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The Father, the Son and the aggressive Headteacher

Working on a spaceship is very exciting, which is why the Mother can’t wait to get to work this morning. Of course, the Mother doesn’t really work on a spacecraft – that would be silly. After all she has no training in interplanetary travel. Besides, she gets very travel sick which means intergalactic flights are out of the question. However, the school she is currently working at looks quite a lot like the Starship Enterprise.  

Stepping inside every morning brings a smile to her face, which on some occasions lasts for several seconds. 

“What child wouldn’t want to go to school here?” says the Mother to herself. 

Constellation Primary School is an unusual place. It is completely round with a glowing white, shell-like exterior. The building is set across two floors and is unusually modern for a London school. Inside the strange-looking building, it is shiny and gleaming, a mass of windows and sunlight. Remarkably for a school, there is only one flight of stairs which takes you from the ground to the first floor and back again. The stairs curve around stylishly as they reach the ground floor. The Mother loves this descent. Sometimes, when she isn’t pretending she is Captain Kirk, she glides down the stairs, like she is Shirley Bassey, but in jeans. 

The school had only recently been built and was designed by a team of Swedish architects. The Mother found this out the week she started work there, which was a quite dreadful experience.  

One morning while the Mother was teaching a literacy lesson, three people in grey suits walked in unannounced. The Mother had no idea who they were or why no one had told her about the visit. Her first thought was that perhaps they were teachers there to observe her. Then a more frightening possibility entered her head. 

Perhaps this was an Ofsted visit, and they had come to observe her lesson. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, this can’t be happening.” A visit from Ofsted is like contracting some hideous tropical disease. It comes on quickly. One day you get the warning signs, and the next day it hits you. First, the blood drains from your face, and your tongue feels like it’s swelling up inside your mouth. Next come the sweaty palms, nausea and faintness, and then the onset of a speech impediment. Finally, complete memory loss, followed by utter despair. There are people out there who think the Black Death was bad. Well, those people have obviously never been in a school during an Ofsted inspection. 

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