This turned up for Claire today. All I can say, I tell her, is that is gonna hurt more coming out than going in. It's a juicer, she sighs. I bet it fucking is, I say.

Yes, this definitely won't happen again and I will definitely never hear another person in power say they've learnt lessons, as it is so well funded that social care and schools have all the resources they need so it definitely won't ever happen again. www.bbc.co.uk/news/article...

And I’ve just gone to put my favourite black shirt on, and the fucking cat has slept on it! Aaargh, that could be the final straw.

And I’m not losing perspective, I know how it sounds; a lot of families are still fine. But if we don’t recognise this,then these issues (and did I mention poverty?!) are going to come home to roost at some point.These issues will leave a legacy we will be dealing with for years.

Yesterday I spent 2 hours on a social care referral, 45 mins sitting with a child self harming and trashing a room, 45 mins on medical plans, an hour doing home visits, 25 with a dad and son (severe SEN, no English, both illiterate) finding food banks. But, attendance targets…

Phonics target, attendance target, more reading tests; so utterly depressing. I’m not one for bleating, but the world has changed. Schools are unrecognisable from 10 years ago: complex and scary needs, apathy, illness. Sooner we understand this, the quicker we can address it.

If I have to spend any more time on the phone to social services, I might as well move into their offices.

The big news at ours this weekend was that Claire, quite on the spur of the moment, bought a new toothbrush. The excitement while we’re waiting for it to charge is palpable.

Can I just point out, Rudi isn't drinking, or drunk, or inebriated in any way. He trains every day and is doing A levels and is sometimes just knackered. That's what's funny...he's a Great Dane puppy in a human body, that's what's funny.

Yep. Don't get me started, because it's Friday and I've had a gin, but I see it every day: societal fracture, mental health issues we've never seen, complex needs we've never known...the legacy is something to be ignored at our peril. Meanwhile, our education secretary wants 90% phonics pass rate...

Well, he tried.

Now the cat's joined him in sympathy.

Update: he's made it to the kitchen floor.

Well I was going to take a picture of my beer to say Happy Friday, but then I noticed this idle fucker who can't even be arsed to walk up the stairs to have a sleep on his bed. Happy Friday beautiful people, from me and a snoozing Rudi. It's been some week.

Sent an email to my SLT with a plan for the curriculum review. It ended with: So it is a big job and one we will do together. Luckily, I’ll be dead by the time it needs implementing, so you may have to continue it on your own. I like to cheer them up every now and then.

NEW POST Almost every school I know has a list of Teaching and Learning or curriculum "non-negotiables." But is that a good term to use in schools? Please share if you can 🙏🙏 substack.com/home/post/p-...

Well, good luck tomorrow for everyone going back. I think this term can be exhausting, so go steady. But tomorrow should be good: it’s a full moon tonight, there have been fireworks all weekend, it is forecast to be windy and possibly rain. So it should be just, fucking, ace.

Two ashes rugby games this afternoon, and I really hope Suali'i does well. Ruud and I have followed him since he was a 17yr old in the NRL. He epitomises everything good about the game: humble, proud, respectful. In fact, he is everything that arrogant twat Henry Pollock isn't.

Well, it's been a long 6 months trying to recover from the latest covid shenanigans, but today I went to the gym for the first time since. Goodness me it was hard. Also tough doing paltry weights and having to ease back in, but it's a step forward. And every step counts.

I'm sure it's a big deal Andrew is no longer a prince, has been stripped of some titles (who knows what that means) and has to deal with the 'shame' of moving from one royal lodge in total luxury to another, smaller one. I'm sure it really stings. But I'd feel better if he was in jail.

On the top, some old woman is running down the hillside. I just stare. See, says Claire, she can do it.

But we missed the rain, I managed a few miles, and I had that valuable time and space that I think is vital for people's mental health. Having a sense of perspective keeps me sane, and I cannot recommend this enough to you..

So to cheer myself up we went for a dream tea. But that confused me even more...

Had a little potter round the village after the walk. Marvellous church, with a carved ring cross over 1200 years old: just insane, and I revel in the wonder of it. Then a gravestone that stops me in my tracks, and I can't cope with how utterly depressing life and history can be.

Bit breezy on the top..

As we approached these rocks, I forgot myself. I was scanning them, looking where they could climb, where they could fall, where I'd need to be with them and where it would be safe. Then I realised, Alex and Rudi are not here. Is this how it is now, always one foot in the past?

And once the sun came out, the place was transformed.

Well well, seems Devon has the odd wonderful spot after all...

Apparently, Doris Lessing owned this cottage. How about that. We're safely back, cheers everyone...

So we went to the local pub (1 mile down some pitch black track) and made it back, but not until I'd tried every cider in there. It's a bit strong.

When I opened this room I had to have a minute. We are, of course, without Alex and Rudi. They'd have loved this room. Goodness me time flies, those moments pass, and before you know it you're wishing them back with every fibre of your being.

And then, after driving miles down roads barely wide enough for me to walk down, nearly hitting this horse (twice) and getting lost 3 times, we arrive. And there's a little pal to greet us. It's thatched, says Claire. There'll be rats in there, I say. Do you have to, she says.

Then we went to the old town of Okehampton. I love a castle, but being England it was of course shut. Still, you get the sense of what it would have liked like. Proper old motte and bailey....

After the trauma of Bridgwater services, we arrived in Exeter. Very gentile. The people seem half asleep, I wonder if some apathy has descended on the place. Suits me though, not too many people. Some were surprisingly tall.

We emerged from the rain, and sought solace in a place called 'Bridgwater Services'. But we soon realised this maze of hell was designed to trap the weary traveller, and keep them here for eternity. Strange shadows scuttled around us, we were lucky to escape with our lives.

Just crossed some river and passing Bristol. Does anyone know when the roads actually stop? when do I have to abandon the car?

Whatever happens don't let me forget my shoes, I tell Rudi. Why, he asks. Well, I say, they're all barefoot and they think only gods wear shoes. Is that right, he says. Yes, I say, so if all else fails I'll hold some shoes up and then make a run for it while they're bowing.

Apparently, I tell Rudi, the roads stop just south of Bristol so we have to make our way from there on foot. Claire sighs. I'm taking some trinkets to bribe the locals with if we get lost, I add. I'm sure you'll be fine, he says. And a lighter, because fire scares them, I say.

Off to Devon tomorrow, I'm a bit nervous, and Ruud isn't coming. The people are all really hairy, I tell Claire. Rudi laughs. I'll call when we're there, I tell him. Hang on- do they have phone signal, I ask. Really, says Claire. And they all live in holes in the ground, I add.

One of these photos is how I see myself. The other is how I actually look. I wonder if you can guess which is which.

I need to buy a stamp and some cat food. Oh and some crisps. Does anyone want anything?

There is something exquisite about the feeling you get on the Sunday evening before the first day of a holiday. You forget, then remember again, then forget, and each time you remember you get the same warm feeling. So have that extra glass of wine, read a little later…cheers.

Seeing the parents face when I said how happy we were for them to start is beyond words… But to set a random target for phonics in the face of such challenges is infuriating. And they won’t be passing their fucking phonics test.

And I am delighted they are with us: we will care for them, nurture them, bring stability, and provide stimulating and appropriate activities that ensure they flourish. They’ll be happy, and safe…

This week we got 2 new kids that are non-verbal; 1 has never been to school, and none of the parents speak English. 1 is clearly traumatised, had no ID papers other than Home office ID and both have challenging behaviour. These 2 children will count towards our phonics score.

All the Heads I know are on their knees, seeing children presenting with more complex needs than ever before, extreme behaviour and limited funding. The majority of this is in EYFS and Year 1. So instead of announcing something to help this, we'll raise a target to add pressure.

I've got to say, at a time when schools are breaking under the pressure of SEND, poverty issues, new arrivals, EAL and social care issues, the timing of a new target for Y1 phonics seems extraordinary.

I might as well change my fucking job title to Social Worker.

So that's it, they're off tomorrow morning and I have to go to bed, so can post no more. Elaine's still talking. Jeff is watching some documentary about Hitler's dog, and I need a rest. Have a lovely week.

I walk past Alex's room and Elaine is sitting on his bed. You ok, I ask. He's so big now, she says, do you think he's ok. He's loving it, I say, you saw him. I still expect him to be in here, she says, playing his music too loud. I know, I say, I'll leave you to it.