Well, that’s Christmas over & done with for another year. It was pretty much the same as previous years so far; a few people died, a few people nearly died, a few people lost their driving licences because they still haven’tcottoned on that partaking of the booze & driving don’t really go too well together and quite a few people lost their liberty due to the actions which were in the main brought about by an excessive quantity of said booze.
There was something missing this year. Over the last 30 years or so it’s been as much a part of Christmas as shopping on Christmas Eve, getting pissed & food poisoning.
This year I haven’t been able to read the Home Secretary’s Christmas message. The tradition is that in the week before Christmas the Home Secretary sends out a patronising missive to all police officers about what a wonderful job we’ve done over the last 12 months in very difficult & changing circumstances. I like the Christmas message; it’s what keeps me doing the job for all these years, knowing that I am indeed appreciated.
This year my Chief Constable has decided not to publish the Home Secretary’s message. I love this kind of direct action. It makes me feel somewhat vicariously militant. Apparently, the chief thinks the Home Secretary’s annual bollocks ((obviously, a word of explanation is required since, being a woman, the Home Secretary – much like the rest of the cabinet – doesn’t actually have any bollocks. Bollocks is what comes out of her mouth, that’ll be in the verbal sense rather than the physical (except when she gives the Police Minister a blow job, if she does, of course) maybe that’s what they mean when they say the Home Secretary sucks)) doesn’t square with the other message she is putting out about minimising our pay award this year.
I’m gutted. I might not be able to complete my 30 years’ service such is my depression at not receiving a personal thanks from the government.