My sister texted me: “Can you make it to the funeral? Mum and dad really need us all there.”
I responded, “I won’t know until lunchtime the day before, in case we get the call,” followed by a fingers-crossed emoji.
I’m used to letting my family and friends down by now.
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Cancelled weekends; forgotten birthdays; unanswered emails, texts and voicemails. They are used to it.
But there are times when I am entirely torn by what seems like an impossible choice. The choice is between my loved ones and my job.
The pressure of Ofsted inspection
I’m a short number of years into being a headteacher, and I’ve only started giving myself permission to go for medical appointments when I can’t get them at the weekend.
I’m not a fan of Ofsted, but I’m also not against having an independent body keeping an eye on us.
But what I hugely object to is not only the work difficulties caused by the half-day notice of Ofsted’s arrival, but also increasingly how it impacts on the personal.
I was at a recent get-together with headteacher friends, when one of them told me how during her last Ofsted, she was having a miscarriage.
She said she wasn’t sure a miscarriage would have been considered an extenuating circumstance for Ofsted.
And this is the thing.
While I have no hesitation in telling my staff to leave work immediately to be with family at times of crisis, I’m here, at a time of an unexpected death of a child in our extended family, and terminal illness in my immediate family. But as we’ve entered into the Ofsted “window”, which will last for years, one of my biggest worries is having to make that choice.
I’m not sure Ofsted has the compassion that is present in leadership. So what is it, Ofsted; if you call on Monday, do I go to the funeral on Tuesday or do I spend the day with you?
The writer is headteacher of a school in London
