How many smores is officially too many? Really? Oh, okay then ....

We have reached the end of day four.  No casualties, no major issues, almost no energy and lots of sun toasted cheeks.  Another packed day today culminating in the joy that is the disco, and another million successes to report.  We are sat here basking in the glow of the staff win in the disco fancy dress tournament (we were, in fairness, the only entrants) and reflecting on the week at large.

The thing is, we are struggling.  Not struggling to think of anything good; far from it.  We have the reverse feeling - how can we whittle it down to a blog that will be short enough to read this side of our return?  We are sat here sharing stories and tales of courage, resilience, bravery, laughter, friendship, and, if we are honest, not a little fear and frustration.

I have often spoken of camp as weaving some magic.  Although my knees (and I am not using this as an excuse: my right knee and hip have been on fire since yesterday) and my back are threatening me with a Friday night of unrivaled pain, I have been reminded on a hundred tiny occasions of the privilege and joy it is to weave away.  As I have watched children almost stand on a surfboard, watched them shoot a rifle, string an archery bow, light a fire, climb a tower, make a new and unexpected friend, I have taken that quiet moment of pride in the fact that I might have just had something to do with it, if only tangentially, for a second, a long time ago.

What follows are the staff-agreed highlights.  We could report on a thousand, ranging from overcoming massive fears to simply being unbelievably pleasant, but we have tried to be precise in order to ensure we record a tangible outcome for every child to hold onto on a cold wet winter in November.  So, as Dermot would say to a contestant just kicked out of X factor, let's have a look at your best bits.

Billy Joe - champion archer

Jacob T - top of the climbing wall all on his own

Matta - Jumping off the bridge into the river (sorry about the shoe Mum)

Taya - incredible rifle skills

Cheyanne - a brand new, world first climbing technique

Natasha - Body boarding and (almost) surfing

Logan - The chug meister (Mum, I'll explain when I see you)

Lee - Great team player in the pipe building game

Sinead - Basically, doing everything with a smile

Jack F - too many to mention

Nathan - Our born leader, in every sense

Bethany - Not giving up when it was too tough

Connor - No grumbles whatsoever, even when we've walked miles

Harry - Pushing himself up the climbing wall

Jessica - We cannot narrow it down; she had smiled and done everything

Kiera - a great team player on the raft

Bailey S - a champion rower on the raft

Sean - overcoming his fears on the climbing wall

Owen - carrying on with water sports even when utterly freezing

Taneysha - Overcoming her fears to be simply awesome

Ryan - getting into the spirit of camp with lots of interesting questions

Brooklyn - not giving up even when things were tough, e.g., pulling that archery bow back

William - surf skills

Natalia - team work on the spider's web

Taylor - embracing the watersports

Amy - air rifle

Lainey May - Conquering fears on a number of activities

Katie F - Massive team player

Caydon - Assault course

Jack D - His positive attitude to all tasks

Brandon - Double bulls-eye in rifles

Mason - Another of our wonderful leaders - a future surfer dude

Cameron - Body boarding legend

Kane - Overcoming hatred of water to body board - and stay for the late session

Abdi - Jumping off a bridge despite being freezing

Leah - Loving it (in her own words)

Baileigh - Jumping of the bridge - twice!

Candice - Amazing rifle / archery work

Katie - Climbing wall (and amazing integrity... and, we discovered, modesty)

Riley - Helping everyone over the assault course

Magic is magic, and always will be.  Well done everyone, and thank you.

To the amazing staff team, thank you all so much.  The way you've thrown yourself into everything, and the standard and model you've set for the kids has made it all so much easier and more enjoyable.  Have a great weekend.  And the costumes, if somewhat snug, were awesome.

So, from the magic weaving place, the colors of which will always be the most wonderful green and blue I see anywhere on the planet other than my beloved Cornwall, that is a sun toasted, tired but happy all.

And for me at camp?  That is ... something for me to think about once my knees have started talking to me again.

That, for now, is truly all.

Is that a hole in your wet suit or ....?

Day three of camp is often pivotal, for more reasons than it is the middle of the week.  Day three sees those who have grown in stature grow even further, and those yet to relax either feel the new found freedom or shrink back to the cave of safety, almost certain not to venture out into camp's sunlight at all.

You really need to take on everything on day three, or the week is lost.  I had forewarned the gang last night how the day would work, and that their first activity was not watersports, as they previously suspected, but the art, pain and tribulation of getting in to a wetsuit.  However, some of the gang decided that they would start early.  Kiera and Bayleigh wandered up the breakfast hall early to help set up.  Why? Because they felt like being nice, apparently.  Legendary.

Wetsuit donning went with its usual graceless hilarity.  Mr Osborn and myself sprayed several boys into their suits with the world renowned "grab them by the hips and shake them up and down" approach.    Even Billy-Joe chuckled with audible delight.

Watersports itself is always one of my personal highlights anyway, and our new company had us all set up within minutes.  We filled Exmouth sea coast with so many surfers and body boarders that we must've looked like we were invading.  At one point, I got so excited I flung my bodyboard up in the air.  Soz about that everyone, especially the person whose head it landed on.

Why was I so excited?  Because the first of our "look at me, I'm actually stood up surfing" legends was up on his board.  William was closely followed by Katie F, Bayleigh, Taya and Mason.  So many others got within a whisker, and despite the freezing temperatures, everyone was getting literally stuck in.

Then came the legends at the other end of the scale.  I knew Kane wouldn't fancy watersports too much, but like the trojan he is, he got himself up to his knees and bodyboarding with the rest of them.  Two smiling blond faces kept appearing next to me, and I realized Lainey May and Natalia were in with the rest of the hardcore surfers.  And, despite being clearly frozen, Cheyanne and Ryan stayed on for the extra session.

In fact, when we sat down as a staff tonight and talked about who should go in the blog, we almost got to the stage of "who shouldn't we mention today?".  Therefore, despite a few kamikaze sausages in the beach bbq, and tiredness taking a hold for one or two, day three has to be seen as a success.

That would normally be all, but I wanted to take one moment to mention a couple of legends not just because they surfed or scaled a wall or something big and showy.  Legends are often legends because they just make the world a little nicer.  One of our boys went to bed early, and the others in his tent seemed lost as to whether or not to go in.  Mason came along and scooped them up and said (exact words)  "You're all more than welcome in our tent lads!".  Couldn't've done it better myself.

Furthermore, you see a lot of bravery on camp, but you don't often see it coupled with nobility and integrity.  Someone took the fall for something they didn't do today, just to try and regain a treat for everyone else tomorrow.  Special stuff, Katie W.

From behind a sunburnt face glowing just as much with joy, that is all

The kind of legends a camp is built upon ....

One of the irresistible pulls that brought be out of camp retirement was the promise of the privilege to observe an amazing transformation at source.  I've mentioned it before, but there are few other places, times and experiences when seemingly shy and retiring children metamorphose into something truly stunning and courageous.

I'm talking of course of the transformation from child to legend.  You don't really know its happening until its happened, and the signs become too obvious to ignore.  There's the heroism and daring deeds, but coupled to that, there's a more subtle change: they walk ten feet tall, the look eagerly for the next challenge, they take adults jokes and teases with greater freedom and enjoyment, and you generally start to feel that little bit warmer in their glow.

Today, we have taken our first real strides into the nitty-gritty, business end of camp.  Yesterday was about finding our feet, today was more about getting them very wet, climbing up walls and trees on them and using them to guide us across the assault course.  An early morning call and departure, a coach drive to Dartmoor, and we were there - 7 hours of wall to wall using those yesterday-found feet in ways that are often unimaginable.

So imagine, if you can, the legends that came out of this.  Jack (F), Lainey May, Jess, Harry et al have all seemed to grow a little today in the luminary stakes.  Jess has yet to find an obstacle that will stand in her way; despite the fact she is covered in bruises from hurtling at the climbing wall, she cannot stop smiling, and we have yet to see her move in a way that cannot be described as "skipping with glee".

It will surprise no-one that Jack is being as helpful and self-sacrificing as you can be.  When, however, you hear that he was all of this, whilst on a child-built raft in the middle of a freezing cold lake with, in his own words, "I got a wet bum, I have", then you will know that his fame must surely grown and grow.  Two particular members of the group found it very tough; they found it an awful lot easier due mainly to the big man's presence.

Not everyone is a legend through their large deeds or fearless action.  Some are legends because they quietly and humbly try, even when every bone in their body almost says no.  That climbing wall looked and felt like the north face of the Eiger today to Lainey, but she still got on it and climbed.  And Harry is just making life more fun for everyone else involved.  What more could we ask?

Are these the only legends? No, but we've only had one day.  No-one complained at the fact that we still had a lengthy walk this evening after the coach had dropped us off, even if we were all tired and starving hungry. That was pretty legendary.  Once again, the manners and courtesy of our children in the dining hall was a joy and a source of real pride.  All 40 children built and then climbed on to rafts and went into the middle of the lake - not one fell in. Legend.

That doesn't mean I'm saying that none jumped in of their own accord...

I got a real camp tingle today, again, one I've mentioned before.  I look at my watch and thought "It's 11.40 on a Tuesday".  I then realized I was neck deep in lake water and about to be run over by a raft.  Typical Tuesday really.

Until tomorrow - water sports day, and you all know how I feel about that - and the creation of more and more legends, that is all

Finally broke the news to my knees

So here we are again.  Exmouth camp, with 40 excited travelers.  Having vowed never again on several occasions, the lure was simply too strong for me to ignore.  I needed to be part of the magic again, if only for one more time.

So, having filled the coach with more sleeping bags than Milletts, we set off.  A loud but happy procession down the M5 delivered us to sunny (but not very warm) Exmouth, in all its glory.  I have genuinely missed the place.

But not the zig zags.  I really haven't missed them at all.  Neither have my poor knees.

However, we shall overcome.  It has already been a joy to reconnect with everyone associated with this camp and all the sights, smells and feelings that makes this place so special.  Two sessions on the beach and a fish and chip dinner later, and the first day has well and truly been a cracker.

So, what have we learned?  Nothing too ground breaking yet: year 6 are great at spotting sea life, Miss Stephens is far more competitive than we imagined, and the ever reliable Exmouth menu doesn't change.  And festive onesies look *good* at any time of year.

On major thing we have discovered,. or should I say rediscovered, is how impeccable our children's manners are in the dining room, and what an asset they are to us.  Much more of that to come, one feels.

Therefore, as we go to do the last tent walk around and batten down the hatches, all that remains for me to say is what a good start it has been, and how much we are all looking forward to the next few days.  I intend making good on the many promises I have made recently to throw several people off a bridge.

From this side of the teachers' biscuit collection, that is all.

A new lexicon of love: climbing the mountain of excellence

We have been the lucky recipient of many inspections in my time at Badock’s.  Our last school inspection proclaimed that we were providing a good standard of education, and we were all delighted.  Naturally, we all said “outstanding next time”, because that’s what you do.  But I have been wondering for some time, are we actually on the right bus?

I had the pleasure of listening to Roy Blatchford a few months ago.  A noted education figure, I listened with great interest as he spoke about the specifics of certain vocabulary.  Frequent flyers of this drivel will know that this is a subject close to my heart.  He spoke about schools striving not for good or outstanding (with OfSTED “O”s), but striving for excellence.  More precisely, he spoke about striving for excellence as standard.  He then went on to illustrate this in many different ways.  I don’t mind confessing, I came away from that talk knowing seeds had been planted somewhere overgrown and smelly in the darker recesses of my twisted and devious mind.

I was reminded of many car adverts from the 80s and 90s, which often boasted of certain things that were “excellent as standard”.  I never used to consider how electronic windows would be excellent as standard, but I suppose you would miss them if they weren’t.  My dad only ever had company cars – generally Cortinas or astras which have hardly every troubled the dictionary definition of excellence - and we all thought our ship had come in when he brought a Granada with electric seat warmers.  It’s quite a strange feeling coming home from university for the first time thinking “Funny how dad waited until I left home to buy a new car” and “My bum’s lovely and warm”.  You probably don’t miss excellence until you’ve had something less than that standard, really.

This seed germinated for a few weeks and started to grow into something I didn’t quite recognise.  I tried to crystallise it with some of my reading over half term, including David Taylor and Andy Cope amongst the usual fiction escapism, yet still the shape would not arrive.  I normally come back from the Whitsun break with a SIP pretty much written down.  This year, I simply didn’t.

In sitting / lying down in various places to try and write the next SIP, I couldn’t get the working right, couldn’t find the phrases that would help drive improvement forward.  I struggled, for the first time in a few years, if I’m honest.  I was repeatedly rebuffed by this sense that in getting ready to climb the next mountain, surely you have to be looking at the right one?

Then I read comments from Sir Michael Wilshaw’s speech about the new OfSTED framework.  In amongst all the plans for the way OfSTED will work from here on in, which surely the profession and its leadership can only applaud, he made the point that schools should be striving to be the best they can be for their communities, not the best they can be for inspectors.  Finally, the shadows lifted, edges began to form, the mist evaporated, and I finally saw what had been planted all those weeks ago.

It dawned on me that in striving for the holy grail of an OfSTED outstanding, we were missing the point.  Our attentions became focussed on the badge, and not on the school upon which we would one day pin it.  All along, I felt like I’d been looking at a lovely mountain, but not the one for us.
Scrabbling around for my notes from the Blatchford lecture, I was struck once again by the notion of excellence as standard, and how it could be applied to schools and to learning.  How excellent teaching, every day, should be what we’re striving for, not just teaching that fulfils generic boxes – but actually breaks the boundaries of our own boxes as a matter of course.  How excellent curriculum, underpinned by excellent assessment, could be the cornerstone of the foundations of something really exciting.

One sunny evening, the retractable pencils for which I am famed / mocked went into overdrive, and I wrote about 75% of the mainframe of the next SIP, without once using the word outstanding.  Instead, I was driven on by quotes from Aristotle, from Michelangelo, from some of our greatest educational commentators, Messrs Robinson, Smith and Blatchford included, and from my beloved music.

Is it ready? No.  Is it complete? No, not quite. Is it in keeping with previous SIPs? Not at all.  In it, we make it clear that excellence is our goal, for the quality of teaching, and for the excellent quality of experience we want to bring to all stakeholders.  It talks about ensuring excellence in the delivery of phonics and grammar teaching, which we know is an issue for our children – because excellence for them will bring about excellence by them, if that truly is the standard.   It talks about the excellence we want to bring about for our most vulnerable groups by appointing champions for them who must ensure their best interests are upheld in every sense.  It talks about how various elements of our community can work together for best benefit, and how to utilise the very best aspects of individual tuition for every child.  We want to ensure we can offer excellence for everyone who comes through the door, whatever they may need and whatever challenges they present.

In the words of our chair of Governors when recently questioned, “we want to be excellent for all of our children all of the time, not just outstanding for a few”.

And do you know what? It’s quite a liberating point of view.  I have of course used the new OfSTED documents in order to support our self-assessment, but it has felt a far more fruitful exercise, far more beneficial.   I have used the new framework and its phraseology to help prepare for our core visit this week, and it has been a really good tool in clarifying our thinking towards it, but by no means our master.

It feels very refreshing to be on the right bus heading for the right mountain. It fits.  It’s more comfortable.  It’s an excellent feeling.  It will take a shift in mind-set for some, maybe some of our governors and maybe for some of the community, but I feel it is the right thing to do.

Put it into a different context: we did some recruitment last week, and we never once used the term outstanding.  Some of the candidates did, yet, in reality, they were anything but.  Instead, I sat there, trying to listen (which all my fellow panelists know is not one of my strengths) and thought to myself could I make this candidate excellent? Could they make an excellent contribution to our school, and can they maintain that level?  One candidate got the job with a single answer, and it was all around being brilliant, all the time.  Sounds different, and a little more exciting, doesn’t it.  It also, if I’m honest, rang somewhat more true than “I aim to be outstanding”.

It’s an exciting place to be in, and I’m looking forward to the journey from here.

Whilst I build up the courage to tell my knees and my back that we’re all going on camp this year, that is all.