The Cold Monster

I'm under attack today. Have been since the weekend. At first I was teased with nasal tickles and the odd sneeze. I was hoodwinked and totally unprepared for the first major assault on Sunday evening. Snots and sneezing combined with a muzzy head joined forces to wreak havoc on my unprepared defences. As Yesterday wore on though, I felt as though I was making a comeback. My forces regrouped to give me a feeling of possible recovery but alas the Cold Monster still had other tactics up his sleeve. Out came the knives. To the back of my throat which opened the way for a headache forcing one of my prime defences, sleep, to beat a hasty retreat.

Both sides are regrouping now. I'm coping with the cough, poured in some special forces (cough medicine) and waiting to see what new torture the Cold Monster can dream up.

First time I've been off sick from work for years.

Simplicity

I find that as I get older I am less inclined to spend too much effort searching for happiness, pleasure or satisfaction. Take this weekend. Saturday and Sunday were forecast to be nice days and we both wanted to get out into the fresh air. Once I would have pored over maps and walking books to find something and then been prepared to travel some distance to get there. This weekend? No I didn't do that. Don't get me wrong, I like wandering off and finding somewhere new. But hold on. Each day is new. You don't have to dash off to some different physical location to experience newness.

Yesterday we plumped for an old favourite. The West Yorkshire Sculpture Park. Each time we visit it is different. The light. The weather. The route we take. And so on. Today we returned. Different weather. Different route. Different time of day. We could have been a hundred miles away. A hundred days away. Yesterday was quiet and atmospheric. Today, bright and busy.

Happiness is a state of mind not a place.

Maybe I should stay in one place. NIrvana?

Autumn on the Ground

We love Autumn. The weather has been generally OK recently so we have spent a fair bit of time wandering through the changes wrought by the time of year. A typical view with trees in varied stages of disrobing.

The ground holds a unique vista at this time of year.

Yellow.

Copper.

Even a buried ancestor of Homer Simpson. Can you spot that distinctive muzzle?

And then you can play and compose.

 

The Rise of the Plebs

There is  a rich irony in a strange connection between two recent events.

Sir Norman Bettison has been forced to resign early in the aftermath of the Hillsborough enquiry. That enquiry came about largely as a result of the persistence of the relatives of those who died. Ordinary folk. Plebs.

We have also had Andrew Mitchell, Government Chief Whip, forced to resign after his alleged 'Pleb' remarks. That came about, in part, owing to the persistent hectoring by the representatives of rank and file police officers; those who he called plebs. Sir Norman is not a Pleb.

Two high ranking officials hounded out of office partly by the actions of the lower orders. The irony being that the police are involved in both. Mitchell got it wrong. Not all police officers are Plebs, although it seems the Plebeians have the upper hand at the moment.

Both men have attacked what they perceived as people who are beneath them and lost.

Are we seeing a new order? Or have we just witnessed a coincidence of clumsy condescension?

It's all in a Uniform

Chief Constables have been under the cosh lately. One has been sacked for gross misconduct (Cleveland) whilst our very own chief in West Yorkshire is scuttling off to an early retirement as a result of his being placed under investigation for his involvement in the aftermath of Hillsborough.

I can accept that those in senior positions are as prone to making mistakes as the rest of us. The issue with the police officers mentioned is that the offences, alleged or otherwise, seem to have stemmed from arrogance rather than incompetence. Cleveland's chief seems to have tried to get a relative a job and then lied to cover his tracks. West Yorkshire's chief is being investigated to see what part, if any, he played in the Hillsborough cover up.

All to do with lies. We lie when we think we can get away with it and that stems from a degree of arrogance.

I work for the police and the one thing that I have noticed is the badges of rank and the effect it has on those around the wearers and the wearers themselves. Most senior managers in most organisations will be sartorially indistinguishable from those they manage. They may wear more expensive suits but that would not always be apparent. In the police that is different. Badges and braid stand out and immediately place the wearer in a different place from those around him or her. For some it makes no difference to their behaviour but for others it does. There is a deference amongst junior ranks that is less obvious in non uniform organisations. That is bound to have an effect on those wearing all that silver. I think it starts as soon as a rookie PC goes out in public wearing his uniform. It is a symbol of what he is. It is also a tool for him to use in exercising his authority. He or she will be aware of the effect on those they deal with. That goes to the head of some.

Over time I believe it leads to an arrogance that does pervade the police and I think is only compounded as the ambitious rise through the ranks.

Winding Down

A few months ago I passed an interview to train for the next grade up in my job. The role of a Dispatcher. A bit more money and, I thought, a more interesting job. I did the training, spent a few hours in the Dispatch Control Rooms and quickly came to realise I didn't enjoy it. I was as surprised as my colleagues but on analysing it I came to understanding myself a little more.

I looked at the reasons for my lack of interest. What interaction you have as a Dispatcher is mainly with police officers. All well and good but I like dealing with the general public. It's what I've done all my working life. I like it. I'm comfortable with it. I'm good at it. As a Call Taker I'm in control too. It's one on one and can be quite intimate and being one on one it can, therefore be easier to control. Always different even if the the calls can follow a theme.

Fundamentally I couldn't be bothered to go through that steep learning curve either. I've got a little over six years to go to retire and have now got to that stage where I'm happy to pootle along until that date. For the first time in my working life I've back tracked from a challenge and accepted a status quo.

Do you know what? I'm quite happy about that and feel a sense of satisfaction about work that I have never really had before. Work is now no longer the main element of my future life; unless I die rather soon after the retirement date of course. I now look beyond that date. I even have a countdown link on my laptop. Now that's an eye opener. In your mind six years or so seems a fairly long time. You cannot really physically imagine the time going by. Watching those seconds, minutes, hours, days tick by has now given some measure for me. I can almost imagine a timescale in my mind. Maybe I shouldn't dwell on that as ultimately there is only one inevitable end to all the time I envisage before me.

Does that impending end and being able to measure the time to a guessed at date worry or depress me? No. It merely makes me more determined to enjoy whatever time I have left.

A Long Time Away

It's a funny thing blogging. Navel gazing? It seems so to me for much of the time which is why, I think, I left off posting for the length of time that I did. I couldn't see the point in talking to myself. Yes, I know people read my posts but I don't know any of them. If I walked past them in the street I wouldn't recognise them. If I met them in the pub of a cafe would I feel that I knew them? Or would their real persona differ from the one they market on the internet? I wonder.

But I like writing. I am a member of message boards purely because I enjoy expressing my thoughts in the form of words to read. The subject matter is incidental. I think I could post on a pigeon fanciers forum (there are some) and get some fun out of it. However, message boards get a little predictable.

Most people who post on forums, blogs and the rest do so out of a similar need to mine. A need to express themselves, perhaps a need to be seen or to say, 'here I am and this is what I have got to say'. Trouble is, few of us are able to write in an interesting way all the time.

That may sound harsh but it is how I see some of the more prolific posters. Not all, I hasten to add; beating a retreat to avoid any comeback and leave any reader with the thought that the comment is not directed to them.

So I've come back to prattle on and post. We'll see how long it lasts eh.