Live to work, or work to live?

Much as I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with my job, I think I certainly fall into the latter category.

One of the nice things about my shift pattern is that I work six days on, four days off. That may sound like a lot, but consider that the first day begins as soon as I knock-off at 07:00hrs and is mostly slept away in bed.

Four days off however does afford plenty of time to spend with the girlfriend. Although she’s happy to see me, the first day doesn’t exactly have much in-depth conversation short of me mumbling and complaining about sleep, or lack thereof.

Four days also affords plenty of time to plan stuff.

On this set of rest days we’ve managed to fit in a fair few things, despite her having to work 3 out of the 4 days.

Thursday in particular was excellent. Girlfriend maintains good communication and friendship with her ex-husband, who having met him a few times, I must concede is a very sound bloke. Indeed, one part of my brain is always thinking “Y’know, this is awkward;” every time we meet “He used to be married to my girlfriend.” But all the same I can’t fault him. I especially can’t fault a bloke who maintains good steady contact with girlfriend’s, his, son either.

So girlfriend’s ex-husband, who works as an engineer at a local RAF base, kindly extended the invitation to me to accompany them when the base’s annual friends & family day came around this year.

An excellent day was had by girlfriend, her lad, ex and I – perusing the stalls and watching an excellent flying display. Me being the quite the aircraft enthusiast reverted to a mental age younger than her son’s when the Typhoon slammed on its afterburners and the Vulcan cruised gracefully overhead. And as for The Red Arrows, they never fail to disappoint.

We managed to do some catching up at the cinema also and saw ‘The Dark Night’ and ‘WALL-E’. Two excellent films that show filmmakers at the top of their game in two very different ways. I could hark on about how truly brilliant both flicks are, but you should simply abandon any preconceptions you may have about either and go see. You won’t regret it.

An ice-cream here, a coffee there, but we did also go out for dinner here. Yum.

For the first time in a while I actually feel refreshed, mentally and physically, and ready to go back to work.

Let’s see how long that lasts.

"If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs..."

ITV News in their typically scaremongering Daily Mail type-fashion declared this evening that before this recession is out "up to a million people are predicted to loose their jobs".

Two thoughts popped into my head:

1. Where the hell did they pluck that figure from?
2. As a colleague of mine mentioned earlier today “It’s quite a good time to be working for the government when you think about it.”

It’s a good time to be working in a politically sensitive job where, although there’s always someone who’s going to disagree with what you do, suggest that that they get rid of you altogether, or slim down your numbers, and they recoil in horror at the thought.

See I hate to gloat here, but as long as I get signed-off okay (still some 3-5 months away, paperwork permitting); my job security will be second-to-none. Once I get signed-off then I become harder to fire, which is useful also in a job where every second choice can result in criticism or disciplining if it all goes south. Once I get signed off, I shed my ‘probationer’ status and get an annual pay-rise of some £2500. Bloody useful indeed in this climate.

I think I must be one of a select band of ‘professionals’ living alone in rented accommodation – for which the housing market went way out of his reach several years ago. Sure I could have saddled myself with stratospheric mortgage a few years back, but without the financial security of a live-in partner, I would have been terribly vulnerable to interest rates and the like right about now.

“HOUSE PRICE SHOCK! - Rates plummeting at their fastest rates since... Last Tuesday!” scream the headlines...

That’s brilliant news if you ask me!

Houses should be about living in, not making profit on.

So with some fiscal prudence then, I’m actually poised to ride out any recession in a pretty damn good position.

It’s nice when things go your way for a change.

Apparently thousands of market traders are set to lose their jobs as the recession hits. My sympathy there is minimal; after all they helped get us into this mess in the first place.

Blue lines

Work remains the reason why I seem to blog a lot less these days, and why I have significantly less material to work with.

Damn, I wish I could spill what it’s really like for a modern police officer these days – how the praise from anything you do immediately gravitates upwards, and how if there’s any shit to be flung, you can generally tell it’s going to fall squarely on yourself.

How the thin blue line is worrying thin indeed at times.

How you’re often one decision from losing your job, but how much pressure you’re under to make that decision. And fast.

I’m approaching the end of my training, and as it tuned out I should have been looking to be signed off in August as a fully-fledged-and-significantly-harder-to-fire officer. As it turns out I’ve been extended for a few months into the autumn to give me a little longer to get my learning portfolio and get some operational issues in order.

Consider it like doing a university assignment and asking your tutor to give you an extension because of extraneous circumstances.

Some of these issues were under my control, or perhaps I could have changed if I really tried, others have been way out of my control.

Still, I do enjoy what I do and strive to be the best I can, however lady luck appears to have been significantly absent for me during the first part of the year. At least at work anyway.

I’m a few keystrokes away from telling you what it’s really like behind the uniform, but I’ve had my fingers burnt once before.

If you’re ever in my part of the world – come have a drink with me.

I’ll tell you what it’s really like.

Experiment #2

Further adventures in travel, photography and Windows Movie Maker.

Wall-E

Film of the summer? Looks like Pixar have done it again...

Best Man's Speech

Distinguished guests, ladies, gentleman, boys, girls and even monkeys (wherever they may be - in-joke... long story...). I’ve been dreading introducing the final speaker today; for that speaker is me.

When I began to write this speech, all of a couple of hours ago during the service, I imagined that the Best Man’s role to be somewhat comparable to that of being a Prime Minister. It’s one of those jobs that everyone would like to have a crack at, but when they realise the responsibility involved, and how closely your speeches get scrutinised, you’d think twice about taking it on.

As a Best Man then I am duty-bound then to sprinkle-in some mildly humiliating stories from the happy couple’s respective childhoods. Well, mainly Chris’ at least…. So when my brother here asked me to take on this job, the sense of honour I felt was mixed with a fait foreboding. How would he take it if I spilled the beans and the told the whole truth? How he was imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, how he escaped from a maximum security prison and survives today as a soldier of fortune and part-time member of Her Majesty’s Royal Air Force?

You’ll be glad to know, only half of that last bit is true….

Christopher * * * * was born to us in the year of our lord nineteen-hundred-and-seventy. The year when the Beatles Split, Monty Python exploded onto our screens and Apollo 13 came back alive.

The first of two brothers to be born to our eccentric little family, our English/Swedish parents decided to give him the straightforward rather traditional English name of Christopher – the complete syllables of which were only uttered in future when he was generally getting up to mischief. Whilst seven years later I was given the Swedish name of Ingmar, Chris was no doubt eternally grateful to have got the less-exotic name of the two – apparently the name ‘Jan’ was considered for him at one point, but knowing the Armed Forces’ tradition for ridicule he feared this would have translated into ‘Yawn’ by his colleagues. Chris rarely reveals his middle name – ‘Leif’ taken from our Swedish grandfather, fearing again that this might get lost in translation and that he may be dubbed ‘leaf’ by his colleagues.

According to the gospel of Wikkipedia – Christopher is the English version of a Europe-wide name derived from the Ancient Greek ‘Khristóphoros’ and the Christian legend of St Christopher. The name means “Christ-bearer”, or more literally “Bearer of the anointed one”. In modern RAF slang this apparently translates as ‘I hope to Christ he gets this thing fixed.’

Be it the occasional vaccum between his ears or his inexplicable childhood fascination with cranes, Chris’ desitiny you could say was always linked to the air from a very young age.

As a schoolchild, Chris would occasionally be so determined to avoid revision that he took to the air quite literally himself - by jumping out of our first floor window onto the back lawn in order to sneak past the parents and hang out with friends. Avoiding revision, I can attest, is certainly a family trait I share; I just never took it to quite such a spectacular level.

The aeronautical engineer in him began to assert itself during his teenage years when on Bonfire Night not satisfied with the “Oohs” and “Ahhs” of traditional firework displays. Chris and some of his friends would head down to nearby woodland and aim fireworks at each other purely for fun. He soon began to find a knack for jerry-rigging rockets and bangers to create his own ordnance to scare his friends and the local wildlife.

Chris eventually found safer ways to study aerospace engineering and take to the skies by joining the Air Cadets. He soon excelled as a junior officer and budding glider pilot and I am reliably informed that during these years he had many young female cadets’ hearts a-flutter. Suffice as to say that his favourite movie around this time was Top Gun, and I believe that in Nicky he’s finally found his Kelly McGillis.

Speaking of co-starring blondes, what can I say of Nicky, my new sister in law? I can start with how glad I am to welcome her into this crazy family of ours, how beautiful she looks on this truly special day…. And how sorry I am for Farnham Newsagents who have now lost all her umpteen wedding magazine subscriptions and find themselves struggling to balance their orders.

Looking at the happy couple, I wonder if love hath seen no greater sacrifice... For what greater token of love could there be than for Christopher to be here with his bride on this special day, and not cheering on his beloved Hull City in the Championship play-off finals with tens of thousands of other fans at Wembley Stadium.

*drape Hull City scarf around groom's neck*

It’s a funny thing for a younger brother to be proud of his older brother; it’s usually the other way around isn’t it? But I am immensely proud and honoured to have been asked to be my brother’s Best Man and to share this day with you all. For this day is the first day of the rest of Chris and Nicky’s life together.

All that remains is for me for me to ask you all to charge your glasses once more and rise to your feet as, Ladies and Gentleman, I give you the bride and groom.

The secret history of my place

With house prices being as utterly insane as they are, a single-earner like me finds himself renting a small house on the edge of a bustling little market town in the Midlands. I’m lucky that the monthly rate is relatively cheap for what it is and I’m surrounded by some quite pleasant neighbours at the end of a quiet little cul-de-sac.

One of the couples living next door I chat to quite often and we stood having a natter this afternoon in the sun, clutching gardening tools.

They’ve seen many tenants come and go over the years and they began to relate to me some of the stories of those who lived there.

Bearing in mind that it’s a house built in the last few decades and it’s in a quite respectable part of town…

I could have never have guess that the place had once been raided for drugs by the very force that I work for…

And that a baby had once been born in the front room!

They’re a very respectable couple, and I have no reason to disbelieve them.

I now look at the place a little differently.

Speech!

One week then, until I stand up in front of a room full of relatives, friends and relative unknowns to deliver a speech as my brother’s best man.

Dry throat, expectant faces, being the final speaker of the day… Let’s just say I’m not exactly looking forward to the prospect.

Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking I’m going to read straight from A4 double-lined sheets, as opposed to prompt-cards or straight from memory. Try as I might I’ll strive to maintain a bit of eye contact with the audience here and there.

I’ve been working on it for the best part of a month now but it’s a tricky beast to get just right.

Do I stray too far into humour and end up with tumbleweeds rolling past?

Or do I keep it serious and watch the heads drop into the leftovers of the wedding breakfast.

The temptation is to steal the best one-liners from the book I bought on this very subject; however the long-suppressed writer in me thinks I should be shot for even considering such a thought.

I think I’m going to tread down the familiar route of recounting a few amusing stories from my brother’s youth – steering clear of any taboo subjects such as ex-girlfriends and-the-like.

I’ve got at least several minutes to fill and I’m too much of a coward to take any more of a risk than that.

However, any clever ideas / tips you may have – feel free to stick them on a comment or email. Should the speech be satisfactorily received then I may even publish it on here in the long run.

Out of breath

Every single time I come home from work, I do so with the best intention to be productive in the evening, following morning or whatever constitutes the gap between my next shifts.

My well-intentioned plans keep falling by the wayside on a daily basis.

Today I worked from 07:00 through 18:00. I set off for home thinking

“Yeah, I’ll do some learning portfolio work tonight.”

Returning home with 40-min each way commute added onto the already 11hr shift, and not discounting the 30-or-so mins that I voluntarily stayed behind in order to get some of my workload all-square…

Arrive home, cook a meal and then next thing I know it’s slipping past 21:00 and I find myself flopping down in front of a monitor over here, or a television over there with a drink.

And then I really should get some sleep.

Few hours of rapid-eye-movement later and then I simply turn around and head in the other direction.

Or so it feels.

One of the reasons I chose policing, and one of the reasons I do adore this more crazy of jobs, is the fact that no two days are the same. There’s always somewhere, someone, or something new to tackle. If it wasn’t for that fact that I really would be going mad of late.

I mean, how do office workers cope?

I have a spectacular lack of drive out of work; I’m just simply exhausted.

Apologies readers, bear with me...

Taking a breather

Thanks for the well-wishes over text, email and blog.

Dad was discharged yesterday evening after convincing his doctors that basically that he'd be a lot more comfortable up north, in familiar surroundings.

Thankfully this meant I was able to drive him to my house (roughly halfway) where he was able to get a proper night's sleep before continuing north this morning.

He assures me he's now back to rude health again.

I did have great plans this evening of catching up on study, reading and the like now I'm back to being on my lonesome.

However I find myself doing little of note this evening.

I'm just tired...