Happy Friday, Reader

A while back I was on a panel in Shanghai sitting next to an architect. He talked about people for most of the hour and I've been trying to get him on the podcast ever since.

When a school goes to Phil Idle's practice wanting a building, it usually turns up with a list. Six classrooms, a science lab. Sensible enough, except that every number on that list has already answered a question about what learning is, and nobody in the room sat down and asked it.

Nanjing International School sent his team something else. A document called Dear Architect, setting out what they believed about childhood, what they wanted children to experience in a day, what role choice and voice should play in it. Room counts came later. Phil was clear the leadership drove that, not the design team.

My first reaction was that this is a luxury. Most of the schools I work with are nowhere near commissioning a building. They're trying to get the timetable out before Thursday.

But Phil's point, more or less, is that you're already designing whether you meant to or not. Your timetable is a belief document. So is the appraisal form nobody enjoys filling in. They just happen to be belief documents written in a hurry, by whoever inherited the job, in a week when three other things were on fire.

So the version of this that doesn't need a building project. Take something you're due to write this term, the calendar, a policy, and write the belief version first. One page. What should a day here feel like. Then write the real one and look at the gap.

I don't really know what you do with the gap. Probably nothing this term. I'd still rather know it's there.

The full conversation with Phil is here. Worth your time if you're anywhere near a building project, or think you might be in a few years.

And reply with this if you fancy it. What does your school believe about how a child should spend a day? I'm curious how many of us can answer that quickly.

Shane