Bah weep granah weep nini bong?

C__Data_Users_DefApps_AppData_INTERNETEXPLORER_Temp_Saved Images_images

“bah weep granah weep ninny bong”

A universal greeting to express peace to potentially hostile races when language barriers exist.

It gets Kup and HotRod out of a number of scrapes during the course of Transformers the 1986 animated movie, and even wins them some unlikely allies. And is also a crude, tenuous, self indulgent starting point for a rather dire week at work.

In “The Police” (I will refrain from divulging which force for as long as I can) like most counties, we are going through a pretty major reform thanks to the helms that run this Kingdom. Whilst this is my third full blown reform in thirteen years, this one is different. It’s the first to involve massive staff layoffs. And this time round the change is all going under the unimaginative banner of “Transform” (I warned you it was a tenuous link)

My own role is in jeapordy, (although mercifully at this stage, not my actual job) and today we got our first glimpse of what the future may look like. Beginning with 250 odd people facing redundancy. You got the touch Cameron. You got the power.

This Police Force is of course an organisation. Which makes me laugh everytime I hear it as its my favourite oxymoron. They can’t organise a single thing without fucking it up immeasurably. Be it trivial things like daily deployments, or hugely important things like letting your employees know they will soon be joining the villains they once policed in the queue at the job centre.

Come announcement day we had six separate but synchronised meetings across the county, each with different staff from different areas and roles, including civilian staff and PCSOs, all expecting the worst. The briefing I was present for was chaired by some Super Nintendo I’ve never heard of or met before, who kicks the whole thing off by guffawing and sniggering at his own self importance, arrogance pouring out of his pivoting Pez dispenser head, inexplicably failing to sense the tone in the sea of frustrated faces awaiting their fates. Then for the first thirty minutes, spent fluffing the importance of “transform”; he manages to talk about nothing in particular, using that alien language i despise the most. The language of the politician. Talking in questions and riddles, avoiding making any points, using corporate keywords like “evolving” and “footprint” and the latest one, “embed”. Absolutely everyone bar Pez-Head was angrily looking round at each other thinking the same as me. What’s he talking about? He really should have just done a HotRod and opened with “bah weep granah weep nini bong”. I don’t think it would have won him allies like in Transformers, but it would have stopped people thinking he was a cunt.

When he finally gets to the only bit anyone’s interested in; namely, Who’s getting moved, who’s getting sacked, he flits through it in under a minute. Followed by, “I didn’t write this, it’s just a proposal, I now don’t know anything more than you. Any questions?”. Isn’t that another Oxymoron? Emphasis firmly on the latter two syllables.

Whilst the PCSOs are clearly todays targets, I’m still unclear on what’s going to happen to me. It seems that from the 27 PC’s under the umbrella of neighbourhood policing, 11 shall stand, 16 shall fall. And as much as I fear being plunged back into the unending chaos of shift, it’s nothing compared to the way the PCSOs are being treated. Their future seems to involve a one in four chance of keeping a job that’s changing to something they didn’t sign up to do, anywhere in Essex, wether they want it or not. There’s no voluntary redundancy, and the redundancy itself is the governments bare minimum. It’s a massive “fuck off” from their employer. They should consider doing what the sharkticons did and just turn on their masters, overthrowing them and starting again. Which would be hilarious because as much as I feel for them and how they’re being treated, a clear majority of PCSOs are mongs.

Most of them knew this was inevitable. They always knew they were budget coppers. Police officers in disguise. But no one expected their bosses to be so cold blooded about making ‘part of the policing family’ redundant. They (the bosses) could blame the government and everyone would understand. But they don’t. Instead, “It’s all part of transform”. “We have to evolve blah blah blah dehumanizing corporate bullshit”.

And I hear that this is only phase one of transform. More shit has already been shoveled and we’re yet to taste it. There’s more money to save somehow, no matter how ruthless it seems. But don’t worry, you’re police force that is there to keep you safe will be just fine I’m sure. Despite rocketing sickness levels, lowest morale conceivable, reduced numbers, increased demand, inexcusably poor computer systems holding it all together, and a culture of Conform or get sacked, we are merely transforming to evolve into the police form the public deserves. What’s happening to British policing, often cited as “the greatest police force in the world?” The main thing being transformed here are the people that do the job. And all you are going to be left with as this austerity train rolls uncontrollably on, is a demoralised, pessimistic, short fused, unhappy, exhausted faceless government body of stat-manipulation droids unable to cope with societies perpetual decline. And they’re ready to roll out….

In The Beginning….

Well. This is all a bit daunting isn’t it? Having just read an article on Richard Herrings’ website, (a comedian I’m still not entirely sure I like) I thought I would take him up on his recommendation to start my own online blog. He claims it’s healthy if you’re a bit creative and a good way to stockpile stories, anecdotes and material. But I’m not a comedian, why exactly am I planning on splurging my thought’s and views onto the infinite face of the internet? And just where exactly does one start with their maiden blog?? I’m pretty sure the three opening words from the Holy Bible are setting my sights a bit high….

Well its too late now, I’ve taken the plunge. I’ve invested. This has already cost me fifteen quid to set up. £15!! That’s six Lego Minifigures!! (this is covert exposition to inform you I’m a father) I’m committed now, and as I type these very words I am breaking my blog-hymen. Plus its good to try new things. I’m 37 and I’ve only just started to eat eggs. They’re actually bloody nice despite my lifelong mental block that they are chicken periods.

I’ll be honest, I’ve never even read a blog before but I’m guessing its a bit like a diary. Only saying I keep a diary would make me sound gay, and despite “blog” sounding like an amalgamation of racial slurs, it’s still preferable to diary.

I’m not even sure who this is for. Is it for me, or is it for other peoples amusement. And what other people exactly are going to read a complete strangers blog focusing on nothing in particular? (if you are a compete stranger and reading this, firstly, thanks! And secondly, go and talk to your actual friends you fucking maniac!!)
I’m guessing it’s for me. Not in a stuck up my own arse arty-farty way, more as a way to document the shit that goes on in my life that I normally forget by the following morning. Don’t worry, I’m not going to be banging on about my fifth wedding anniversary, (anecdotally that is indeed today) because lets be honest, only the wife cares about that. I’ll be focusing my energy on farcical, benign and pointless shit. Stuff that makes me laugh. Stuff that winds me up. I’ll certainly aim to make it amusing. And quite a specific humour as well considering the current target audience is me. I’ll no doubt get angry and have a few little vent offs. Maybe I’ll try my hand at some other stuff that takes my fancy. Amusing poem maybe? Upload some drawings or doodles i do when i should be working? Who knows! I’ll do what I do in my current employment as a Police Officer (that’s more covert and hackneyed exposition there) and wing it. Each day and each incident is different, so I’ve learnt to make it up as I go along from one job to the next. Think of it like ITV’s This Morning with Phil and Holly. Playfully bouncing from topic to topic just like the aforementioned hosts humongous personalty (aaaah you thought I was going to say tits didn’t you?)

Should I use peoples real names? Or should I change them to protect both myself and them. And if I do change them, should I give them all amusing pseudonyms?
Should I tell my wife Gertrude? (see what I did there?) she’s generally not a fan of my ‘creative’ side. She’s already banned me from uploading two videos onto YouTube, refuses to read my screenplays as one of them mentions a girl I used to fancy, and she seems to live in a perpetual state of constant embarrassment of me. Plus if I do tell her its bound to impact on how blunt and honest I’ll be as she’s likely to feature heavily. And not in a Fifty Shades Of Gray type way, we’ve been together ten years, we’re talking more along the lines of Stephen Kings Misery.

One thing that’s bound to crop up often is my Fuck-wittery. I’m not sure if that’s a real word, but it perfectly describes my ability to Cock up, screw up, fall over, say the wrong thing or make a general shambles of something important on a frighteningly regular basis. To give a crude example, here’s one of my favourite examples of my fuck-wittery;
I’m 17. I’m in cash-in-hand employment, and I need to bolster my income so i can turbocharge more £1 bottles of Smirnoff Ice with my mates, and pay my mum housekeeping so she can keep washing all of the socks she finds under my mattress. Solution? Illegally sign on to get an extra £78 a fortnight! Genius. So I have my interview, and the chap at the job centre asks me to come in on Tuesday to sort out my first jobseekers allowance. My response; “I can’t do Tuesday, I’m at work”

I digress. This opening gambit is all over the show. It’ll hopefully evolve into something and get a bit more structured, depending on how long it holds my interest. Whatever the fuck this is, I think its basically a memo for my future self to one day look back on and have a read, remember some stuff, and decide if I used to be a compete cock or not. So hello future me. Present me is about to blindly buckle up for a trip to the unknown. I may make a few wrong turns on the way, may even crash into a ditch after the first mile! I could pick up a hitchhiker, or kill a badger. Wherever the journey takes us, there are going to be some really shit analogies along the way…