Detention Diaries

Are we asleep at the wheel?

Right, colleagues. Gather round the metaphorical staffroom table. Because I’ve just read something that makes me wonder if we’ve all gone completely numb.

The Department for Education has announced a recommended 6.5% pay increase over the next three years for teachers.

Lovely headline. Almost warm and fuzzy.

Except — and there’s always an except, isn’t there? — there’s no indication that it’s actually funded.

So basically: “Here’s your raise. Please pay for it yourself.”

Meanwhile, the economy staggers on. Let’s have a look at some figures, because numbers make fury sound intellectual.

Britain, France and the Financial Farce

The UK’s GDP in 2024 (that’s the total value of everything we produce, at current market prices) sits at about US $3.64 trillion.

France is catching up fast, sitting at US $3.21 trillion.

Now, you might think: “Ah well, at least we’re still ahead.”

But here’s the funny bit — France has just had its credit rating downgraded because it can’t quite manage its public finances. Which, if countries were people, would be the equivalent of that mate who can’t be trusted with the kitty on a night out because they’ve already spent it on prosecco.

And despite all that, when the French government tried to raise the retirement age by one year, they didn’t shrug and say “that’s unfortunate.”

They set Paris on fire.

Meanwhile, over here, our government can announce an underfunded pay deal, increase workloads, merge classes, and we’ll all quietly mutter “classic” before heading off to do lunchtime duty.

So again I ask — where are our pitchforks?

Inflation vs Pay: The Maths Bit (Don’t Worry, It’s Funny… Sort Of)

Here’s how this supposed pay rise really plays out:

Inflation in the UK is forecast to hover around 3.4% in 2025, and maybe 2.5% in 2026. So prices are still rising — not quite panic-buying-toilet-roll levels, but enough that your weekly shop feels like you’ve accidentally upgraded to Waitrose.

Now, our shiny new 6.5% pay rise spread over three years equals roughly 2% a year.

So while your payslip is creeping up like a nervous snail, your bills, mortgage, and food shop are running the London Marathon.

It’s like getting a pay rise, but every time you celebrate, your energy company emails you with a little reminder that you’re still skint.

Your “increased salary” basically means you can afford half a Freddo more each month.

And that’s if you don’t print anything in colour.

In other words: spending power down, sarcasm levels up.

In Schools: Bigger Classes, Smaller Morale

Meanwhile, the reality on the ground is about as uplifting as a wet playground duty.

At my school:

• Classes are bigger.
• We’re merging groups when staff are off — saving money, yes, but also making it impossible to teach effectively.
• Recruitment? Frozen.
• Teachers? Leaving.

We’re stretching what we’ve got so thin, it’s practically transparent.

It’s sold as “making efficiencies” but what it really means is “you’ll be teaching 32 kids with three broken keyboards, no TA, and the promise of a 2% annual pay rise to keep you motivated.”

Vive la (British) Revolution?

So let’s recap.

France riots if the government changes the retirement age by a single year.

We… update our seating plans and moan to whoever’s waiting for the kettle to boil.

France loses its credit rating; we lose our patience, then shrug, mark three more books, and eat a stale biscuit.

We’re basically the calm cousin at the family wedding — quietly holding everyone’s coats while chaos unfolds, whispering “it’s fine” through gritted teeth.

But maybe it’s time we stopped being so polite about it all.

Because this 6.5% “rise” isn’t generosity — it’s a consolation prize in Monopoly money.

It doesn’t fix recruitment. It doesn’t make classes smaller. It doesn’t stop teachers burning out or schools merging groups to “cover gaps.”

So, once again — where are our pitchforks?

Are they in the cupboard under the stairs, next to the unused glue guns and that box of defunct mini whiteboards?

Or are we saving them for a rainy day… which, let’s face it, in Britain, is most days?

Either way, we’d better dust them off soon.

Because at this rate, we’ll need them just to fight over the last working stapler.