School's out

Littleboy 1 is only just 3, but already we are supposed to be getting into a tizz about schools.

The trials and tribulations of schooling in Nappy Valley have been well-documented; not least by the brilliant, local writer John O’Farrell in his excellent book May Contain Nuts (which has apparently been filmed as an ITV drama series to be shown later this year).

While this is not, I realise, a problem unique to this area, there do seem to be a few issues. Clapham has the highest birth rate in Europe – but contrary to popular belief, that’s not just down to the proliferation of yummy mummies; it also has high numbers of single mothers and low income families. As a consequence, it seems the ‘good’ primary schools are hopelessly over-subscribed. Meanwhile, the private options either require you to put their names down as soon as you conceive, or demand that your four year old child pass some terrifying entrance interview. Terrible tales abound, and around the age of 2 everyone starts panicking and putting their kids’ names down for hundreds of different schools – exacerbating the problem.

Take a sample of my local friends (none of whom are Nuts by the way, but on the contrary very intelligent women, not at all snobbish, and nice to boot). One is so worried about her daughter not getting into a good state school that she has started attending church every week, so as to pass through the pearly gates of a sought-after C of E school. So guilt-ridden was she by this whole scenario, my friend confessed, that she and her partner had to visit the pub and ‘down several pints’ following their first Sunday service.

Another is fretting that she lives just that little bit too far away from the ‘good’ state schools, but is worrying about whether her child will get into the highly competitive private school round the corner. And a third has a series of cunning schemes up her sleeve, involving putting names down for one school, then whipping the children out as soon as someone moves house and a place becomes available elsewhere.

So what, you might ask, have I done? To the disbelief of most local mummies, nothing. As a vaguely leftish hack, ever-optimistic about our Labour government, I was hoping that an excellent local state school would materialise by the time Littleboy 1 reached 5. And if it hadn’t, I reasoned, we would probably have moved by now anyway. I therefore have a scant knowledge of the local state and private schools, whereas my contemporaries could probably pass a GCSE in the subject.

Well, we haven’t managed to move house, but luckily for me a superb escape route has presented itself – leave the country. Yes, The Doctor has been offered the opportunity to work in the US, starting in a year’s time, just at the point that Littleboy 1 would be starting school. So now when everyone excitedly asks me what are we Doing About Schools, I can opt out of the conversation - and not have to confess that I am a Rubbish Mother Who Has Done Nothing.