On anchor links, ketchup alarms and starting over
A few weeks ago, I became mildly obsessed with anchor links. They're links that jump you to a specific section of the same web page rather than somewhere else entirely (think, "jump to recipe"). Small thing. Deeply satisfying to build. You'll find them on any website I'm associated with from now on.
I know about anchor links because I needed a website. I needed a website because I've started my own consultancy. And I got here by a route that surprised me.
The career break I didn't know I needed
When I left my role as Executive Director at Ambition Institute at the end of last year, I had a plan. Take two to three months. Do some things I'd been meaning to make space for. Then figure out the next chapter.
What I didn't plan for was how much those two to three months would matter.
Improv. There is something about committing fully to a ridiculous scenario with a group of strangers that does something useful to you. At one point I found myself pressed against a wall, playing an alarm system, shouting: "THE HUMANS HAVE BREACHED THE KETCHUP. THE HUMANS HAVE BREACHED THE KETCHUP."
Fully committed. No self-consciousness left. It taught me something about listening properly, and about what happens when you stop trying to control how you come across.
Stand-up comedy. This one surprised me most. Writing a set is a strange and vulnerable process. You put something down on the page, share it with your group, and wait to see what lands. The first time felt exposing in a way I hadn't expected.
But something shifted quickly. Everyone in that room wanted everyone else to succeed. Feedback became genuinely addictive because it was generous and it made the work better. By the time I performed a five-minute set at the Comedy Store to a room of around four hundred people and got actual laughs from strangers, on purpose, I understood something new about communication, about craft, and about what it feels like to be properly supported in the process of getting something right.
Wine tasting. I should say: I am not new to wine. I have been on numerous wine tasting tours over the years, nodding sagely, saying things like "hints of blackcurrant" with great confidence.
When some friends mentioned they were doing a proper course, I thought it was a chance to actually learn, rather than perform knowing. There was an exam at the end. I immediately reverted to Year 10 Yalinie: what if I fail? It was humbling in the best way. I got 27 out of 30 on the mocks. Results still pending, but I'm going to assume I'll be fine.
Hyrox. I'm aware it's referred to as the midlife crisis Olympics. I am leaning into that fully. I've been weightlifting for years, some of you have been on the receiving end of unsolicited personal best videos and I do not apologise, and last summer I joined a run club, which gave me a foundation I didn't know I was building.
Between the two, when a friend suggested Hyrox, it felt less mad than it looked from the outside. It is still quite mad. But it's also genuinely fun, and doing it with a friend matters. There's something about committing to something hard alongside someone else that brings you closer. Another community I didn't expect to find.
What I didn't anticipate was how much each of these things would matter beyond the activity itself. Each one pushed me slightly outside of who I thought I was. Each one introduced me to people I now count as friends, people I've been silly and vulnerable and curious alongside. That, more than anything, is what I'm most grateful for.
The moment that changed how I thought about my career
When I was a teacher, I couldn't imagine anything other than the standard track. Head of department. Assistant headteacher. Headteacher. Twenty years, give or take.
Then one day, early in my first assistant headship, I was at a professional development conference. I didn't know anyone. I was in the coffee queue. I got chatting to the person behind me. It turned out he worked for the company running the session. He said something I'd contributed to the room had resonated with him, and asked if I'd like to meet his manager.
That conversation led to my first consultancy work: facilitating professional development with school leadership teams across Victoria who were designing and implementing school improvement projects. The work had statewide impact.
Worth saying: this was early in my career, in a school that had only just opened. We were figuring things out as we went, and I was learning on the job just like everyone else.
The facilitation work excited me precisely because of that. I'd felt the weight of trying to solve complex problems with limited support and limited perspective. Now I was in rooms with leaders facing the same kinds of challenges, and I was there to think alongside them, to help them see their situation more clearly. The idea that you could have that kind of wider reach, rather than going deep in one place, opened something up for me.
I didn't fully understand then what that could look like as a career. But it pointed me somewhere.
Why consultancy, and why now
Teach First. Education Development Trust. Ambition Institute. Each role gave me new perspective, new skills, new understanding of how change actually happens in complex systems. A big Venn diagram of mission and purpose, which will surprise no one who knows me.
I learned what brilliant looks like up close. I learned what good support feels like from the inside of an organisation, and what's missing when it isn't there.
Across all of it, the thread has been the same: complex problems, clever people, work that matters. Recruiting over a thousand academic mentors to support young people struggling to learn during a pandemic. Training tens of thousands of school-led tutors in a single year. Bringing four hundred new teachers into the system in the middle of a deepening recruitment crisis.
Working inside those organisations also taught me something about what's needed from the outside. The people doing this work are brilliant. They are also busy, under pressure, and constantly navigating new and unexpected challenges.
I saw first-hand what a difference it made to bring in someone senior and experienced for a defined period. Someone who understood the sector, understood what good delivery looked like, and could step in at a critical moment to help things move.
I wanted to be that person. Not just for one organisation, but for many.
What this is, and what I can do for you
Compass & Craft is the name I chose, and it says something about how I work. Compass: helping people find direction when things are complex or unclear. Craft: serious attention to how the work is actually done. Not just the strategy on the page, but the delivery in practice.
I work with senior leaders and organisations on strategy, programme design and delivery, and leadership, particularly at moments of change or pressure. I'm direct, I'm calm, and I'm genuinely invested in the people I work with. You can find out a bit more about how I can help you here.
The work isn't about arriving with a ready-made answer. It's about working out what's actually needed, building the plan together, and seeing it through.
If you're navigating something complicated right now, a new programme to mobilise, a strategy that isn't landing in practice, a team that needs to get aligned, let’s talk at hello@compassandcraft.co.uk
And if you're someone who's made a similar leap, or is thinking about it: I'd love to hear about that too!
