“I’LL level with you,” I told the head of the joint I was inspecting. “This is a good outfit you’ve got here. My final report won’t throw much dirt your way but I’ll have to mention the overcrowding and the small core of trouble-makers.”
“I figured as much,” he said. “I can’t see my bosses doing much about the former in the foreseeable future and we’re fast running out of ideas with the small core.”
I looked him in the eye. This bird was no jerk. It wasn’t his fault that those in control had gone a few million smackeroonies over budget. I’d also seen what he’d tried to do for the trouble-makers and sympathised there as well. They seemed to be taking up a disproportionate amount of staff time.
“Look, Bub,” I drew my teeth over my lower lip, “you’re a straight guy and I’d like to help. No promises, but leave it with me.”
We shook hands but he broke off suddenly and clutched his chest.
“You OK?” I asked.
He sat down and popped a couple of pills. “I’ll be fine,” he replied. “I’m due an op for this but it’ll be another six months. Pity - if I lived down south they’d bus me off to that private joint on the coast that has spare capacity. I’d be sorted in a month.”
The idea hit me like a freight train. It wasn’t going to be popular but it might just work. I said nothing, other than that I had some calls to make.
It took me most of the next day to set up my own version of a public-private partnership. Finding a small independent with a cashflow problem and a few empty seats was tricky but not impossible.
Persuading them to take the overspill from a local comprehensive was initially not difficult. It was seen as a backdoor version of the assisted places scheme and as such was welcomed. The creative bit came when we had to persuade them that the kids they would have were the ones that were causing hassle in the school I had just inspected.
The word they use these days is spin and it took more spin than a bald-tyred Corvair on an ice rink to get this one through.
Hell, I almost pulled it off. Some of the most imaginative minds in the business worked on the scam. In the end, political correctness killed it. PPPs were hot potatoes and this was one that gave a lot of people cold feet.
I visited the head again to break the news that the scheme was dead. He was good about it, shaking hands again and thanking me for trying.
Then I left to work on another wish fulfilment fantasy.
