Making the Break
The hotel is one of the smarter ones on the outskirts of Hull. The kind that entertain any organisation in need of a spacious room, a flip chart, a buffet lunch and a scattering of sturdy pens bearing the hotel logo. In my 28 years as a police officer I have been trapped in numerous situations like this. Rising through the ranks to reach the giddy heights of Chief Inspector, the meetings have become more frequent, longer and increasingly pointless. The Policing Plan, The Efficiency Plan, The Strategic Plan, The Annual Budget, The Police Performance Assessment Framework. Every one guaranteed to drive up my desire to sneak out at the next coffee and chunky-biscuit break and escape to a museum, art gallery or the local suicide spot. Except that I can’t, because hotels like this are always carefully situated so that the nearest place of remote interest is the Toyota saleroom 800 yards down the unpaved road.
But this event is different. I have been waiting for it for years.
It is July 2007 and I am sitting around a very large table in the midst of ten police officer colleagues. Most of them are accompanied by their partners.
This is day one of a re-settlement course. A two day event to help officers who are nearing retirement to make the transition into the next phase of their lives. All the cops present are male, a reflection of the force demographic back in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s when we joined the Police.
In the time-honoured fashion we announce who we are, give a little of our background and explain our plans for the future.
As the introductions mount up I’m hit by an astonishing realisation. No one has a clue about what they want to do when they retire. Well, apart from Keith from Scunthorpe that is. He wants to run his own business where he takes photographs from an extendable ladder.
‘Aerial photography without all the expense of a plane or helicopter’.
Keith from Scunthorpe even hands round some business cards he’s had printed.
I admire his vision. Sadly, to this day I have yet to find the need of an aerial view of anything. Sorry, Keith from Scunthorpe.
Then it’s my turn to introduce myself.
‘Good morning. For those that don’t know me, I’m Bryan. I intend to retire in two years. I’m a Chief Inspector and I work at Force Headquarters.
‘I’m divorced and have three teenage children who live with me.
‘I have a very clear vision of what I want to do when I retire. Firstly, I have no intention of coming back as a civilian worker. I want a complete change.
‘For the first three months I am going travelling. Then I’ll take on little jobs and see how I go. I’ve done a bit of am-dram in the past and ideally I would like to work as a TV and film Extra. I am studying for a degree in creative writing at Hull University and for years I’ve dreamed of being a writer. I’d sooner do something I really love for little money than do something I hate just because it pays well.’
I sit down to silence. People are staring.
All of the other police officers present are constables and will receive pensions much less than mine. Their looks say:
‘That’s easy for you, clever git, on your bloated Chief Inspector’s pension. We’ll have to get real jobs to get by.’
The wives, on the other hand, are staring at their husbands with looks that say:
‘How many times did I tell you to pass your promotion exams? You could have got promoted, bought that nice holiday home in Spain we always talked about and got a whacking great pension. If this idiot can get to Chief Inspector, anyone can!’
I know that’s a lot to put into a look, but I swear that’s what they were all saying. Trust me; I used to be a police officer.
The hotel is one of the smarter ones on the outskirts of Hull. The kind that entertain any organisation in need of a spacious room, a flip chart, a buffet lunch and a scattering of sturdy pens bearing the hotel logo. In my 28 years as a police officer I have been trapped in numerous situations like this. Rising through the ranks to reach the giddy heights of Chief Inspector, the meetings have become more frequent, longer and increasingly pointless. The Policing Plan, The Efficiency Plan, The Strategic Plan, The Annual Budget, The Police Performance Assessment Framework. Every one guaranteed to drive up my desire to sneak out at the next coffee and chunky-biscuit break and escape to a museum, art gallery or the local suicide spot. Except that I can’t, because hotels like this are always carefully situated so that the nearest place of remote interest is the Toyota saleroom 800 yards down the unpaved road.
But this event is different. I have been waiting for it for years.
It is July 2007 and I am sitting around a very large table in the midst of ten police officer colleagues. Most of them are accompanied by their partners.
This is day one of a re-settlement course. A two day event to help officers who are nearing retirement to make the transition into the next phase of their lives. All the cops present are male, a reflection of the force demographic back in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s when we joined the Police.
In the time-honoured fashion we announce who we are, give a little of our background and explain our plans for the future.
As the introductions mount up I’m hit by an astonishing realisation. No one has a clue about what they want to do when they retire. Well, apart from Keith from Scunthorpe that is. He wants to run his own business where he takes photographs from an extendable ladder.
‘Aerial photography without all the expense of a plane or helicopter’.
Keith from Scunthorpe even hands round some business cards he’s had printed.
I admire his vision. Sadly, to this day I have yet to find the need of an aerial view of anything. Sorry, Keith from Scunthorpe.
Then it’s my turn to introduce myself.
‘Good morning. For those that don’t know me, I’m Bryan. I intend to retire in two years. I’m a Chief Inspector and I work at Force Headquarters.
‘I’m divorced and have three teenage children who live with me.
‘I have a very clear vision of what I want to do when I retire. Firstly, I have no intention of coming back as a civilian worker. I want a complete change.
‘For the first three months I am going travelling. Then I’ll take on little jobs and see how I go. I’ve done a bit of am-dram in the past and ideally I would like to work as a TV and film Extra. I am studying for a degree in creative writing at Hull University and for years I’ve dreamed of being a writer. I’d sooner do something I really love for little money than do something I hate just because it pays well.’
I sit down to silence. People are staring.
All of the other police officers present are constables and will receive pensions much less than mine. Their looks say:
‘That’s easy for you, clever git, on your bloated Chief Inspector’s pension. We’ll have to get real jobs to get by.’
The wives, on the other hand, are staring at their husbands with looks that say:
‘How many times did I tell you to pass your promotion exams? You could have got promoted, bought that nice holiday home in Spain we always talked about and got a whacking great pension. If this idiot can get to Chief Inspector, anyone can!’
I know that’s a lot to put into a look, but I swear that’s what they were all saying. Trust me; I used to be a police officer.
Next time - The Police Federation - Who ate all the pies?
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