Not yet, Kiddo

I'll cut to the chase - I "failed to meet requirements" - but I reckon you ought to know how it all went, after all this terrible suspense I've been leaving you with. Yeah, that.

This is a photograph of a hammock and a picnic bench. There's not really any point to this apart from to work out how to post pictures to this blog, because Flatmate, who writes this blog, told me that my blog should have more pictures. She also says I should write more about femidoms and lesbian hairstyles.

Lovely random tangent there. Woop, pictures.

So I had a day at the police station being assessed. For this I committed myself to working on a Saturday to get the Friday free to go be assessed. Show up at 8am, it said. I did, suited and conservatively made up, prepared with gym kit and emergency creme egg. The suit belongs to the aforementioned flatmate, bought in a fit of wanting smart clothes. Although we're a similar size, I found myself in a skirt that wanted to fall down and a jacket that I that could just about fasten. Still, only I knew.

Round 1. Exams. Fairly simple school stuff - passed easily. So far we've proved that I have a decent grasp of the English language, I can add up a list of numbers and read a graph and tell you what it says.

Round 2. Fitness test. We all change in silence and re-appear in shorts and trainers. Blue-floored concrete gym, green lines painted at either end and a tall skinny Geordie man who seems to like the sound of his own voice with the volume turned right up. We're split in to three groups - I get to go second. It was one of those shuttle run bleep tests that everyone dreaded in school. I quite liked them at school and two weeks ago I went for a run. Passed that bit too.

Round 3. Free lunch and awkward small talk. All in hand.

Round 4. Interview. Less good here. Half an hour of very very broad questions - "tell us all you know about x", "how would you make a difference to the police force?" Big, big unanswerable questions. Not saying I didn't try. I made the best hash at it as I could, but got the feeling I was coming across as somewhat mediocre.

Try again in six months is the official line. If they're still recruiting that is. Six months is September. I figure if I'm in town in August and I still want it then I'll try again. Last night I was out in town with my Street Pastor coat on, talking to two of the beat cops about the whole process. One of them was a Special and one was a "proper" cop. It was cold and raining and people just kept giving them hassle. This lady was something special - she was a single parent with a full time job, studying for a degree and she was out in the rain being a Police officer out of the goodness of her heart. There till 4am, but probably more like 5. Her and I wound up later on helping out a girl who was in a bit of a state. I was tired and cold and grumpy by about half 2, and ready to go home, never mind talk to numpties. There is a distinct chance that I'm just not nice enough to make it as a copper.

Which leaves me filling time and trying to work out what I want. Three part-time but equally soul-destroying jobs will make ends meet for the next two months, maybe a little longer. Time to don that Thinking Cap.

Next week I'm off for a wee holiday. I've squeezed things about a bit so I can have a few days together to go away. There's going to be a road trip, and my parents, and Flatmate and I will pray that Percy (the car) makes it all the way across the country and back again without mishap. On the way home I'll even get to spend a couple of nights back in one of my precious old caravans from last summer. That's where today's blog-picture-test photo was taken from. Good times. If I take enough jumpers and blankets I may even get to spend some quality time in that hammock once again.