Opera Sideline

Did I tell you that I can sing? No... phew, then I don't have to apologise publicly for fibbing. I can't sing, not a note, I am tone deaf. That probably has something to do with the fact that I was classed as being profoundly deaf for four years. After surgery a few years back I am now just classed as being mutton and ignorant by those around me that don't know my history. My hearing is deteriorating again.

So when I was asked to get involved in a project working with the regional opera company I was a little nonplussed to say the least. I protested loudly, (I sometimes forget to adjust my volume control), to the powers that be, 'you want me, but I can't sing, I won't be able to hear the flipping music properly.'  Their reply, 'ah but if they can get you to sing then it won't be a problem getting some of our morally challenged bods to sing.' I suppose there was some method in their madness. As you know I am always game for a new adventure and things have been a tad slow at work recently, so I agreed.

Yesterday I set off for the venue with an array of the morally challenged in tow. I did not hold out much hope of engaging them as at least two of them thought they were going to the cinema and one very large chap named Junior told me in no uncertain terms that he was only there as it was this or attending the job centre.  So we arrived at the dance studio, yes a dance studio, very elegant, lots of nubile distractions for Junior and his new posse. I smiled bravely at the waiting opera singers who were to attempt to engage my morally challenged crew.

The scene in the studio reminded me somewhat the film Zulu. The three beautiful and elegant performers facing a group of bods with eyes narrowed, jaws set and expressions begging the performers to bring it on. As the studio floor was polished wood, they had been told to remove their shoes, I looked down the row to see an assortment of odd socks, holes, socks that looked as though they would walk out of the room under their own steam and a set of brightly painted toe nails with gems. Very pretty, however the aroma wafting up from the said feet was beginning to fill the vast space. It seemed however that our elegant performers were not in the least phased and their gracious smiles glancing off perfect white teeth remained set in place.

As the day progressed I was astonished to see that my dysfunctional brood who barely a few hours previous had communicated in grunts were now bonding, not only with one another but with the performers. Further more they were beginning to make sounds akin to music and moving in a purposeful and coordinated fashion. There was a definite buz in the studio and no it wasn't the feet.

At the end of the day we were performing, yes performing a mini opera. Then Junior opened his mouth and threw his arms out wide and sang solo, with an incredibly rich baritone voice that made the hairs on my neck stand. A huge grin on his face replacing the previous sullen challenge. The performers had broken into his world and he into theirs and it was then that I realised just how much these three beautiful people had achieved. They understood the facade, they are actors who sing, they simply broke down that facade in a new way.

After the performance we all sat together and it was clear that the people I had taken there in the morning were no longer in the room, they had been replaced by a confident outgoing group of people who were now communicating in sentences, making eye contact and smiling, there was lots of smiling. They had been accepted, holey socks, sweaty feet and all, by a group of people who to them were elite and a world apart. They will all be carrying on with the project over the coming months with the intention of gaining work placements with the Opera. this is however only if they stay out of trouble and behave themselves, a huge incentive as they will not want to loose what they have tasted and savoured. As for me, I gave them a few laughs as I attempted to sing, but my days of singing opera are now at an end and it is back to my usual day job.

There are some, perhaps some amongst you, who do not like this form of intervention. I fully understand that and I don't have all of the answers. I suppose being the Saint of lost causes, I like to at least try and think that people can change otherwise I am simply reduced to being a jailer!

Potentially 'she' and a flustered me.

(Charlie, is this better?)

Recently someone new commented on one of my posts and as is my way I clicked on their link intending to be polite and thank them for doing so. On hitting their profile I discovered that this was a thirteen year old girl who had posted a picture of herself on her profile. Not only had she done this but she had also put her email account on her blog inviting people to email her.


Now at this stage obviously it goes without saying that 'she' could in actual fact be a hairy biker from Germany who just wants to get in touch with his feminine side, she could be a honey trap, or she could simply be a thirteen year old girl who has launched into the blogosphere.


But what if it is a thirteen year old girl? My work is all about protecting the vulnerable from those who are most at risk of harming them. I work specifically with those who pose the highest risk of harming children through their sexual preferences. I see the extent to which this kind of behaviour exists and the terrible damage it does to the victims. The internet is not a safe place for children.


I use my blog as an escape, it is my sanctuary if you like, it is the home of St Jude the person who spends her days with the extremely morally challenged, getting inside their minds, (trust me, not the most pleasant of places to be), restricting their attempts to hurt yet more lives and dodging the bullets they send flying my way when I block their efforts, metaphorically speaking of course, it's usually fists, feet, heads or the nearest object they can find. Don't worry I'm pretty good at dancing like a butterfly. My blog is the opportunity to escape into the person I like to be, with friends I like to be with.


So what on earth do you do when there is a potential risk to someone, who may or may not be who they claim to be, who you don't know. Well I left 'her' a friendly, hopefully non patronising comment warning her that not everyone is who they seem in the blogosphere and perhaps she may want to reconsider putting her email address on her blog. That done I returned home, as I did so my eye caught the photo in my sidebar and I remembered the post that was hidden beneath it... giddy aunt, nice one St Jude!

I Smell

I normally like to pride myself on my personal hygiene and grooming. I don't like to leave home without a little squirt of something pretty behind my ears.

I am concious that eau de perspire is not the most welcoming fragrance.  In my line of work it is a daily occurance to walk into a room only to be greeted by an overwhelming odour of unwashed clothes and bodies. Now don't get me wrong, it is not a prerequisite of the morally challenged to have poor personal hygiene.

There are however other smells that linger around the offices in which I work. Rather pungent and sweet the unmistakable aroma of bud, weed, skunk, marujiana and whatever else you may wish to call it. I often find myself sitting in interview rooms with my eyes watering the smell is so overpowering. The worst thing is that it lingers, it seals itself inside your nostrils, it hangs in your hair, it clings to your clothes.

Not the best thing to happen just before a visit to Head Office when you have to travel by train. What do they have in train stations? Yes sniffer dogs. Thanks to one of my morally challenged bods I was today given a rather intense pat down and search curtesy of the local transport police. They ingnored my protestations of innocence, they ignored the fact that they didn't find anything incriminating on me, they ignored the fact that I am a fellow professional, I had my ID on me, quite simply the pooch never lies... his nose said that I was guilty.

I was guilty, I did indeed smell of the sickly weed, but the lovely plods on the station could simply not comprehend that in my line of work it is not uncommon to be 'contaminated' by such means. It took several telephone calls, which finally culminated in my Chief Officer contacting their Chief Officer who then radioed the plods to demand they release me and apologise. They grudgingly did so and I continued on my journey.

Ho hum, what was waiting for me on the platform at my journeys end... you've guessed, yet another pooch with a fascinating attraction to little old me.


(By the way did you know that there are several different spellings of Marujiana, Marijuana, Marugiana.... it's true, depends where you live, apparantly! )  Ok sorry simple things.

Another Medal in the bag.. part 2

Well the assignments came thick and fast and more to the point as this was my final year they were required to move up a notch and they were also getting quite lengthy in the old word count area. (Did I mention that I still have one last assignment to write? Hmm, as I told you exciting ways to procrastinate.) I put my heart and soul into them, and a hefty chunk or so of previous assignments. No point in letting perfectly good stuff go to waste.

In March it was our 28th wedding anniversary, (I know I've aged well, I also have a painting in my attic), and so once again his Lordship being ever the romantic that he is booked a suprise holiday. A long weekend to the Arctic.. again! Once more my dreams of warm and sultry days languishing on a beach and balmy nights tasting the local cuisine were rudely snatched from my poor aching brain. But there were polar bears and this time lightshows too.

As our weekend faded into memory I got my head down and ploughed on with my studies. My earlier bout of flu had taken its toll and I was unable to burn the midnight oil any longer or rise with the larks. My case load was increasing and the morally challenged seemed more challenging than ever. They are not renowned for their intellectual prowess, or decision making skills nor do they tend to have much get up and go, unless the boys in blue are on their tails. Because of this some have the ability to sap your patience from 300 yards away without even breaking a sweat. 

One such young man became my nemesis for a short while. I doubt that under normal circumstances I would have batted an eyelid at his behaviour, however my life felt far from normal at this point and the phrase, 'sin lieth at the door'* became my raison d'etre. Young Erbert, as he shall be known, arrived on my desk during the second week of April. He was 20 years old and he already had a string of convictions as long as my arm, nay an orangutangs' arm. Most of them were related to fights whilst drunk and public disorder.
On the morning of his first appointment I received a telephone call. 'Hello St Jude speaking,'

'ello I'm Erbert's dad, ee won't be coming in today, ee's not well.'

'oh dear, what are the symptoms?' I asked Erbert the elder.

'ee's bin sick an ee's got a banging eadache, so ee's in bed, it must be food poisoning.'

That would be the kebab and not the dozen or so pints he consumed prior to eating it then, I thought. 'I'll need a sicknote if he can't come in, those are the rules' I explained. Erbert the elder grumbled down the phone and left it at that. Slightly before close of play that day I received a call from reception to tell me that young Erbert was there. As I arrived I noted that he was accompanied by a rather rotund and redfaced chap, Erbert the elder I assumed. I greeted young Erbert, 'good afternoon Lazarus, it's good to see you have recovered so quickly.' Erbert the elder shot me a look of confusion,

'is name's Erbert,'

Too tired to explain I escorted them to an interview room. No sooner had the door closed than Erbert the elder started his offensive, 'it's ormones, ee's just doing what lads do, ormones!'

'He's twenty, isn't he a little old for hormones?' I enquired.

'Late starter,' Erbert the elder said emphatically.

I looked at young Erbert who was smiling smugly at me, 'so what you are actually telling me Mr Erbert the elder is that your son is juvenile in his behaviour and immature in his thinking, would that be correct?'  Young Erberts' grin slipped.

'Boys will be boys, you know what it's like they get into scrapes.'

'Then may I suggest that now would be a good point for your boy to grow up, I am not  entirely sure that he can afford to get into any more 'scrapes'.'

As the weeks passed by young Erbert would appear at the office, occasionally on the correct day, rarely at the correct time. He refused to talk about his behaviour preferring to regale me with the lurid details of his increasing nights out with his friends and their antics. When I enquired about potential employment he informed me that he did not have the time to work, what with the many appointments he had to keep, primarily with me and to sign on at the jobcentre for his benefits. By mid June I had decided that if neither he nor his father were prepared to make the changes then I would. There are times when people have to be shown the consequences of their behaviour and so I requested that he be taken back to Court and that the Judge send him for a short spell in prison. Yes I have the power to do that, not a power I take lightly, but on occasion I use it. Think of it as a kind of 'tough love' thing. So young Erbert is now spending some time at Her Majesty's Pleasure, I hope contemplating the consequences of his  behaviour, and whilst there perhaps his 'ormones' will settle down a little. And what of Erbert the elder, it appears he has become a man of letters, weekly so I hear, too embarrassed to visit his son in person. 'Sin lieth at the door'. 

In July the dreaded flu put in another appearance only this time it had a curly tail and went oink, oink. I was not impressed. I emerged from my quarantine unscathed, however I do have an incredible ability to root out truffles at a 100 paces. His Lordship announced that he had booked another suprise holiday. So over the next few days I began to assemble thermals, gloves, hats, boots etc in one of the guest rooms ready to pack. Then one day I wandered into the room and to my horror they had all gone, in their place though lay a natty little bathing suit and beside it two first class tickets to St Lucia staying at a five star resort... and yes with our own personal concierge. He knows me so well.

There is just one small matter that has to be resolved before I head to paradise... 5000 words!!



*Genesis 4:7 - don't look so surprised, I'm a Saint I'm supposed to know this stuff.

The New Office

Well not only am I now at 'big school' but I have also been placed in a new office to boot. It is in a different area to my last office, a rather more, shall we say deprived area sadly very much in need of some investment.

On my first visit to my new office I had a slight problem finding the place. I had been given directions on where to go, but at first sight I thought the place was derelict. No sign on the door, but then I suppose they don't particularly want to advertise their existence. I entered the building with the feeling that I should be wearing a hard hat just in case! The foyer reeked of damp and mould. The paper was peeling from the walls and the lift door was open displaying its grimey rubbish strewn interior for all the world to see. So I decided to take the stairs, dimly lit and only slightly more enticing than the lift I headed for the second floor. A small laminated sign stuck to the door told me that I was in the right place.

The surly grunt of the receptionist acknowledged my presence and I was buzzed through to the reception. As I stood for a moment trying to take in my new surroundings I became aware of two 'bodies' bedded down on the comfy chairs, a faint sound of snoring and an aroma of stale beer and farts added to the homely feel of the area. Another surly grunt and I was buzzed through to the office, leaving the two morally challenged bods to their morning nap.

I was greeted by a rather ebullient looking chap who welcomed me to the office and proceeded to show me the 'sights'. I was also introduced to the team, their names briefly making an appearance in my memory only to fly off to pastures new as the next one came along. They seemed somewhat bemused by me, some of them had no experience of my role and were intrigued as to what I was doing there, others, possibly the more jaded among them greeted me with a knowing smile and carried on with their work. I for my part smiled until my face ached and made the usual small talk required on such occasions. Then I was shown to my desk. Devoid of any clutter or indeed a PC I noted, I sat down and settled myself to the arduous task of thumb twiddling for the next few hours.

Several cups of tea later and having fended off an attempted coup on my desk I decided that I had put in enough effort for one day and headed off to the local cafe for another much needed cuppa and a toasted teacake. It's hard work being the 'newbie'!

Life on the Mean Streets - Massacre

I don't know how to tell you all this, but there was a mass murder at work yesterday. Oh no, I hear you gasp. Oh yes I reply, but there is worse to come.. I was one of the perpetrators!!!

This has been brewing for the last couple of weeks. The 'victims' had first made themselves known to a couple of my colleagues early one afternoon as they were sitting at their desks next to the window. The encounter was painful and left them scarred and with an unfulfilled itching to rid themselves of the memory.

Over the next few days several more of us fell prey to them, indeed their numbers were growing and they knew no boundaries. Finally we could take no more, in desperation we called on the services of a 'specialist', someone prepared to deal with the detritus of society. We only knew him as Brian.

Obviously in our line of business we have inside knowledge of such people and the 'work' that they perform. I have to say however that the negotiations were tricky. Meeting in secret and ensuring that our phonecalls were not overheard, we finally agreed on a date and time. His methods were brutally simple but swift and deadly. None would survive he assured us, no one would be any the wiser.

And so in the still of night just a couple of days later, he stealthily entered the building by the rear door. Nothing could distinguish him from any other 'cleaner'. He quietly worked his magic and satisfied that there were no survivors he left us a note telling us how and where to send payment. Then he slipped out into the night once more.

Payment was swiftly dispatched, we wanted to distance ourselves from him with all haste. No one need ever know the terrible deed that had taken place under the cover of darkness. We must all stick together, lips sealed and sit tight, we'd get away with it, then it all started to unravel.

By lunchtime the office looked more like a late night at a German bierfest with people slapping at their ankles thighs and backsides. Brian had failed. Our nemesis had returned with a vengeance. These were the 'offenders' in question;

FLEAS, but it gets worse, these are not just any old fleas, they are Pulex Irritens, human fleas and they had infested our office. I am reliably informed that they are very rare these days, (they are even rarer now).I choose not to share my body fluids vicariously or not with strangers and as fleas are on the whole a whorey bunch not caring a jot who they bite, I made sure I had protection. However there are only so many ways in which you can accessorise a pair of waders.

After two more days of mayhem working with the new offenders, and no imminent support from the top brass, we decided to take matters into our own hands. At eight o'clock yesterday morning and suitably attired for the mass murder, we armed ourselves with industrial strength flea spray and set about the annihilation of the now hideously enormous population of fleas. Only time will tell if our massacre was a success. In the meantime I'm off to the shops, I saw a very nice scarf that I think will look absolutely stunning with my waders!

and the innocent shall inherit the earth..

I know that most of you drop by here for a little light relief, however today has been a rather difficult day and as some of you may not know me very well I thought that perhaps it was time that you got to know me a little better.

For those who are not aware, I work with the 'morally challenged'. I regularly deal with petty theives, burglars, drug dealers, violence, murderers and rapists, although the last two thankfully are more on a 'weekly' basis. I come into contact with case information that is graphic and at times disturbing.

However there is a particular case at the moment which has deeply affected not only myself but my co workers. My friends over here in the UK will I have no doubt heard about it, involving a beautiful child, just a baby, whose cherubic face would melt any heart, (or so I innocently thought), and whose smile I am sure would light up any room. Not anymore. This child was raped and murdered by a close family member.

Some people would assume that dealing with such people on a daily basis makes you immune to the 'normal' human reactions and emotions when confronted which such an aborhition. Well you are wrong. Yes to some extent we do have to switch off, but we never stop caring, we never stop being 'human'. We do, though have to develop strategies to deal with our emotions, otherwise we would all be lettuce limp and incapable of performing and the public would not thank us for that. One such strategy is to 'bury' our emotions, on occasions, such as this you bury them deep. The problem with that is that they are still there, and they can erupt at any time. I had one such moment today.

Nothing I did today could prevent this outburst, but I did my best to hide it. Knowing full well that it would end in tears I headed for the Ladies. I sat inside my cubicle and quietly sobbed my heart out, I had no choice, as a Mother and a Grandmother, my heart was breaking. Then as I tried to compose myself I heard the sound of muffled sobs from the cubicle next to me. Composing myself I opened the door and went to wash my hands. The door next to me opened and out walked one of my team. Neither of us spoke but at that moment we both knew what the other was going through. Instinctively we hugged one another giving and taking the support that we needed. That done we checked our faces in the mirror and walked smiling back into the office.

Tonight as you tuck your babies into their beds, remember to kiss them gently and tell them that you love them. Reassure them that there are no monsters hiding under the bed, but remember as their parents that those same monsters may lurk close by. But above all I ask that you remember this little angel, remember her brief life, don't let her become just another entry in the registrars dusty tome. She deserved so much more.


Normal service will be resumed tommorow... excuse me it has been a 'trying' day.

Life on the Mean Streets - Bah Humbug

Yes I am still here, and I am finally back up and running again. Santa brought me a wonderful new toy, a wireless notebook, so now I can do my blog in the bathroom if I want... don't panic I'm actually in my new sitting room in front of a roaring fire. Ah the joys of technology.. but enough about that, here's an update.

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Well I am still working with the morally challenged and they are still coming up with new and interesting ways to amuse. Take the lead up to Christmas.

This is of course 'traditionally' the time of year when burglers are at their most active. All those lovely pressies stowed at the bottom of the tree, (unless you're in Albert Square, then you get a Pauline Fowler under your tree.. sorry to those of you who either don't or can't watch the soap Eastenders.. actually you are the lucky ones!), nicely wrapped and ready to go. There is nothing more festive than a tree laden with presents and promise.

And so it was decided that we too would have a tree in the reception area, to give all those nice little offenders a warm and fuzzy glow when visiting, ahh! Carols and Christmas songs were playing daily in the lead up to the big event, everyone was getting into the spirit. Well for some the spirit of choice was whiskey, Morrisons own brand the cheapest they could get their hands on. Excitement all the way.

Wrong! Now it is obvious that the aforementioned offenders are possibly somewhat lacking in the braincell department, how else would they have ended up on our doorstep? But for some this is taken to the extreme, for example the young couple who having both completed their appointments with us decided that they liked our tree so much they would like it to adorn their own little 'des res'. They were caught on camera in a corner of reception attempting to take the tree apart and stash it under their coats. A little naughty on our receptionists' part to allow them to complete their little task before putting out the following security announcement;

"Any available officers to the reception area please, the Christmas tree is attempting to make off with two of our devine little offenders... it's carnage!"

On entering the reception, which by the way had the best alert response that I have ever seen, we were confronted with the sight of two rather embarrassed young people who did indeed look as though they had been attacked by the tree, the young man had the 'trunk' stashed down his trouser legs the stand jammed down the back of them and a branch up either sleeve. The young woman had numerous branchs and ornaments stowed about her person. Needless to say after being where the sun doesn't venture to shine, another tree was acquired.

Sadly this tree was also destined to meet a sticky end. Yes that would include the mop and bucket again, actually several mops and buckets, (for anyone not acquainted with that last reference read the entries entitled Life on the Mean Streets). And so it went on until finally it was decided that something else would have to be done, the poor reception staff couldn't face wrestling with anymore tree rustlers. Then a cunning plan was hatched. What could you get the morally challenged for Christmas? Presents of course, lots and lots of lovely presents, all beautifully wrapped and laid at the foot of the tree. And that it how I whiled away my spare time in the lead up to Christmas, I wrapped for England, you name it I wrapped it.. old telephone directories, a box of paperclips, (the rusty ones from the back of the stationary cupboard), empty toilet rolls, oh and a couple of old used mop heads, don't worry I did leave them to dry out nice and crusty before I wrapped them.

Oh how those little darlings loved our pressies, every night we'd creep down and leave our little stash at the bottom of the tree and every morning their little faces would light up at the sight of all that plunder. Well I guess it must have worked because no one attempted to make off with the tree again and they must have liked our pressies, because no one has come back to complain.

A belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my blogging friends.

Life on the Mean Streets - Air 'Con'

When I arrived in my new job, they were just completing the installation of air conditioning throughout the building. There are several floors and it had been a mammouth effort apparently to get the work done in time for the summer. That was in May.

The air conditioning units are located at the back of the building, a large bank of them. During my first week there I watched as they erected a high metal fence around them with spikes on the top. No body was going to get into those little babies. Then two weeks later I noticed that the fence men were back. I watched with intrigue this time as they began to put a series of flat metal bars directly over the spikes, and then a few days later a roof over the entire area. I watched with some incredulity as the fence men clambered up the side of the fence and hoisted themselves onto the roof. Giving the occasional wave to those people inside the first floor offices.

Hmm, there is something not quite right with this scenario, even more so when you take into account the work that we do and the people that we work with. Safety is paramount. It would also appear that the safety of the morally challenged when going about their business is paramount. Some bright young Herbert apparently felt that the nasty spikes could cause injury to one of the aforementioned MC's if they were attempting to get into the air conditioning units. So as this is government and health and safety not to mention the abject fear of being sued, is all important, the 'top brass' decided it should be made ultra safe. Now they can't hurt themselves on the nasty mean spikes anymore and they can't fall into the units as there is now a roof.

I wonder if the same bright Herbert considered that the MC's can however now access the windows to our first floor offices thanks to the lovely ladder and platform that has been provided!! Under a barrage of protests from the first floor, an email was sent out which informed them that they are now barred from opening the office windows at the back, for 'health and safety' reasons.

It's alright though I hear you cry, they have air conditioning now and so they don't need to open their windows anymore. WRONG!! this is a government department. It would seem that nobody enquired to see if the electricity supply is up to the new task. It isn't. So by a stroke of genius, some one, possibly the same young Herbert on the fence front, has come up with the 'ideal' solution. We have the air conditioning on a rota basis. Last week it was our turn, this week it is the fourth floor, and so on, it will be the second week in August before we get to play with it again. Until then, in temperatures today of over 35 degrees, the poor devils on the first floor couldn't even open their windows, unlike the rest of us who do not reside on the fourth floor. But there is hope, the electriciy supplier has said that they should be able to get the upgraded cabling done in September!! Thanks chaps, roll on the second week in August then.

Life on the Mean Streets - Heatwave.

It is official, we are in the grip of a heatwave. Those nice people on the BBC have said so. Yes two consecutive days with temperatures over 30 degrees constitutes a heatwave here in good old blighty!

So it was with this in mind that I donned my body armour before entering work today. You see the heat has a decidedly nasty effect on the morally challenged. They become increasingly more irritable, increasingly more drunk and increasingly more dangerous. The heat brings out the worst in them. Ok so I accept that we can all get a little irritable when we are hot, but remember that these people already live on the dark side of society.

So I headed down to reception with not a little trepidation, but hey ho, I'm a grown woman I can handle this. As the lift opened I just knew that this was not going to be a good day. Two young men had already succumbed to the heady delights of too much sun and alcohol, it was 10.00am. They were laid face down in the foyer. Don't worry, I checked, they were ok, so I stepped over them and headed through into reception.

"Did you know you have a couple of bodies in the foyer?" I asked Betty the receptionist.

She stood up and leaned over the counter, sighing, she nodded. Yes, she knew as well as I that today was going to be fun.

"Still breathing?" she enquired as she sat back down.

"Still breathing." I replied.

I looked around the seating area, the usual array of shady characters, each trying not to make eye contact, checking out the detritus under their fingernails, contemplating their navels, picking their noses. Armed with the trusty swipe I let myself into the reception office. The phones were ringing off the hook. Always happy to help I picked up the phone nearest me.

"Hello how can I help you?"

Thirty five minutes later and several cancelled appointments with miscellaneous excuses ranging from mum not leaving the bus fare, ah bless, to not being able to get their backside out of bed, and the absolute top of the league,

'I woz out wi me mates last night when some bloke broke me nose', hmm, the bloke in question broke the aforesaid nose whilst being head butted by the nose owner!!

Heading back to the lift I was pleased to note that the foyer ornaments had managed to crawl away somewhere less conspicuous. Unfortunately one of them had left a rather yukky deposit before departing. Once again I headed back to reception, now half full, and the bucket cupboard. Copious amounts of lovely lemon scented detergent was the order of the day for this little job. Just as I finishing up my Mrs mop routine, I felt a shadow fall silently across the foyer. Turning I saw a huge giant of a man looming large in the doorway. I smiled nervously.

"Hello," he said smiling benignly.

"Hello. Reception is through those doors," I motioned with my marigolded mit.

"Are you the cleaning lady?"

"Well at the moment it would appear so wouldn't it." I collected up my assorted cloths and bucket and went back into the reception office. Betty looked up, distracted again by the phone. Back in the foyer waiting for the lift, I noted the familiar shadow once again.

"Hello nice lady."

"Hello there," I replied

"Where are you going now?"

"Upstairs."

"Why?"

"I work upstairs. You need to go and check in with reception dear, and I need to be getting back to work." I hit the lift call again.

Oh goody, I'm having a conversation with rainman's best friend.

Suddenly the shadow was a presence, rather too close for my liking. I stepped to the side a little, I felt arms length was in order.

"I'm not supposed to talk to ladies," he announced suddenly

gulp, "well then maybe you should go and sit down and wait for your officer to come and get you,"

"I don't want to, I want to talk to you... you're nice aren't you."

I could hear the lift coming, I could also hear the words of my Manager ringing in my ears, 'don't let anyone you don't know into the lift, gunman, rapist...' I decided the lift might not be the best idea. So once again I turned toward reception, rainman's pal following. I looked over to Betty for a little moral support, no joy she was deep in discussion with a rather inebriated young woman. Who, despite her condition and the situation, brought out the Grandma in me, I pushed a hankie in front of her, and motioned that she might want to wipe away the milk moustache she had acquired while trying to sober herself up a little before her appointment. Giggling she swatted her lip, Betty glowered, the girl must have been no more than seventeen.

I turned and headed to the door leading to the back stairwell, Rainman's pal a few paces behind. As I reached the door I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

"Where you going now nice lady?"

"I've told you dear, I have to go back to work. Now go and sit on a chair and wait for your officer. You'll get into a lot of trouble if you don't behave yourself."

"I'm not supposed to talk to ladies. They make me feel funny. I like feeling funny." At that his hand descended to the depths of his trousers.

Alrighty, a new tack was definitely in order, "Right, plonk your arse down on that chair now or you'll be in BIG trouble, do you hear me," I ordered.

His eyes hit the floor and he scuttled away to the nearest chair. Out of my eye corner I could see a young man frantically re-engage his nose in a picking frenzy,

"and you stop picking your bloody nose, your head will cave in one day."

With that I bustled out into the stairwell with the reassuring clunk of the door as it locked behind me. As the day proceeded to heat up so did the tempers of those in reception, only a minor riot, a couple of broken chairs and a lot of shouting and door slamming. I suddenly discovered that I have a new respect for Betty the receptionist, her cool, seemingly offhand manner, her lack of engagement with the 'clients'. We all have to learn the tactics that will protect us, they may be physical, verbal, or when you are on the front line emotional.

Life on the Mean Streets - Shooters.

Remember a couple of posts back when I mentioned that I wasn't allowed to let anyone into the lift at work.. in case they had a gun, were a mad rapist or whatever?

WELL... today the gunmen turned up! But it's ok I didn't let them in the lift I kept tight hold of my trusty swipe card, armed and sightly miffable if cornered. In fact it all took place out on the street. No staff involved, just the morally challenged, sorting things out in their own way.

Arguments in reception are a regular occurance, sometimes they even get their handbags out, (punch ups to my friends across the pond). But this is an entirely different league. Oh well another day another crust!!

Life on the Mean Streets. + Addendum

I started my new job today. It was fun. I arrived at the allotted time and was sent up to the office of my new line manager. She's very nice and so we had a little chat by way of introduction and induction rolled into one. I have to say that it was the shortest induction I've ever had, they certainly expect you to hit the ground running. Everything was going well until she started to talk about security...

"I'll get you issued with a swipe card so that you can access the lift and the gate at the bottom of the stairs," she said, "you'll get your photo id by the end of the week."

"Ok" I nodded.

"Now there are a couple of little things for you to remember. If someone should try to get into the lift with you, make sure they are wearing a photo id. If not politely explain that you can't let them in as you don't know them."

I nodded.

"It's very important that you don't allow anyone unauthorised anywhere in the building other than the reception area. That's their area. I mean you don't want to find yourself in the lift with a rapist or someone pulling a gun on you."

"WHAT"? The colour was quickly draining from my face as I stammered, "nobody mentioned guns, no I'd remember if they had mentioned guns, and rapists, I mean I think I would have made a mental note of rapist," I was beginning to ramble.

"Well dear, you are working with... shall I say the 'underclass' of society, these people don't think twice about carrying guns and knives, and they don't think twice about using them."

"Yes, yes I know, but why on earth don't you employ security guards, what's wrong with a couple of meaty blokes on the door checking that no one is carrying anything they shouldn't? It sounds perfectly reasonable to me." I was definitely rambling.

"Oh no, no dear," she replied shaking her head, "we need to make them feel 'safe', they need to know that they are welcomed here." She said earnestly. For heaven's sake, she actually meant it!

"Right," I mumbled. "I understand, I'll smile respectfully and make them feel welcome."

"That's the ticket dear, I'm glad you understand." She beamed

Too flaming right I understand, these people can terrorise society, live outside the normal constraints and morals, but still we have to respect their right to be treated in the same way that any 'regular' member of society would want to be treated. Never mind that they don't understand or wish to comply with the usual 'rules'. But of course I do have to remember that I should be safe in the knowledge that I am armed in the face of guns, knives, and other offensive weapons, not to mention rapists and child molesters... I am of course armed with my trusty swipe card. No need for my black belt in judo then, phew!!

23rd May - Addendum

Today I had to complete my emergency contact details.

Ques 4. Is there anything else that you wish to be taken into account should you become ill, have an accident or be taken hostage whilst at work?

Yes... I would like a change of underwear a.s.a.p. should I be taken hostage!!!!

I bet you want to know what the heck my new job is now don't you. Sorry I'm honestly not allowed to tell. Nor will I be talking about specifics of events / clients. However, work colleagues might be another matter ;o)