What is a nursery school for the “global elite”? It’s certainly not a phrase I’ve ever used to describe mad toddlers. But perusing the brochure of a new £35,000 a year preschool in West London called The Odyssey, whose campus cost £2million to build and kit, you immediately understand that you’re in a different world.
Finger painting and fish fingers, this is not. An alternative universe where kitchens are transformed into “cucinas”, art rooms are “ateliers”, and children’s music lessons become “bambino soundscapes”.
Leafing through it, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was just the mundane repackaged - akin to estate agent or hotel-speak where tufts of grass become “outdoor spaces” and large cupboards are reimagined as “executive suites”.
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Perhaps my biggest concern from the prospectus was the emphasis on parental involvement which, due to my mortal fear of other parents, is my own personal Hell. But, that’s just me - and as a person who dresses like a teenage boy and barely speaks one language - I’m probably not the type of clientele they’re looking for anyway.
Finger painting and fish fingers, this is not. Instead, kitchens are transformed into “cucinas”, art rooms are “ateliers” and children’s music lessons become “bambino soundscapes”
Located on Marylebone Road, it’s a building that I’ve driven past many times before descending into the sloth-paced traffic nightmare that is Euston Road. Housed in a beautiful Georgian ex-grammar school with turrets and lancet windows that wouldn’t look out of place in a Harry Potter film, it’s also handily close to The Portland Hospital - so if parenting feels overwhelming and your newborn could pass as a three month old, then you could always drop them off on the way back from giving birth.
Inside the nursery, it’s a rabbit warren of rooms - with hubs for babies, toddlers, and pre-schoolers scattered throughout the building. Each age-specific room is stylish, neat, and tidy, with appropriate toys and books according to the children’s development levels - not worlds away from the more standard nurseries I’ve frequented during my time with small children. But, unlike ordinary daycare - you probably wouldn’t, like my friend does, find your daughter gnawing on a rogue tyre in the ambitiously-named “garden” at pick-up time. It’s presumably safe to assume that, for 35k a year, the grounds are likely to be free of wayward road rubber.
According to the Head of School, where the nursery really stands out is in the separate spaces allocated for art, music, and cooking. In the “atelier”, children are taught different techniques according to their fine motor skills - with clay, canvases, and an array of paints all on hand to help your mini Monet unleash their inner artiste. Thankfully the creative undertakings of your children will not exist in a vacuum and the school regularly holds art exhibitions so that you can check out how bad your toddler’s paintings are compared with others.
Technology also plays a role in the art space - as displayed by the stop motion film running in the background that was created by students and using plasticine figures they’d moulded themselves. While I won’t list all of the things they teach at Odyssey that I don’t know how to do as an adult - making stop-motion films is definitely one of them. The music room is also on the top floor alongside the art room, and houses xylophones, ukuleles, and South African drums. It is here that I am most jealous, as the presence of a tiny child proficiently playing a ukelele feels like something that would markedly improve any situation. While I didn’t closely inspect the room, it also appeared to be blissfully free from recorders - audial torture devices that I’d happily pay a tax for my children to never discover. I assume that this is included within the fee structure.
The “cucina” on the ground floor is an area for the children to eat and cook. Here, the toddlers dine on bao buns, mushroom shawarma, and spanakopita while sitting at tables with “conversational centre pieces” designed to promote chatter among the children. I pause here, wondering how likely my three year old would be to discuss the dinosaur figurines on the tablescape when she could just stealthily pocket them. The pieces are changed frequently to encourage new debate, and I assume that it would take months of desecrated table tableaus to discover my daughter’s clandestine pirate booty - finally solving the mystery of Harry Potter’s Preschool and the Disappearing Centre Pieces. “The cucina” is also the space where children learn to cook - with recipes ranging from salads to sushi - meaning that you can finally relieve your personal chef and put your child to work. The kitchen is all toddler height and the knives are child-friendly, although I’d be hesitant to teach my children how to be dexterous with sharp objects as they are already scary enough with blunt ones.
Another more bougie offering that you won’t find in your average nursery is the option of French, Spanish, or Mandarin lessons, with the children breaking off into separate groups according to their preferences. Along with the knife skills, I’d also be wary of my children learning languages that I can’t speak in case they conspired to take over my house, or the government. But these are my own personal anxieties that I’m sure other, more relaxed people with less feral children, do not share.
The toddlers dine on bao buns, mushroom shawarma, and spanakopita while sitting at tables with “conversational centre pieces” designed to promote debate
I asked about the parental involvement mentioned in the brochure - and it turns out that it was less panic-inducing than I’d first assumed. Parents are invited to read books from time to time, or take part in classroom activities - which, considering the fact that I spent two freezing hours in a nursery playground last week being punished in the name of Mother’s Day - seemed reasonable by comparison.
While I’m probably not the target demographic for this school due to my relative poverty, the fact that I live thirty miles away, and my tendency to look like a startled ferret - it nevertheless seems like an exceptionally pleasant place to leave your children. If people have money, they’re going to spend it - so why not use it to make their child bilingual, bestow them with IT knowledge, and train them to become a spy? The rest of us, I fear, will be stuck with our Spanish-less children who can’t be trusted to properly roll sushi or serenade us with a ukulele. But, at least we can sleep well with the knowledge that they’re less likely to be able to plot against us and lead a tiny coup.
For further details and to register with The Odyssey, click here
