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There comes a point in every senior role in local government when you realise you are not really managing a system—you are living in its weather.For years, we have talked about ‘difficult winters', ‘perfect storms' and ‘pressure building'. And it's true—organisations have always had weather. There have always been peaks in demand, funding squeezes, inspection shocks, and the occasional crisis that tests leadership to its limits.What has changed is the climate.I have seen councils in what feels like early spring. Plans are credible, relationships are intact, and there is just enough headroom—financial and emotional—to believe improvement is not only possible but likely. In those moments, it is tempting to think the system is fundamentally stable. It rarely is.The first signs of change are easy to miss. Demand in children's services edges up. Temporary accommodation numbers rise a little faster than expected. A difficult budget round becomes a very difficult one. You carry more risk into the next quarter than you intended. Nothing dramatic—just enough to dim the light.Then the rain sets in.Costs increase. Agency spend creeps upwards. Recruitment becomes harder. Reports to members grow longer, more caveated. You find yourself explaining not just what is happening, but why it is not yet under control. The ground becomes heavier underfoot. Progress slows. You work harder simply to maintain position.And then, for some authorities, the storm.A failed inspection. A sudden overspend. The credible threat of a Section 114 notice. Media interest intensifies. Members demand answers at pace. In these moments, leadership is less about strategy and more about steadiness. You hold the line. You focus on what must be done next. You discover quickly who your experienced operators are. In local government, the storm is not the exception. It is the test everyone quietly knows may come.If you are fortunate, there is a lull. A budget passed. An inspection outcome that is less severe than feared. A sense, briefly, that the worst has been navigated. But those who have been through this before recognise the lull for what it is: a pause, not a conclusion.What follows is often more demanding—a kind of organisational heatwave.Not a single crisis, but sustained pressure. Children's services demand does not fall back. Adult social care costs continue to rise. Housing pressures remain unrelenting. Savings targets stretch further into the distance. Weeks become months. People adapt, as they always do, but at a cost. Standards slip, not through lack of care, but through lack of capacity.What wears people down is not the crisis—but the absence of relief. That is what a changing climate feels like.The storms are stronger. The heat lasts longer. And when the rain finally comes, it overwhelms systems that were never designed to cope with this volume, this frequency, this intensity.And then, sometimes, the fog.Priorities blur. Transformation programmes multiply but lack traction. Decisions are delayed or quietly avoided because the consequences are too great and the options too limited. People move—but cautiously, and not very far. It is not the most dramatic of conditions, but it is one of the most dangerous.The instinct, particularly among experienced leaders, is to believe that with enough grip, enough data, enough control, the weather can be managed.It can't.What we can do is recognise the conditions we are in and lead accordingly.Three lessons, hard won.First, name the weather early. Pretending a heatwave is a passing warm spell helps no one. Be honest with members, partners and staff about the conditions you are operating in.Second, prioritise stamina over speed. In a storm you can push hard for a short time. In a heatwave, endurance matters more. Protect your people, because you will need them for longer than you think.Third, adapt to the climate, not the forecast. If the baseline has shifted—on demand, funding, expectations—then plans built for a different climate will fail, however well executed.And yet, even in local government, there are moments.A service that turns a corner. A team that finds its rhythm again. A decision that holds. A brief clearing of the air. Something quieter—something like the still, sad music of humanity—steady, understated, but real.Enough to remind you why the work matters. And why, despite the weather, it still does.Because this is what leadership looks like now.Not waiting for better weather—but learning to lead in a changing climate. Blair McPherson is an author and former director in local government

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LEADERSHIP

Just like the weather, councils are rarely stable

By Blair McPherson | 20 April 2026

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