I’ve been feeling a little glum of late. A little uninspired. Every week I’ve got to the point where I’ve thought: this is it, old boy, your mojo has gone; it’s time to hang up the blogging hat and call it a day. I’m not feeling the love like I used to.
I haven’t written about it and I’m not going to go into it here. To write a post about how I’m finding it hard to write posts seems horribly, embarrassingly self indulgent. And although that would be totally in character I have to draw the line somewhere.
There are many reasons for my glumness:
Change in home life – the eldest son started at secondary school, the youngest starting school for the first time, Karen back in full time work and me changing my work shift completely so that I can be finished in time to pick the youngling up from the school gates. We’re all tired and frantic and not yet settled into the new work/life routine.
My novel is getting nowhere and I have temporarily lost the will to send out postal submissions or bum-lick my way up into the higher colonic echelons of Authonomy.
I also applied for a dream job and didn’t even make it through the initial paper-sift.
Police Community Support Officer.
It fairly rolls off the tongue doesn’t it?
Everyone I spoke to said I was made for the job. Even my boss. Ideal candidate material.
I spent more time on this particular application form than I have on any other. It was a work of art. I cogitated. I mulled. I thought about what I wanted to say and made sure what I said matched the job profile.
I had high hopes.
It sounded the perfect job. Not precisely a proper policeman but as near as damn it and without the responsibility of nicking / coshing / handcuffing / rubber-bulleting some ne’erdowell through the hallowed doors of justice. I would have been a bobby on the beat. A big friendly policeman (PC McGarry number 542). Dixon of Dock Green. H-evening all, madam, may I h-assist you in carrying your shopping home?
Walking about, outdoors, meeting people, in uniform. Who knows where it could have led?
But as always it led nowhere. I didn’t make the grade for interview. I wasn’t good enough to be not a proper policeman.
I feel properly gutted.
The only option I have open to me now is the one that all ex not proper policemen have before them... that of becoming a private dick.
Some of you will no doubt say that I am already halfway there...