It has been, at time of writing, 2,241 days since an inspector last called.

The first three years don’t count. The inspector rarely calls before their report’s third birthday. But, at time of writing, that is still 1145 days in the ‘OFSTED window’.

1145 days of waiting for the phone to ring on some idle Tuesday with news that inspectors will arrive and decide the fate of the school – twelve hours later.

And decide the fate of the Headteacher…

And whilst the jeopardy for my schools is low, it sits there in one’s head.

Everyday.

Indeed, as Executive HT of two schools with last inspections a month apart in early 2018, it was likely that both will receive a visit within a few weeks of each other.

So, this year, as we passed our report’s sixth birthday, we knew… we knew with all certainty… (because of OFSTED’s own ‘when will I be inspected?’ guide) that the inspector would call before July.

Sure, we’d Academised this last September, and the handbook says that changes things. But those in high places in Inspection HQ assured us that, as a large new Trust, we would keep our current date with OFSTED’s knock on the door.

Now, I know that there will be plenty tutting at their screens at my silliness. I know that OFSTED’s reputation is currently, at best, tarnished and inspections are not something we should set any store by.

And, to be clear, we don’t do things for an inspector’s call. We do things because they are the right things to do. And for the main, OFSTED don’t drive the work of the schools.

But they do colour it. And as the likelihood of inspection rose to 100%, it also drives short-term thinking.

You see, when an inspection in any given week becomes ‘almost certain’, as a leader, I start to push for short-term marginal gains. Big structural (disruptive, but necessary) changes to the curriculum are left until the inspectors have come and gone. More and more, subject leader time is devoted to clear articulation against OFSTED’s likely questions. And to use the words of Dr Vic Carr (herself an Army Reservist), the ‘Operational Tempo’ reaches a sprint which can’t be sustained indefinitely.

Again, this doesn’t stop longer term strategic thinking. 90% of our work is all about this. But looming OFSTED’s do mutate the improvement work of the school.

So, as we approached Easter in the year where we would certainly be inspected, the combined staff at both schools stood like two proud armies upon a hillside of our choosing. Our teaching is polished and precise: glinting, like armor, in the sunlight. And I feel extremely proud of the professionalism which every member of staff exhibits every day.

We arrive at the moment of exact readiness.

And then news arrived…

OFSTED HQ had reconsidered...

After 1145 days of waiting for the phone to ring we are told that the inspection now won’t take place until Autumn 2025.

Jubilation? Indifference?

I know how I’m supposed to feel about this news.

Jubilation at having avoided something which would have, undoubtably, been stressful for the team?

Indifference towards a system which is deeply flawed and with which I should care little about?

But in all honesty?

I feel a bit ’empty’.

We have been on high alert for so long that to learn that the enemy has simply vanished doesn’t bring great joy, but only a feeling that all that stress in preparing to show the best we can was for nothing (itself a mad distortion of the system). A feeling that, despite the stress, we have been denied the day of reckoning which we saw so clearly in our mind’s eye. Like a victim of Stockholm Syndrome, I am acutely aware that I am mourning the loss of something which has been, of late, a toxic force within the system.

And yet, I mourn its vanishing.

We will strike down the banners and prepare for a period of peace.

We now must manage a drop in ‘operational tempo’ (the clamor to do every little thing on a shortened time to be ready for the call), whilst not allowing our sharpness to fall.

I am acutely aware of the great danger which the schools could now slump into.

I have seen too many schools, exhausted by their relentless drive towards an inspection, suffer from a period of sloth immediately afterwards, squandering all the hard work which has gone into making the school amazing. I have seen their sheen diminish and sloppy habits appear.

I would be like, having spent 1145 days in the gym honing the physique of an athlete, we collectively decide to spend the next year sitting on the sofa eating pizza.

The collective madness to which we all ascribe.

I know that we shouldn’t be thinking in OFSTED cycles. School improvement is a complex and time consuming activity. Yet we think in 3 year parcels; a type of madness which drives uneven school improvement tempos. And whilst I don’t feel we have completely fallen into this trap, I am aware that the tempo of late has been based on the assumption of a finite ‘finish line’ – with ribbons – and medals.

We have succumbed to the finite game.

Within my Trust we have attempted to break this spell by talking of the ‘infinate game’ , instead of chasing short-term goals which matter little to the children’s lives which we seek to influence.

When you measure the progress of a school community in decades instead of three-year cycles then the narrative changes.

I have had the priviledge of leading Blackhorse for 13 years; Emersons for two. Both schools have long histories; charting the leaders who came before us.

We will remember what matters

We will re-tell our stories.

Both schools are over-subscribed – not something to be taken for granted given the falling birth-rate locally.

Both schools also have many things we need to do to improve the education for the children who sit in front of us every day. This is our priority.

At some point, the enemy will reappear on the horizon.

But not this year.