No Surprises, Really?
This week, TES ran with Ofsted’s latest claim that their new inspection model will mean schools face “no surprises.”
“No surprises.”
From Ofsted.
That’s like Greggs announcing a fine-dining restaurant — technically true, but it still feels like a practical joke.
(Although, to be fair, there is one in Newcastle — the Greggs Champagne Bar. You can now sip bubbly while eating a sausage roll. Britain really is a land of contrast.)
But back to Ofsted — who seem to think that turning up unannounced, with clipboards and cryptic smiles, counts as a collaborative process.
Schools are told inspections should be “transparent” and “supportive.” Yet staff are still scrubbing display boards at 10pm, colour-coding seating plans, and printing off policies that were last read when Michael Gove had job security.
The “no surprises” line isn’t comfort — it’s PR.
And the only real surprise is that they think anyone’s still buying it.
SENDCOs: Running the Marathon While Carrying a Sofa
Meanwhile, in the real world, our SENDCO — a man with the patience of a saint and the inbox of a call centre — is doing everything short of splitting atoms to keep the system afloat.
He’s juggling EHCPs, liaising with outside agencies, supporting staff, and holding the emotional weight of parents (like me) who are exhausted by the system.
His last review meeting with us was six months ago — and it took that long just to get it implemented. Not because of him, not because of the school, but because our local authority is overwhelmed and under-resourced.
We only saw movement after six months of chasing, nudging, and, let’s be honest, pestering until something finally shifted.
And this is the point, isn’t it? SENDCOs aren’t failing — they’re drowning. They’re expected to deliver miracles in a system that’s running on fumes. The talk of “investment in SEND” feels like a cruel joke when the only thing growing is the paperwork pile.
MATs and the Myth of Efficiency
In my previous post, “Where’s All the Money Gone, Again?”, I talked about the financial black hole that is the modern Multi-Academy Trust.
Since then, nothing’s changed — except maybe the size of the CEO’s pay packet.
We’ve got trusts tightening school budgets while splashing out on new “executive leadership tiers,” “strategic consultants,” and “innovation leads.”
Headteachers are told to “do more with less,” which roughly translates to: “You’re on your own, but please be outstanding while you’re at it.”
There’s a grotesque irony to it all. You’ve got classroom staff scrabbling for glue sticks while an “executive associate director of transformation” is signing off a £250,000 salary and a LinkedIn post about “visionary leadership.”
At this point, MATs don’t resemble communities of schools — they look like start-ups with a safeguarding policy.
SEND Reform: A Year of Waiting for Nothing
And then there’s the SEND white paper.
Remember that? The grand promise to reform the entire system?
It’s now delayed until 2026, which will mark a full year since it was first announced.
A year of waiting, while teachers, parents, and children sit in limbo.
As both a teacher and the father of an autistic little girl, it’s maddening.
Every delay means another year of families fighting through bureaucracy, another year of schools trying to make do without funding, another year of children falling through the gaps while ministers rehearse phrases like “transformational reform” in front of a mirror.
It’s not reform anymore — it’s a slow-motion shrug.
The Weight of It All
So, in summary:
Ofsted insists there’ll be “no surprises.”
MATs keep stacking management like Jenga.
SENDCOs are being asked to do the impossible.
And the long-awaited reform? Still pending.
It’s all cloak, shadow, and delay — a masterclass in how to appear busy while standing perfectly still.
And yet, despite it all, schools keep going. Teachers keep showing up. SENDCOs keep juggling. Parents keep pushing.
We keep doing the work, even when the people above us are too busy sipping metaphorical champagne to notice the cracks.
Because that’s the state of British education in 2025:
Some of us are serving sausage rolls and surviving on caffeine —
while others, apparently, are dining on bubbles at Greggs.
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