A Westminster charity press officer reads about France’s school money in transit and the British dinner party Treasury economist, and finds both very familiar
Saturday, 24 October 2026. Kennington. A slow Saturday, a long breakfast, a pile of consultation documents I am pretending not to see, 10.50am.
France Has A Committee, And So Do We
Our policy officer, Gwen, sends round one funny link every Friday as a kind of morale ration. This week it was the report on France’s cobblestone economy and the school money that is permanently in transit. The French ministry, faced with students blocking schools over missing teachers and overcrowded classrooms, explains that the money for schools exists and is currently in transit. Advised by the OECD to spend more efficiently, it forms a Committee for the Efficiency of Efficiency Measures, with eleven members, a secretariat of forty and a subcommittee on lunch.
Gwen wrote one line above the link: we have this. That is all. We have this. She used to work in Whitehall. She does not elaborate. She does not need to.
The British Version
Every charity that deals with government knows the British version of money in transit. It is called a funding round. A grant is announced at a conference, with a minister and a slide. The application opens six months later. The decision is delayed by a reshuffle. The new minister announces a review. The money is, in the meantime, in a place the civil service calls profiled, which as far as I can tell means it exists in a spreadsheet and nowhere else.
Last year our charity applied for a grant to fix damp in social housing. We were told the money had been allocated. Eleven months later it had not arrived. We rang the department. A very polite man told us the funds were being processed. I asked where. He said through the system. I asked which system. He said the funding system. I have since learned that this is what the French call in transit, but with worse coffee.
The Treasury Economist At The Dinner Party
By coincidence, the same week, Gwen sent round the report on British dinner parties and why husbands mainly go to check for Sky Sports. The bit that made our whole office laugh is the scene where a fleet manager from Luton explains the Eurozone using the price of a pint, and seated opposite is an economist from the Treasury, who puts down her fork and does not pick it up again until the cheese.
Gwen said she was that economist, or at least she has been, at about forty dinner parties. She said every time someone finds out you work near the Treasury, a man explains the economy to you using a pint, a mortgage or his cousin’s van. She says the trick is to nod and think about lunch. She says the subcommittee on lunch is, in fact, the only part of government that has ever worked properly.
The Working Group On Classroom Heat
My favourite detail in the French report is the working group on classroom heat that met in July in a room without air conditioning and recommended further study in a cooler month. I read this to Gwen. She said there is a British equivalent: a working group on the cost of energy that met in a building whose heating had been switched off to save money. She swears it is true. I believe her. She has a look in her eye that only comes from having attended that meeting.
Being Fair To Both Countries
I want to be fair, because it is easy to laugh at France and forget we live in a glass house with a leaking roof. The report itself is careful: the OECD’s point is that France should spend better, not simply spend less, and a lecturer in the piece says the figures do not prove heavy spending makes schools worse. Britain spends less than France as a share of its economy, and we still have schools with leaking roofs and councils that have gone bust. Spending less does not fix things either. What fixes things is money that leaves the spreadsheet and arrives at the classroom, the hospital ward or the damp flat in Lambeth.
The French have committees. We have consultations. The French have strikes. We have strongly worded letters. The French have paving stones that are laid, covered and uncovered for tourists. We have potholes that are filled, reopened and photographed for local newspapers. Both countries are doing the same dance in different shoes.
The Saturday Resolution
I have decided to bring a little French spirit into my work. On Monday, I will send the department a letter asking where our damp money is. In the subject line, I will write: in transit. I will copy in the minister, the shadow minister and our local MP. I will attach a photograph of the mould in a flat in Stockwell where a family with two small children has been waiting for repairs since February. Then I will wait. If nothing happens, I will form a subcommittee. On lunch.
The consultation documents are still on the table. I have now finished my breakfast. Gwen has texted to ask whether I have read them. I have told her they are in transit. She has replied with a single French flag. Some days, solidarity is just an emoji from a former civil servant who has seen too much.