stage 1's topic on "Why were the 1960s called swinging?".

Then, whilst in the midst of the tempest, one girl tried to show me the homework she had done of her own choice not for the current topic (Where did Stonehenge come from?) but for the topic they will be starting next week (How Many Bristols are there around the World?).

Our children know that, despite the conditions being against us, learning will continue.

The third thing was nothing to do with curriculum or community or even the weather.  It was something so simple it was unbelievable, and deeply touching.  There I stood, drenched, dithering and desperate to return to the sanctuary of my desk and my coffee, when a year 6 boy walked past me, parka hood worn high and face almost invisible.  As he reached me, out shot his hand in front of me.  In that hand: a cream egg.

I cannot tell you how quickly the clouds receded and the sun shone, all metaphorically of course.  As far as I was concerned, I could have been brandishing said teaspoon in front of an utterly irate dragon at that moment and nothing would really have mattered.  The cream egg went on to sit on the corner of my desk, winking at me throughout that morning's governor meetings, and the rain outside the window (which abated, bringing freezing wind in its place) could do nothing to dampen my spirits, or my almost dry trousers.

When all is cold and bleak on the outside, our children and our community make everything on the inside feel that little bit more warm and special.  May 2015 continue in a similar vein of friendship, and not in weather.

And yes, as soon as I could politely herd out the governors, the cream egg went down in one.  Thank you Big Man.

From in front of the radiator, that is all.