Fear and Loathing in Darlington: Dispatches from a Council Chamber Gone Mad There are moments in public life when you realise, with a cold jolt to the spine, that you are no longer observing politics—you are trapped inside it. Not the dignified, pipe-and-slippers version they sell on the BBC, but the raw, twitching, hallucinatory underbelly of it. The kind where logic is optional, procedure is weaponised, and common sense is dragged out back and quietly shot. This is one of those moments. Some of you may remember my previous dispatch, written in the aftermath of my private school shutting its doors—a casualty of the slow, grinding machinery of policy dressed up as progress, aka Labour's Tax on Education. Back then, I made a promise: I would not rest. Not until the people responsible were held to account, not until the direction of travel in this country was dragged, kicking and screaming if necessary, back towards something resembling sanity. And so, fuelled by caffeine, stubbornne...
The summer holiday means I am absolutely immersed in my PhD . I mean from 7am to 7pm, reading, writing, reading, writing, coffee and regular two-and-a-half hour trips to London to visit the fantastic Educational Settlements Association archives (quite close to Kings Cross = only one bacon sandwich, hot drink combo from Greggs) and the Workers' Educational Association archives (quite far from Kings Cross = two bacon/hot drink combo from Greggs). At the latter, I discovered this fantastic piece of writing from my favourite education man crush, R. H. Tawney . I think I am going to have to crowbar a chapter about him into the PhD, which means more trips to London and the archives, ah all day in a library during a nice summer day. What can be better? Anyway, enough of my ramblings. Get your pedagogical brains around these beauties, taken from a speech given by Tawney to the Co-operative Movement ... Education has always meant not simply the accumulation of knowledge, or the perfecting ...