Celtic Illumination, part 386, It is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end.

It felt really good to have my new finance system roll out across the Manchester operation.  For me it was a fantastic piece of work, in that, it was simple and straight forward; even a fool could use it.  Of course there is nothing in a team leader’s job description to say that they shouldn’t be a fool and a dammed good one at that.  You would not believe the excuses and mistakes that came in across my desk.  I had prided myself on creating a simple and easy to use system, yet, these people, in responsible positions, were unable to follow basic instructions.  Some even refused to use the new system as they only understood the old system. I understood enough about resistance to change, in the business place, to know I would face some opposition but what was happening was ridiculous.

The Harvard business school talks about pseudological reasons, chronic quarrels, and sullen hostility as some forms of the resistance one might face, but they never explain how embarrassing it is to see how stupid some people really are.  Pauline had decided that as I was in charge of the accounts system, and had implemented the new scheme, that I should oversee the accounts from her houses too.  I didn’t mind, in fact the way I had set the system up meant that a shaved monkey and a shaved French speaking monkey at that too, could satisfactorily check the accounts every week.  What interested me was that Delia agreed that I should cover all the accounts.  In my empire building way I saw this as a bonus.  Don’t get me wrong I didn’t want to take over Pauline’s houses; I had enough problems with my own.  I was creating a niche for myself, but I couldn’t help but think that there was some sort of arrangement, or agreement, or understanding between Pauline and Delia.

I didn’t know how, or why, or from where, but a clump of job applications had been dumped on my desk.  These people had applied for jobs, there were these application forms oh and by the way you and Pauline will be interviewing them next Tuesday.  It was interesting that the company did not insist that people responsible for recruitment had any formal training, sort of showed how much interest they had in recruiting decent employees.  It also I felt, let down every applicant, as each of them would have put a considerable amount of effort into their application and their CV.  But the most important people in the equation, the people supported in the communities, were being short changed, because the system their money was paying for, to ensure only good staff came through the filter, wasn’t there, didn’t exist.  Smoke and mirrors, or as the renowned American journalist Jimmy Breslin said, “Mirrors and blue smoke, beautiful blue smoke rolling over the surface of highly polished mirrors... If somebody tells you how to look, there can be seen in the smoke great, magnificent shapes, castles and kingdoms, and maybe they can be yours."

I know Breslin was referring to American politics but it seems to fit what was happening in the world of learning disabilities very well indeed.  I do remember one or two people that came through in that batch.  One had worked for the company before, his wife still worked for the company.  He had been fired for drinking on duty.  Now when I say drinking on duty I don’t mean nipping out for a quick half pint of beer, I mean being found on the settee at shift change in the morning with an empty bottle of vodka clamped to his chest.  He seemed to be genuinely apologetic and assured me that he was off the drink.   I waited until the next senior managers meeting and then asked if anyone knew the fellow.  Two or three of the managers did and I explained that he had re-applied for a job.  The general consensus was that he should be given the chance, a close eye would be kept on him and if he fell short of the high standards we had consistently failed to achieve, he would be out.  I was happy with that decision.

One fellow did give me a bit of a smile as he had submitted two applications.  Admittedly they were two months apart.  In the first application he claimed that he had basic educational qualifications, no problem with that, but in his second application he claimed to be a professor of social work with a specialisation in learning disabilities.  He was a Nigerian chap and perhaps wrongly but I expected Pauline to engage with him more than I could.  Pauline seemed reluctant to talk to him so I began to run through the standard quota of questions.  I was about to take him through the guy buying the Teletubbie tee shirt, when he stopped me and asked what Teletubbies were.  I quizzed him about his qualifications on the two applications and he answered only as a Nigerian could, explaining that my shoe laces were tied too tightly.  I then came up with one very quick solution.  I wouldn’t give him a job; I would give him a two week trial.

If he could do the job, which would be reported on by his team leader and fellow workers, he would be given a full time post.  If he couldn’t hack it he would be out.  I thought this to be a much fairer system but was still faced with the problem of being short staffed across the Manchester operation and not having a budget to advertise.  By the way it wasn’t long before the staff at the house where I had sent the Nigerian fellow were contacting me and complaining.  Every evening at a quarter to five he would be stood standing at the front door of the house with his coat on waiting for five o clock so that he could go. He would not prepare food, or involve himself in any domestic chores as this was women’s work and therefore beneath him.  He wasn’t asked to take on a full time contract with the company, despite being a fully qualified professor of social work who knew absolutely nothing about the Teletubbies.  What’s the world coming to?

I felt that I had underpinned the Manchester operation with my new accounts system; I had given it a solid foundation, now I intended to take the company forward with my new recruitment programme.  Like Natural Breaks in Liverpool, who determined their success by the number of people from other organisations who came to visit them and learn how they did things, I expected to have queues at the door soon, not just for my accounts system and my proposed recruitment plan but for the other ideas that were now spilling from my head.  I was, as they say, on form, I had found my feet.  Once again the key components of my plan were simplicity and the involvement of others.  We had always said that we were supporting people to live in their communities, more smoke and mirrors.   We didn’t support people to live in the community, no one did, we contained people.  If they were truly members of a community they would be out and about, they would know their neighbours, be members of church groups, and form action committees.

But it was the fuel strike that brought it all together for me.  I had fallen in to the same trap that many people may have.  I needed staff so I would place an advert in the local newspaper, and pay for the privilege.  People would respond to the advert, apply for jobs and the whole meaningless process would trundle through its paces.  When you set it all out it really does become a meaningless process with no real positive outcome.  To describe it as a hit and miss affair would be generous in the extreme.  I decided that we should focus on the community for each person supported.  Each house would now become an individual unit and we would only recruit people who lived within walking distance of that house.  This way the staffing situation would not be affected by fuel strikes or transport disruptions.

If the staff lived within walking distance then we should have no problems, plus, if the staff lived within walking distance they were already part of the local community and who better to assimilate the people we supported into the local community than the community themselves.  In Liverpool I would drive for thirty minutes to my place of work where I knew nobody, I didn’t know the history of the area, who ran the corner shop, where the local church hall was, who the local police officers on the beat were, who the trouble makers were and where they hung out.  It seemed to make sense to me.  Advertising in local church halls, shops, post offices, by placing a card in a window cost nothing.  A carefully created story for the local free newspaper served as an advert and got good coverage.  Each team leader was now responsible for their recruitment, we were even finding ourselves with an excess of staff.

Liverpool now wanted to have a word with me, like the accounts system they were interested in learning about a recruitment procedure that produced an excess of suitable staff for no cost at all, unless you took in to account my time spent placing and creating ads and stories.  I was sat sitting with Steve, the director in Liverpool who ran the finance side of things, explaining my new recruitment approach, when the two owners of the company came in.  I had seen them before, never spoken to them, they were far too important for something like that.  There was a lot of hand shaking and smiling and congratulations on the new project.  It was going to be difficult launching this new system in Liverpool if I was over in Manchester, so they were creating a new position for me.  Would I be interested in becoming the Deputy Director of Operations, deputy boss of both Liverpool and Manchester, which would allow me to straddle both camps and act as boss should the Liverpool or Manchester boss be absent.  Deputy Director of Operations, I couldn’t stop smiling for a week, but I knew there would be some support staff in Liverpool who wouldn’t be too happy with my success.  But as I say, these people had started at the bottom and liked it.

Celtic Illumination, part 385, Be — don't try to become.

The best part of the working day in Manchester was the drive to work.  It took me one hour, but that was only if I left home at seven in the morning.  By the time I got to the Denton turnoff I could see the traffic backing up in front of me, and although I was in work one hour early, I wasn’t snarled up in the morning rush hour.  A bit of a misnomer that, as nothing rushes, everyone just drives to their nearest motorway and parks up.  I would like to apologise to most people in the North of England, especially those living along the West Lancs Road between Liverpool and Manchester.  That seventeen year old with the crazy loud music passing your house, and waking you from your slumber, was in fact little old me.  It was like when I was writing, I needed something to blank everything else out.

At this very moment I have David Bowie performing Drive in Saturday playing on a loop.  It’s already been going for an hour and a half, but hey ho, if it aint broke and all that.  The hour long journey would actually pass very quickly, all I knew was that my head was usually throbbing when I got to Manchester.  All my team leaders knew that I was in work for eight so if they were on night shift they knew they could contact me should they need me, before going home.  I don’t know how to describe how I felt at that particular time.  There was so much to do I really didn’t know where to start.  I’m sure some smartarse would say remember the old Lao-tzu proverb about the longest journey beginning with the first step, well this was more like Riverdance, first step my arse.  And don’t you think problems are like the fabled lemmings and their cliff diving?  They don’t come in ones.

I can remember sitting at my desk, shell shocked would probably best describe my mood.  One of my team leaders had been acting as duty manager the previous evening so in he comes to hand everything over to me.  Nothing much out of the ordinary except he has had a little problem with the duty manager’s telephone.  He pressed the wrong buttons and now the whole telephone will only function in Spanish.  And there’s no apology, the phone is now in Spanish, it’s your problem, get on with it.  Neither was I impressed with Delia and her recruitment procedure, which is a bit pot calling kettle and all of that, I know, seeing as how she chose me.  But as I had compiled a report stating that Pauline should be fired I was concerned that she now was a service manager, like me.

I was worried but decided to put my military head back on.  If I worked harder than everyone else then I would become invaluable to the operation and could feel proud of myself.  Although I wanted the position so that I could actually make a positive improvement in people lives, I also knew that I was now in a world of back scratching and stabbing.  I needed to distance myself from the other managers.  There were four service managers altogether.  Pauline and myself ran all the houses, we had seven each.  Another service manager ran the respite side of things and the forth manger ran the low level support, the people who only needed two or three hours support per week.  I was the only male on the team, plenty of people were warning me to be careful, that such an environment could turn nasty.  Truthfully I never thought like that and I don’t think I ever had a sexist thought about the abilities of any of my colleagues.

They were all women, but that wasn’t the reason they were not very good at their jobs.  What I now became involved in was what was known as, ‘empire building’ in the forces.  You would build your own little empire, within a section or squadron, where you could ensure that you remained top dog.  I knew that most people were afraid of mathematics so I volunteered to take over the accounts system.  You could tell that an awful lot of people were pleased that I had stepped forward on the accounts front, but I often wondered if they secretly hoped for me to fall on my face.  They would have a long time to wait for that to happen, for not only did I have the most loveliest legs in all of Ireland, I was a fecking genius too.

I realised that all of the houses both in Liverpool and Manchester had their own way of submitting their regular accounts, but each house was different.   Really couldn’t believe that Richard, a professional accountant, hadn’t picked up on this.  Perhaps he thought that other problems like the theft or sexual abuse needed his attention before this.  For me this underlined the whole problem, it would provide a solid base from which to build.  I did a wee bit of research and came up with a set of forms that I felt covered all requirements.  I passed it through the senior management team and they all nodded their approval.  I then took it to the local printers and asked for two examples, one A5 size and one A4.  I would choose from the examples they provided me with.

All I had to do now was wait.  I wasn’t sure what sort of budget or accounting system Delia was operating from but she seemed to favour buying people flowers.  I have always looked on buying bunches of flowers as a complete waste of money, despite the fact that I found out mother number two has her own flower shop.  And neither am I a follower of Osho, who said, “If you love a flower, don’t pick it up.  Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love.”  Delia was buying bunches of flower at forty pounds a time and sending them as thank you gifts to other people in the company.  For a start why someone should be given a gift for doing their job was beyond me, Delia was currying favour; she was playing the long game.  The reason I remember the flowers and extravagance of it all was that when I got my examples back from the printers, I decided on the smaller A5 accounts book, and asked for five hundred pounds to order enough in for the Manchester operation.

This was a decision she would have to pass to the directors.  So it’s okay to buy flowers and chocolates and wine but not anything that will improve the operational effectiveness of the company.  I was summoned to Liverpool and met with Steve, one of the directors and company accounts director.  He was impressed with what I had set up and offered there and then to fund my project, explaining that if it worked well in Manchester, he would bring my system over and implement it in Liverpool.  I knew that I was theoretically one step ahead of the pack but of course this was civvy street.  I had intended getting each team leader in, explaining what the new system was all about and how it worked.  I would be able to address any question or queries they had but no.  I would have to organise a training day.

Present the project in one foul swoop and make it official.  I knew that half the team leaders were bent and that in a group I was going to face some opposition.  My new system would stop any little scams they had going.  And they did, they bitched and argued, mainly Pauline’s lot, saying that only my team leaders should do this, they, as Pauline’s team leaders wouldn’t have to do it.  I was certainly learning how to be very diplomatic very quickly indeed.  The people in Manchester had been allowed to do their own thing for so long they felt that it was their company and basically who the hell did I think I was coming in and telling them what to do.  I knew that I was going to have to replace at least half of them but I had been told that I had a zero budget for recruitment, by the way, which I was now in charge of.  Delia could spend two hundred pounds a week on gifts but I could have no money for advertising for new staff!

Something very interesting happened then, there was some form of national fuel strike.  People couldn’t get any petrol so couldn’t make it to their place of work.  This of course affected me as people couldn’t drive to work and the public transport system was in chaos.  It was bad enough being understaffed but now with staff not turning up for shifts I was in a right pickle.  The team leaders, who should be dealing with the problem on the ground, threw their arms in the air and then came to me for help.  They knew the people being supported better than me, they knew the staff and how closely they lived, they were the people best suited to sorting the problem out.  I’m sure Richard and all those other professional managers in the UK would have some form of parlour game to sort this all out, but I didn’t have the time to play games.  We got through it with a lot of pleading and overtime, but one morning soon after the fuel strike I was blasting my way across the country, probably with someone like ZZ Top with me in the car, when it came to me.  A new approach to recruitment, you will buy flowers but not advertising for staff, well, as they say in all the best public relations firms, watch this space.

Celtic Illumination, part 384, “You must have chaos within you, to give birth to a dancing star.”

It was nice to think back to the numerous discussions we had in the air force based on the, ‘If you could start all over again knowing then what you know now,’ theory and realise that there may have been some sensible reasoning in our drunken ramblings.  Some people were generally against my rapid rise through the ranks, they tended to be support staff who had been so for years, the sort of people who started at the bottom and liked it there.  The people who supported me tended to be the Jan’s of this world, as if they too realised that learning disabilities needed able and forthright people to lead from the front.  When I started I hadn’t a clue what the job or situation would present me with, however I now saw an environment where I could do some good and I liked being there.

I wish I could have said the same for Manchester.  I arrived and was given seven houses with the associated staff teams where thirty people were supported to live in the community.  I was now responsible for thirty people, I held their bank accounts, even was responsible for their motorcars, I think I managed a fleet of two dozen Motability cars.  I was also responsible for the staff who had been allowed to do whatever they wanted for the previous six or seven months.  As you may imagine many of the staff did not appreciate me coming into their world, the ones who were conning the system didn’t want their scams detected or ended.  On top of all of this I had seven team leaders who all wanted to be service manager and couldn’t see why one of them hadn’t been promoted rather than bring a new person in from Liverpool.

At a managers meeting I was introduced by Delia as ex-military, someone who was coming in to sort things out.  The word spread through the company and I’m sure the grapevine waited to see what my first move would be like.  I couldn’t help but think of the time at boarding school when we got the new dean, Bam.  Bam was six foot six tall, pure muscle.  Every evening before second study juniors who had been naughty, Brian Lavery and myself had been caught smoking, were to line up outside the Deans office, open the doors to the senior study hall and be punished in front of all the seniors, some of whom were betting on who, among those being disciplined, would be the first to cry.  We were the first boys to be punished at the school by Bam so everyone waited to see just how vicious he was going to be.  Most of the priests at the school were cruel bastards, we expected Bam to top them all.  When he told us to go get our towels we thought he was going to make us mop up our own blood, but instead he gave us cold showers.  I knew the staff at Manchester expected heads to roll, but I knew I would have to come up with my own version of a cold shower for the miscreants.

That is until Delia called me in.  You could never really tell what Delia was thinking, so I waited for her to speak.  My first task was to investigate and report on an incident at one of my houses.  A support worker was taking one of the people supported to his home where his boyfriend was continually raping him.  Apart from the sexual abuse the pair of them had stolen thirty thousand pounds from the fellows account.  The police were involved as were social services.  I was to complete a report so that we could run through our own disciplinary procedure and fire the guy.  My first thought was to grab a baseball bat and go pay them a visit, my second thought was to go back to Liverpool and ask for my old job back.   I couldn’t believe how cruel people could be, but I also knew that unless good people, like myself came forward, the corrupt system would keep on rolling.  I couldn’t help but think of the words of a fellow Irishman, Edmund Burke, who came up with what is claimed to be the most popular quote of modern times, in that, “The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing.”  

Bolstered by the rumours Delia had spread about me I was able to get some immediate respect and response from the staff in the various houses.  Team leaders were upset that I now claimed the houses as my own and was taking their authority away from them.  Having an ex-military man in charge was bad enough but an ex-military man who was a bit of a maths geek was really bad news for them. I can assure you there was not enough hours in the day and I wondered if I would ever get the job completed or at least feel that I had control of everything.  You could sort one problem out and six more would be hammering away at your office door, not that I was ever in my office.

If the staff were not trying to steal the money from the accounts of the people they supported they would be at the opposite end of the scale and be afraid to touch it.  Before I had completed my first week I had been called in front of Delia again and asked to open another investigation.  This time it was a team leader and one of mine at that.  Pauline was a big, black, loud, lady who ran a bungalow where four people were supported.  Certain members of staff were complaining that Pauline controlled the house far too tightly and that the reason she did this was to cover her activity with the accounts.  She would do the shopping every week, claiming that it was better to bulk buy.  There was never anything out of the ordinary on the receipts but the staff complained that half of the shopping remained in Pauline’s car and they would often run short of food.  She even kept the disabled parking badge, to enable her to do the shopping and the staff, using the Motability car, were now getting parking tickets.

It was frustrating when all you want to do is focus on people and try to give them a decent life.  I had forty such souls but could never concentrate on these problems as there were so many others.  And meetings, what is it with social workers and bloody meetings?  The amount of time wasted travelling back and forth across Manchester was unbelievable and the meeting usually didn’t achieve anything, but I had to attend.  Sometimes I would have to team up with a social worker and make a visit to sort some situation out.  I was to meet up with a young female social worker one day, I went to the offices where she worked and presented myself at the front door.  It was a mid-terraced house rather than a purpose built office block.  A social worker opened the door and began telling me off saying that I shouldn’t be there unless I was supported by my staff.  I know I was tired and confused but to be pegged as having a learning disability was a new one on me.  He was told where to go and what to do with his attitude rather sharpish.

The social worker I was picking up was a little black girl and as we got in to my car she was squealing with excitement.  I asked her why so excited and she said she loved Irishmen and their cars because they always had such interesting music playing.  I don’t know about interesting but when I thought about the tape she was trying to get to play contained Mongolian throat singing and Japanese drumming I understood she may have a point.  It’s the only music to travel to.  So you spend half an hour driving to her office another half an hour going to the fellow’s house, ten minutes talking to his mother and then reverse your route back.  Waste, waste, waste and not much achieved.  I’m sure some of these people have never heard of telephones.

I was making headway with my investigation into Pauline.  The senior staff member at the house was an Irishman and we bonded immediately.  He was comfortable enough with me to sit down and tell me everything that went on.  Pauline’s main business was as a temporary foster mother.  She provided care for children who had been taken away from their parents for whatever reason.  This is why she was almost never at the house, but she was contactable by telephone and would pitch up as and when asked.  It was an in house joke that she used the house funds to provide food for the house, the staff and the people supported there, but she also bought food for her own house and wards using the house fund.  Hard to prove but this guy tells me he has seen it with his own eyes.  She was also very handy handing in petrol receipts especially as she didn’t normally drive the Motability car preferring her little sporty Mercedes.

Her second business was providing a telephone sex line where she had interesting conversations with gentlemen callers.  The guy said it was quite funny when her telephone would ring and she would have to excuse herself but could be heard going in to the “Hello big boy do you want to know what I am wearing,” routine as she moved away to a more remote location.  I knew that she was bad news and that I would have to set a few traps, involving the house accounts such as the shopping and petrol so that I could get solid evidence against her.  What she did outside was of no concern to me; apart from tell me to use a twelve foot barge pole when dealing with her.  I got back to the office and constructed my report, what I had found out, what my proposed course of action would be and Pauline being fired as the end result of the whole operation.  So I presented myself to Delia and handed over the typed report.  As she took the report, in a sealed envelope from me, Pauline came in with a cup of coffee for Delia.  “Oh,” says Delia, “I’m sorry but you will have to find a new team leader for Pauline’s house.”  Great, I thought, she’s fired her already, but no, this was learning disabilities.  Delia had promoted Pauline to service manager.

Celtic Illumination, part 383, Worship the trousers that cling to him.

Bemused is, I think, the best word to describe how I felt.  Most other people within the company gave their impression of headless chickens, panicking and worrying about what had happened to Richard.  The three service managers withdrew to their offices and refused to speak to anyone, everything was now double top secret hush hush.  No one knew why Richard had been fired, but dismissed he had been.  Rumours abounded about what was happening next and who would take over steering the ship.  All we knew was that someone new had been put in as boss in Manchester and for a week or two Richard had not controlled the Manchester operation.

This was good for the company, I felt, because he was playing scrabble with the service managers.  Guys from the Liverpool operation were being asked to manage houses and teams in Manchester, without knowing anything about the people they were supporting, the associated teams and of course the local infrastructure.   It was plain to see that Richard thought that a manager could manage wherever, and they probably could, but there was still a huge piece missing from the equation.  The new person in Manchester had been a gossip feature ever since she arrived, but for me something more important was happening.  NWCS was a private company owned by two individuals.  Because social services were still ultimately responsible for the people supported they, so we were told, had stepped in, told the owners that they were putting a new senior management team in place or else the company was to be closed.

This was a believable and acceptable scenario.  So how now could the owners turn around and fire Richard?  All we knew is that it had something to do with the new person in Manchester.  Many of the team leaders would have worn sackcloth and ashes given half the chance, they were all so sorry to see Richard depart, especially the born again Christians.  I hope you all don’t think too badly of me but I saw an opportunity.  Richard still had his other job as a highly paid consultant, and with his reputation wouldn’t be hanging around at home for too long.  The corridors were quiet, people kept themselves to themselves.  The gossip soon moved from having Richard as the focus to the new person in Manchester, Delia.

It would also appear that the two owners had a different interviewing technique than Richard, no ten minute presentation or practical scenario for prospective candidates there, not even an application form.  It might also have been a little difficult to give a ten minute presentation in the back of a car.  Rumour control had it that the new person, Delia, had been interviewed in a car park in Manchester and had subsequently been given the job of running the Manchester operation.  All we knew about Delia was that she had been a senior nurse at the Calderstones mental asylum.  She had also been the lead person responsible for placing all the people supported by NWCS in the actual community.   The whole thing stank to high heaven of back scratching and returned favours, which you may think would annoy me, but it didn’t.

I could see that the two guys who owned the company were not that interested in the welfare of the people supported they were only interested in the cash at the end of the year.  There was nothing any of us could do but wait and see what happened.  The small clique who had always ran the company were now getting their heads together and putting people in positions.  I assume there was no scientific management technique, lauded by Richard, that would be used in this process.  Nothing could be done or said to effect what was happening, everything would be determined by your past performance.  For me the opportunity of moving up to service manager was the best that could happen so fingers and everything else was crossed and locked in place.

I was asked to report to the Manchester office, which I did, all I was told was that Delia wanted to meet me.  Garry had been put in charge, on a temporary basis, in Liverpool, meaning that there was a vacancy in the Liverpool office for service manager.  I didn’t need to be wasting time in Manchester I needed to be in Liverpool getting that service manager position for myself.  I have to admit that I didn’t take to Manchester, Liverpool to me was a warm welcoming place but Manchester was just a collection of houses and buildings.  I reported to a day centre and met Delia.  There had just been a meeting for the team leaders so the place was full of people.  I was given a mug of coffee and shown in to Delia.

Her name was Delia Murphy; she was surrounded by little plastic dolls of Our Lady of Sorrow and Jesus.  On the wall beside her desk were prayers and poems, images of Christ and other Holy icons.  I immediately knew not to trust her.  She was at pains to tell me that she was Irish, like me.  Whereas I had wanted Richard to meet me toe to toe as an Irishman, Delia seemed to be going over the top to secure my trust or friendship.  Delia now asked if I would be interested in becoming a service manager for her in Manchester.  I believe it is what you call a sticky wicket.  Was I really being no different than Joe had been, was I just in the right place at the right time?  I knew the people in Liverpool, not just the staff but the people we supported.  I didnt know anybody in Manchester.

Delia wasn’t interviewing me, she had made inquiries and it was understood by those in power in Liverpool that I should have been given the service manager job.  I had only been a team leader for ten months and I was being offered a guaranteed position as service manager.  I could return to Liverpool, turn down the Manchester offer and fight half a dozen other team leaders for the job in Liverpool.  Knowing that the recruitment and selection procedures used by NWCS were as scientific as flipping a coin I accepted Delia’s offer.  We shook hands and she told me that I would be starting the following Monday morning at nine o clock.  Had this happened to anyone else, for example the way Delia had been given her position or even Richard for that matter I may have raised a concern but now that it was happening to me I knew it was the correct method of selection.  These people really knew what they were doing.

I returned to Liverpool and knew that I would have to leave my four houses in worthy hands so that the guys supported continued to receive a good service.  I went to see Garry who was now running the Liverpool operation.  I explained that I had two people in mind that I wanted promoted to team leader to take over the houses that I managed in Liverpool.  Garry had been sitting at Richards lap for far too long and insisted that the people I recommended could be put forward and he would consider them, but there were other people that Garry might want to put in to the mix.  For my new house I had chosen a woman, Linda.  She was a married girl, mid-thirties, and could do the job with her eyes closed; everyone liked her which was a good start. She had a small tattoo on her wrist so I had always called her my biker chick.

I had a meeting with her and asked if she would like to take the job.  She was excited and said yes.  I explained that I would have to submit a report along with her application but I would also do whatever else I could to make sure that she got the job.  Not only did she deserve it she would be good at it to.  Not as good as me, but then there never will be anyone as good as me.  Jimmy and Andrew were special cases to me.  I cared about them and knew that the only fellow who could really take over would be Tony, the big black fellow from Bootle.  The unfortunate thing is that there were two other chaps on the team who would have made good team leaders, I felt that I was letting them down but I decided  that I would write reports suggesting that they be considered for any new team leader position that might come up.  I felt it was the best that I could do for them.

I took Tony to one side and sat him down.  I explained that I was putting him forward for the team leader slot.  I further explained that I was putting in a report that would support his application and that together we could make sure he got the job.  Tony seemed to be a little reluctant and I was concerned.  He began talking to me and explained that although he was pleased that I was putting him forward he didn’t want to let me down and would prefer it if I withdrew his application.  This didn’t make sense to me so I pushed further with my questioning.  Tony explained that he didn’t want to embarrass me, that it was all very nice for me to support him, but there was something in his past that would hold him back.  Something I knew nothing about but which would hold him back forever.

Tony and myself had spent many a night trying to drink each other under a public house table in Bootle and even one memorable evening in my private club in Bootle and I was surprised that something this big could be lurking in his past.  I pressed him to tell me what it was and he said that he had once had a problem with customs.  He had been caught with some marijuana once and there had been a police report and a customs report about it.  I laughed at him and asked if he had been stopped by the police and customs at the airport with a couple of joints in his pocket.  It’s not every day that someone tells you they were arrested and jailed for four years for smuggling six tons of marijuana into Liverpool.  I drove away having convinced Tony that it really didn’t matter, it was all in the past, he had paid his dues and he knew it.  But that’s what niggled me, I was surrounded by all these people and I didn’t really know any of them.  Told you at the start of this piece, bemused, that’s how I felt, and it wouldn’t be long before that turned in to the old song, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.

Celtic Illumination, part 382, Mizaru, Kikazaru and Iwazaru, but don’t forget Shizaru.

For a lot of the time I actually felt that I was living in a Hans Christian Anderson story, The Emperor’s New Clothes.   I was surrounded by all these brilliant people yet I could see no evidence of it.  And don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t so far up my own arse that I thought I was the most brilliant person on the planet, well; not too far from it.  I would often wonder if in fact I was wrong and they were all correct.  I know that I am so clever that some mornings I wake up and can’t remember my own name.  Richard had not just been put in to NWCS by social services to run the company, but he was also a learning disability consultant with a private company that operated from the Wirral.  For those of you unfamiliar with the Merseyside area, on one side of the River Mersey sits Liverpool, on the other side of the river is The Wirral Peninsula where the people like to think they are better than everyone else, so they are not Scousers, it is not Liverpool, it is the Wirral.  It didn’t matter one iota to me as I was still a bloody foreigner whichever side of the river I was on. 

Now I had this company full of ‘experts,’ and ‘consultants,’ who seemed to make a very good living out of presenting courses, or talks, on the evolving world of learning disabilities.  I never questioned these people and their pedigree, although I have to admit I did wonder how on earth they could justify such high fees.  It was one day when my service manager Joe, informed me that he was going to become a consultant for this company and earn himself five hundred pounds a day giving talks that I began to really wonder about them.  This is the fellow who had given his aunt, the one who couldn’t read or write a job with my team.  This is also the fellow who had noted my comment that I loved the company so much I was going to have the company name and logo tattooed on my forearm.  He actually lived close to the two main houses I managed and I was surprised one Friday evening to get a telephone call asking me to nip over to his house.

I did so, and didn’t think it strange at all.  Richard had every second senior managers meeting held in their private houses. Moving from one to another, he even had his secretary attend to take notes.  I wandered over to Joe’s house and actually liked it.  It was a solid red bricked house, well-proportioned and very relaxing.  It was clean and tidy and decorated in a lovely ‘arty’ way; it certainly didn’t match the persona that Joe dragged around with him, like his knuckles.  He was having a party and wanted to show some of his guests something on his computer, the computer wasn’t responding as he thought it should, so he asked if I would have a look at it for him.  I don’t think Joe knew that when I said my tool kit consisted of a GFH and a GFS, a great fecking screwdriver and a great fecking hammer, that he believed me.

He left me with his computer and I began to work my way through the system to see if I could figure out his problem.   His first problem was that he was only five feet tall but there was nothing I could do about that.  People were wandering about, as you do at parties, and before long I had an audience, luckily for me they didn’t contribute to my task.  They didn’t give me any assistance with the computer but brought me beer and pickies and one even produced a joint which was sparked up and passed around the little group.  I learned that Joe had spent most of his working life selling washing machines till the shop closed down and he joined learning disabilities.  Through a bit of luck, and being in the right place at the right time, he had made team leader and then catching Richards eye, was promoted to service manager as they moved over to NWCS.

So it would be fair to say that I am not impressed.  In fact I had learned that the top honcho in the private consulting firm, the fellow with all the letters after his name who was producing learned paper after paper, was only waiting until he had enough money before opening his own restaurant in Liverpool.  I fixed the problem with the computer and left Joe’s party returning to work.  It was at our next assessment that Joe told me he was not going to report me for drinking alcohol on duty, or for taking drugs, which he had been told I had done at the party at his house.  However he was going to report me for hitting Jimmy.   I was sporting three short scratches on my cheek received from Jimmy during an incident which I had recorded in the appropriate diary.

I was talking Jimmy out for the afternoon and had opened the front door of the house.  There were one or two steps, nothing tricky or dangerous but Jimmy was sixty plus so could be unsteady on his feet.  I reached out both of my hands to offer him support but something spooked Jimmy.  He leapt back and I turned to see what had made him jump.  Before I knew it Jimmy attacked me.  Nobody with learning disabilities can put together a coordinated attack, so it’s not like being in a real fight where your opponent will usually aim for a specific target.  People with learning disabilities usually just lash out, as Jimmy had done.  Depending on their mood, and how badly spooked they were, would determine the length of the attack.  The other thing you have to remember is that unlike a real fight where you would immediately take a step back, gauge your opponent and then decide on your course of action, here it was better to close straightaways and put an end to the attack.

A big bear hug usually did the trick, clamping their arms along the side of their body so they can’t harm themselves or you, and always remembering that a head butt might come next.  I had gone straight for Jimmy and using a sort of grab, twist and trip, had placed him on his back on the floor.  His focus is now of course off attacking me and his energy is used to try and get himself back up, should he attack me again, I would grab, twist and trip, placing him back on the floor until he hopefully became more exhausted than me.  Joe had asked me how I had received the scratches on my face and I told him that Jimmy had attacked me and I had to put him on the deck.  Joe had thought about this for a couple of days and had now decided that ‘Decking’ someone meant hitting that person and he deduced that I had actually hit Jimmy.  I explained to Joe that I accepted that some people might use the word ‘deck’ to mean hitting someone, but as an ex member of the armed forces it is how we referred to the ground.  To place, or put, someone ‘on the deck’ meant that we had put them on the floor.  Joe wasn’t having any of it, he was convinced that he was correct.

I was in a horrible situation, there was no proof that I had hit Jimmy, but Joe was convinced that I had, so it was his word against mine.  I could then see that if Joe mentioned the beer and joint at his party, again which he hadn’t seen, there was a good chance I could be out of a job.  Of course Joe was a very clever man, who had made a name for himself in the world of washing machine sales, so he wanted time to think about it.  Normally I think I might have convinced myself that I could argue my way out of a situation like that.  What had happened at the party at Joe’s house was away from the workplace and was absolutely nothing to do with the incident with Jimmy.  I could sit beside Jimmy and have a bit of a laugh, which would be impossible to do with someone you may have attacked, people with learning disabilities might not have skilled capabilities in the communication world but if they thought someone was a bully they would certainly show it through their body language.

My only problem was that Joe, the would be consultant in learning disabilities, was a fecking idiot, and it doesn’t matter how clever you are, an idiot will always manage to bring you down to their level.  As George Carlin said, “Never argue with an idiot. They will only bring you down to their level and beat you with experience.”  I don’t know if he was playing a game with me or not, but he kept putting it off, saying that he was still thinking about it.  My gut feeling was that he was not going to report the incident, because if it had been true, it would have been serious and by delaying reporting it, he was in fact getting himself in trouble, for if I was a danger to Jimmy I should have been removed immediately.

The situation rolled on for a week or two and I have to admit I was looking around other companies for a new position, I had had enough.  I had almost completed a night shift and received a telephone call from Joe.  At the end of my shift I was not to go home I was to report to head office.  I could tell from his voice that he was in a pretty serious mood so little else was spoken between us and I feared the worst.  I was surprised to see a group of bleary eyed people gathering as every team leader in the Liverpool side of the company had been called in.  I couldn’t understand what was going on as we were all invited to sit in the meeting room.  Kath gave the game away as she smiled at me and said, “The Irishman’s in trouble,”  I could see she was delighted and wondered just what was being said about me throughout the company.  I couldn’t work out what Joe was playing at but was determined to fight my way out of the situation.  With all the team leaders in the room the service managers came in.  I could hear myself reminding myself not to swear when it started.  Then the two owners came in.  “We’ve gathered you all here to inform you that Richard no longer works for the company.”  Richard had been fired.  Well; thought I, the king is dead, long live the king.

Celtic Illumination, part 381, "Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero,"

I suppose it would be fair to say that I was confused with the world of learning disabilities.  The theory was all very good and proper but it didn’t match what was happening in the real world.  People were living in communities and they were being supported but they were not participating in those communities.  They didn’t have jobs, they were not members of the local amateur dramatic society, they didn’t play football every Saturday morning in the local park.  In fact many of them were quite old and had had their lives stolen from them.  It would have been easy enough to become a barrack room lawyer, although in my case I suppose I would have been a barrister, and played the old semantics game.

And thank you to Ken Clare who yesterday sent me a link to  a project in Liverpool that is trying to highlight the lives, that some of these people endured, although their focus is now on creating a better future for them.  I remember that at Natural Breaks a fellow, Stan, who would have been Jan’s deputy, encouraged us all to get the people we supported to record their views, opinions and memories of the institutions they had been in, on video tape.  Some of this stuff was very basic, I know that Stan used to take people back to Calderstones and, with the hospital in the background, would ask the person supported a series of questions to which we would be given either a thumbs up or a thumbs down gesture.  We were unsure how this material could be brought together but knew that the first step was to get it recorded.

I think that the biggest problem in learning disabilities is the fact that most of the staff are not up to the job.  I am aware that they subsequently invented qualifications but they are not worth the paper they are printed on and are not viewed by management as having any real worth at all.  I suppose I am a bit of a dipshit really as in I am quite a trusting fellow, I see no reason to go around lying my arse off, so I don’t expect others to do so.  Not really the sort of view one should have in this cruel world of ours.  Richard had been asked to take over NWCS and brought his crack team with him.  I never questioned his or their ability.  Joe was my service manager for all of the four houses that I managed.  At my new main house was a chap called John.  For months he had been promised his own house, but nothing had been done about it.

Joe took me to one side and told me that he was far too busy to even begin looking for a house for John.  Every time I saw John he would ask how the search for his house was going and I had been told to lie to him.  I had been told to tell him it might happen next week.  Not a bit of wonder many of these people exploded in rage now and again.  There really was a mountain of work to get stuck in to, it was new to all of us but it would never get completed unless we made a start somewhere.  Like the old Chinese proverb states, the journey of one thousand miles starts with a bird in a bush.  I was doing what I could to give the people I supported the life they wanted as best as I could.  I was lucky that I had some very good staff members, even though some of them couldn’t read or write, they did what I asked without question.

It was the world of the service manager where I needed to be, where the life changing decisions were being dealt with.  Richard not only ran the Liverpool office but the Manchester office which I believe was in a much worse state than Liverpool.  A vacancy came up in the Manchester office for a service manager and I didn’t hesitate in applying for it.  This time I couldn’t care less what people thought of me, I just knew that I could do more good as a service manager than as a team leader.  In fact there had been a social evening arranged in the Liverpool office, where the families of the people we supported were encouraged to come and meet the staff and have any questions or queries answered. I got on really well with Jimmy’s brother.  In fact Jimmy’s mother had died and his brother asked me not to tell Jimmy but then asked if I could submit a benefit claim so that the system would pay for her funeral on Jimmy’s behalf.   

It was during this social gathering that I was moving about meeting and greeting people when I met another team leader, Kath, she was with someone’s mother and introduced me as, “He thinks he’s the best, but he isn’t.”  I thought it was a strange thing to say, especially as it was almost out of the blue, but it certainly kept me on my toes.  It didn’t concern me too much as I had been asked to come forward for the Manchester post whereas Kath had not.  Richard had arranged the interviews to be held in some sort of motel on the outskirts of Manchester.  I couldn’t understand why he just didn’t give me the job and save the company some money, but such is life. I arrived at the motel and eyed up my opposition, there wasn’t really any to speak off.

I think there would have been about six of us.  Richard introduced himself and then explained that, we would be given a group exercise, and then we would have lunch.  After lunch we would each be interviewed and would have to prepare a short ten minute presentation before the interview.  Once briefed, we were led in to an anti-room, which had been laid out ready for us.  It was a map based problem so I knew it was right up my street. The position of service manager is quite a senior position so I decided that I would show Richard what  a real manager could do.  I took over.  I wasn’t forceful, I didn’t bully anyone, I just used reasoning and took over the project, coordinating everything and seeing the problem through to a satisfactory conclusion.

You don’t normally expect the person who will be interviewing you to join you for lunch, but Richard did.  Two of the six had left so the five of us sat and ate, in a most awkward setting.  It was bad enough that we were eating quiche and rabbit food when what was really needed was a bit of comfort food, like a juicy hamburger and cold beer.  I was informed that I would be the final interview of the four remaining candidates. Well; I suppose they do say that you leave the best to the last.  I was sitting in the foyer of the motel when the receptionist came over and gave me a slip of paper.  She told me that my interview would begin in half an hour and I was to prepare a ten minute presentation on the statement written on the piece of paper.

Seems that Richard had an interview format that fitted all occasions.  He had been very clever, making sure that those who had completed their interviews did not communicate with those still waiting, and as for being monitored by the reception staff, well; pure genius.  So speaking about myself I may as well tell you that I cannot remember what the presentation had to be about but it was a technical based talk based loosely around the proposed new white paper. I might not have been a great supporter of the proposed new white paper but I did know what it contained, shame that my copy was in my briefcase, which was at home.   I took out my mobile telephone and called Irene. I asked her to get my briefcase and open it.  I then asked her to take the actual white paper out and let me check one or two facts.  It wasn’t really cheating, it was using ones initiative.

I knocked them dead with my presentation which this time contained no jokes at all.  I amazed them at the interview and went away from that place quite content that I had been successful.  It was about ten days later, I remember I was catching forty winks on the settee when the telephone rang, it’s all right I was at home, not at work.  Richard had called to tell me that I had been unsuccessful and that if I would like to book an appointment he would be happy to explain to me why I had failed.  It was a few days before I could get myself in front of him.  Seems that I had been too militaristic in my approach.  I had forced myself in to the practical situation and taken over.  It didn’t matter that I had successfully led the team through the project. 

Learning disabilities needed people who were calm and easy to approach, not ex-army people like me.  I was furious because I could see that Richard had not even read my CV, ex-army indeed.  But I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t, I was confused.  The Manchester operation was in disarray, people were stealing and cheating and conning the system left right and centre.  People with learning disabilities were being abused.  The position was paperwork based, so who better to send in than a fearless, ex forces, well educated, person who actually cared about people with learning disabilities.  Richard, in his infinite wisdom, gave the job to a dyslexic, homosexual, from Blackpool who looked as if he would fall over if a gust of wind caught him unawares.  Kath seemed happy that I had failed and wasted no time in telling me.  What she didn’t know was that I lived my life according to my old squadron motto, Aut Pugna Aut Morere, Either fight or die.

Celtic Illumination, part 380, Leading from the front.

It’s absolutely fantastic the way many of you, The Illuminati, support me and back me up with your very own research, comments and suggestions.  Only yesterday Frances O Neill, sent me a lovely report detailing the genetic imprint of Niall of the Nine Hostages.  Frances, as some of you may remember, is very heavily into Irish research and would be our very own specialist in Irish monarchical studies.  Niall of the Nine Hostages was the first in the long line of O Neill Kings of Ireland and Prof Dan Bradley of Trinity College Dublin has now proven that where some families might, genetically, pass on green eyes, or blond hair, or a particular skill or ability, a specific group of O Neill’s in the North West of Ireland, linked all the way back to Niall of the Nine Hostages, share ulnar polydactyly which he believes is associated with a cis-regulatory element.  So now that science is on my side there shouldn’t be much problem in anyone believing that I am the High Chief of the Clan O Neill and therefore the true High King of Ireland.  Chosen by God, backed up by science and supported by you lot, The Illuminati.

We should now all raise a glass, or two, and celebrate, don’t worry about it I’m paying, so cheers and bottoms up.  And believe it or not drinking is what I was going to speak about today.  Strange the way these paragraphs seem to come together, I’ll have to look in to how they do that one day, it’s quite freaky when you think about it.    I read a small report yesterday, although I also read some heavy scientific papers about genetic research and biased polyphenism of a spontaneous complex variation, but it was the small report on a military site that made me smile and I hoped I would be able to pass that on to you.  It also made me think of the differences between the military and civilian working relationships.  Civilians seem to accept failure, as if it is usual, whereas in the military there is no such thing as failure.  But what interested me was the underlying knowledge that teamwork was the key to success, teamwork, something the military person practised, while civilians could only talk about it.

I was trying to think of some raucous times I might have had with NWCS, but found it very hard to recall any drunken shenanigans. A new fellow did arrive who showed promise, he was an ex Royal Marine and we immediately clicked.  That’s the thing about military men, and women, there is a sort of unwritten understanding.  I still approached my work with a military head on, whatever Richard asked the managers to do I would do twice that, if not three times.  I volunteered for anything and everything, playing Santa at the Christmas children’s party, organising social events, joining all sorts of committees and attending the most ridiculous courses possible.  I understood that having a good attendance record was not the key to getting promoted.  I used the same model as we had in the forces which was that it didn’t matter how good you were at your job, it was your secondary duties that got you promoted.

Reading what I have previously written many of you may think that a lot of what was happening in the learning disabilities field was made up as people went along, and you would be right, even the government was making it up as they went along.  A government white paper was to be introduced called Valuing People and it would set out an ambitious and challenging programme of action for improving services.  Richard wanted all of us to be at the leading edge of this event so asked me to book a weekend retreat where we could come together as a team and discuss the forthcoming white paper.  I would have thought this a little ambitious on Richard’s part, but I waited so see how much I had to spend on booze before making any decisions.  Well; how can you have a decent discussion about government stuff without some booze?

I actually booked Rhydtalog, where I used to take the cadet squadron, however it had changed hands and claimed to have had half a million pounds spent on it on improvements.   Seems that some of the funny handshake brigade had wangled a grant from the National Lottery fund.  I was really impressed when I arrived to find that money had been spent on the place, it was double glazed, had clear water coming out of the taps and even had heating.  There were still the three main buildings but I warned everyone that the smallest of the three buildings was known as the morgue and was haunted.  Surprisingly everyone chose to find accommodation in the other two blocks.  My new Royal Marine friend and myself took the keys to the morgue, because I knew it was now a self-contained cottage, with its own kitchen and sumptuous bathroom, but it was still haunted of course.

Richard arrived with his three service managers and was waiting at the main entrance door when the caretaker announced that he had handed everything over to the boss, me, and hoped we all had a good time. Well; I was in charge.  I knew the first thing we had to do, when discussing a government white paper, was to have an alcohol based game of rounder’s, a sort of baseball for the physically challenged. Then we had an alcohol based quiz, which I felt had us all relaxed enough to begin discussing the white paper.  Unfortunately some of the mangers were lightweights when it came to alcohol and were as relaxed as farts.  We sat outside in the moonlight drinking beer and having a laugh.  Richard had left early as he had some important business to attend to.  So we lit a camp fire, Richard should have stayed and led us in a few verses of Kumbaya.

The evening drew to a natural close, which as you all know, means the booze was running out.  Myself and my marine retired to the haunted cottage and got ourselves in to bed.  Now, before any of you preverts start, we were not sleeping together, well; we were, but he was in the bed next to me.  I don’t mean he was next to me in bed I mean he was in another bed that was alongside the one I was in.  It was dawn and I can remember saying that I needed a drink.  Before you know it the marine is up and out of his bed.  He sprints to the double doors and out through them, to the main hall, where he collects whatever booze he can lay his hands on and then returns triumphant.  There were still one or two people lying about the camp fire and most were wondering why a naked man was running about the place collecting bottles of booze.

He managed to find some whiskey and some Baileys which we mixed together and drank and which we discovered made a very good sleeping draught.  We returned to Liverpool and we all probably dealt with our hangovers in our own particular way.  Not one word had been spoken about the government white paper although everyone had taken their copy with them.  I do believe that this is the way most companies dealt with the white paper and how they could contribute toward it.  I wasn’t being facetious but I couldn’t see how one white paper could deal with so many individual problems, it wasn’t written in such a way and it was obvious that the government, or those advising them, hadn’t a clue what they were doing, it really was making it up as they went along.  Even the great American leaders in the learning disability movement didn’t seem to be able to steer the beast in any specific direction.

I only wished that I could have had some more military men around me or military men involved in the upper echelons of the learning disability and mental health fields.  Not only would the whole shooting match been sorted out but we would have had a laugh doing it.  Which reminds me, the article I read yesterday, that made me write what I did today.  Well, seems that a certain squadron had a party in a mess.  A senior, bomber command, squadron, commanding officer, found himself in hospital with a heavily plastered shoulder and upper arm.  He was required to fill out a detailed report on how he had received his injury as it was now affecting his capability to fly and therefore the combat readiness of his squadron.  He wrote that he had been standing on the mantelpiece, drinking beer from a fire bucket, when he became disorientated and fell off.  Unfortunately, he continued, when I hit the floor the Air Officer Commanding ran over me with his motorcycle and I passed out.   I wonder which white paper they had been dealing with that night?

Celtic Illumination, part 379, It’s only the depth that varies.

There is a wonderful public park in Liverpool called Sefton Park.  It is huge and has lots of attractions such as a boating lake, tennis courts, fountains, miles of pathways and of course, the café.  When I was with Natural Breaks I was invited in to the inner circle of support staff and given the most important tool that you could have in learning disabilities, like a Mason being given his silver trowel.  I was given the RADAR key to the disabled toilet. RADAR stood for the Royal Association of Disability and Rehabilitation.  The key will open over nine thousand disabled toilets in the United Kingdom.  They are about four times the size of a normal toilet cubicle, always clean, and warm, and a safe environment if you need to get someone out of the public gaze for ten minutes or so.  Any support staff, out and about with someone who could turn violent, will know exactly where the closest disabled toilet is.  It is like second nature to you.

There’s a disabled toilet in the café in the centre of Sefton Park.  Normally you would ask a staff member in the café for the key but we all had our own, still do.  Of course they were a good, clean, safe environment that we used on many other occasions I think the one I favoured most was one of the disabled toilets in the Albert Dock complex.  Inexperienced staff liked to use the café at Sefton Park as an informal meeting place as usually there would be more experienced people about who would lend you a hand should you need it.  So during the week you would find the café full of support staff and the people they supported.  The people supported tended to know each other, as they would all have come from the same mental asylum, so for them it was quite a social occasion.  Outside lolling about, especially in the fine weather, would be a dozen or so drug addicts all stretched out, dealing or tripping.  Now and again the local constabulary would provide some entertainment as two or three van loads of them would race toward the café.

We found it quite funny as there would be no attempt to make a subtle or concealed approach to the café.  The white vehicles with their Day-Glo orange stripes, which I have to admit did stand out a bit against the prevailing green of the grass, bushes and trees, would hammer their way along.  The druggies would raise themselves up on their elbows and watch the approaching coppers who would screech to a halt and erupt from their vehicles chasing whichever druggie that had taken to his, or her, heels.  While the main body of police would begin to round up the druggies all sorts of shenanigans would unfold usually resulting in a free for all punch up, involving Tasers, CS gas and batons.  It would be a grand form of entertainment and it was free.

You would never know what would happen in Sefton Park.  While still with Natural Breaks myself and another fellow, a qualified social worker, would pick up one fellow and take him to Sefton Park where he would walk around for two hours.  We stayed about ten feet behind him as he liked to feel that he was on his own, while he shouted at the trees and expressed himself with all sorts of involuntary arm movements.  After the two hours walking about we would then drive across Liverpool to the area where he lived and buy him two cans of beer and a serving of curry and rice from a chip shop.  He would drink one can of beer in a single swig and then eat the curry and rice, as if he were in an eating race, then, almost without taking a breath, he would swallow the contents of the second can of beer, emit a huge burp and consider himself satisfied.  We would then take him home and leave him with his parents.

There were two of us with him as he could be quite unpredictable and if we came close to any other people we would close the gap between ourselves and he, just in case we had to leap in to action.  So here we are one day, we arrive at the park and we are strolling along.  Our man is shouting and waving away to his heart’s content while in the distance we see two young boys come on to the path and begin to approach us.  Trying not to make the situation obvious we remain at a safe distance but gradually begin to close the gap.  We watch our charge very carefully for any change in his behaviour which might indicate that he had noticed the pair of fellows approaching.  Both of the young chaps approaching have bicycles and are pushing them.  As the gap closes sufficiently, so that we can begin to identify features, we see that the two boys are about twelve or thirteen years old.

We close the gap and, if I dare say, almost with military precision, now find ourselves flanking our charge as the two youngsters pass us.  I promise you my heart was in my mouth as I expected that at any moment I was going to have to leap in to action.  Having passed each other we begin to fall back, to allow our charge his personal space again.  The two young fellows had stopped and were getting on their bicycles, but were watching our small party of three.  The danger had almost gone.  Our fellow was happy, shouting and punching the air, when one of the youngsters called out an insult.  I suppose if you were walking along with a fellow who was shouting random obscenities at the trees and punching the air erratically, you might expect some little guttersnipe to call him names, like the school children who would taunt Gordon, but no, they left him alone. It was me they were insulting.  My colleague was a slight five foot six tall fellow, nothing out of the ordinary.  I was an impressive Irishman, even though I say so myself, but I did not expect a twelve year old boy in Sefton Park in Liverpool to start shouting, “What are you looking at you fat bastard?”

Had they attacked or insulted my charge I would have dealt with them swiftly and sharply but I was stunned.  I may have carried a little more poundage than the ordinary fellow in the street but I couldn’t believe that they were insulting me.  I do remember that I was embarrassed beyond belief and when we reached the café my ears were still ringing.   As a team leader I was beyond giving one to one support now, I am not saying that I was above it and I have to admit that I loved going around all the historic buildings in Liverpool, admiring the architecture and detail of the buildings.  In fact I felt that I needed to get much higher so that my level of employment would match my skills.  But despite how good I thought I may have been I was only far too aware that I was still learning every single day.

I was now directly responsible for supervising the direct support given to eight people living in the community.  Each one of those individuals brought their own specific requirements that could involve violence, but one brought much more trouble than that, he brought his brother.  It was rare that we would meet relatives, we would be aware that they existed, and would facilitate meetings or get-togethers as and when they were wanted.  The only relative I had come across who had a regular meeting was Jimmy and his brother.  In my new house one of the guys had a brother who insisted on attending every team meeting and demanding that his brother was first in the queue for everything.  At my first house team meeting most of the staff warned me about his attitude with lots of raised eyes and most of them stating that he was a real pain.

The brother arrived and sat himself down.  It was quite obvious that he thought himself to be in charge of the meeting.  He was an officious little oaf, a four feet six tall Englishman who would have made a proper little modern major general ordering the char wallah to polish his boots. I honestly didn’t think that this fellow had much interest in his brother; it was as if he was interested in telling us all just how important he was and that we should be pleased he was there as he knew how to run a meeting, properly.  It was strange that the four points I had highlighted in my ten minute presentation during my interview were not just correct but were coming back to haunt me.  It may have been nice to secure myself away in one of my offices and immerse myself in the accounts but every now and again life seemed to be so much more simple and pleasant just wandering aimlessly around Sefton Park, watching some fellow call the trees and bushes every name under the sun.  Come to think of it the worst thing that had ever happened to me in Sefton Park was being called a fat bastard, which in a way I missed for all I had to do now was walk out of my office with my hair combed the wrong way and I could have started world war three.

Celtic Illumination, part 378, The function of freedom is to free someone else.

What is it they often say?  “Be careful what you wish for, as it will come around and bite your arse!”  Well they do where I come from.  I can remember driving in to Liverpool on that first morning, the first morning that I had four houses to manage.  I wanted more, but I was terrified.  I wasn’t playing a game; I knew that I was actually dealing with individual lives and just how important that was.  I wasn’t out to prove that every social worker in the United Kingdom was a waste of space; they were doing a pretty good job of that themselves.  I felt that with the approach I had learned at Natural Breaks and my ability for coming up with weird and wonderful solutions, I could actually do some good for these people we supported.

I think it would be fair to say that I felt lost, there was just too much to do, but I knew this was the environment where I functioned best.  If I had to sit around with absolutely nothing to do I could be dangerous, ever wonder why they called me the Newry Bomber on the Desert and Mountain Rescue teams?  I checked in with Jimmy and Andrew, like touching base, looking for a bit of reassurance and then with the standard deep breath taken and expelled walked my way over to my new house.  I suppose I only considered myself having two main houses as the other two, both requiring six hours per week, were more of an irritant that an involvement, like spinning plates on poles.  One of the fellows at the new house, John, had a Motability car.  Many disabled people in the United Kingdom are given a financial benefit by the government for help in getting around.  Some people use this to buy into a scheme where they are given a brand new, taxed and insured motorcar every three years.  All they have to do is put fuel in it.

I was surprised to see that the car was missing, but not as surprised as the staff were to see me.  John’s car was missing but John was sitting at the kitchen table eating his breakfast.  John’s car should never be used unless he was in the car; after all, it was his car.  I asked where the other member of staff was and was told that he was doing his normal morning run, which was picking his girlfriend up, from her home, in John’s car, and dropping her off at her place of work.  He would be back soon.  I think in the armed forces, the moment you are promoted in to a position where you can take disciplinary action against another person you promise yourself that you never will.  Here I was finding myself feeling that a paperwork disciplinary exercise would not be enough, behind the bike sheds with baseballs bats kept springing to mind as an alternative.

The missing member of staff came back in, his name was Kev.  I took the car keys off him and went out to give the vehicle a quick check.  It was a nice little standard run about, brand spanking new, although I cannot remember what flavour it was.  I do remember switching it on and noticing that there were only about fifty miles on the odometer and the petrol tank was empty.  I knew that the other member of staff would not admit to having snitched on Kev so came back into find him, in my face, saying that he had a personal emergency that he had to deal with.  Normally he wouldn’t have used John’s car but he had no alternative, it wouldn’t happen again.  By the way, could I give him twenty pounds as, here he hands me a receipt for twenty pounds, he has just put twenty pounds worth of petrol in the car.  I promise you I was screaming at myself inside my head not to rip his face off.

I retreated to the office, which was a converted front bedroom, and told them to bring all the paperwork in the house to me. I am now of course in geek heaven, working my way through all the accounts and diaries.  I wasn’t impressed.  I trusted my original staff with Jimmy and Andrew implicitly, even though Tony would always be whispering in my ear, “Do you want some knock off gear?”  Tony lived in the Bootle area of Liverpool which kept up the age old tradition of looting from the docks.  I knew that if I wanted to buy guns, or drugs, or knock off booze, or even half a dozen flat screen televisions Tony was my man.  He didn’t steal the items he was just one of thousands of middle men in Bootle.  But I also knew that I could trust Tony with the accounts in the house, a strange dichotomy, but I really do believe that when you are fed a diet of how corrupt our politicians and supposed leaders are every day of our lives and they see that they take no responsibility for their actions many people think along the lines of what is good for the goose…….

Well, I certainly thought along those lines, not exactly, I thought what is good enough for a sneaky little shit who steals from disabled people is to be fired, publicly humiliated and never ever allowed again to work in this environment.  I began to build a case against Kev but I was worried in case he wasn’t the only one involved in corruption in the new staff team.  Where I had seen corruption in Natural Breaks and obviously wanted to stop it, I was now in a position to do so but wasn’t really sure where to start.  I knew that the whole affair would have to be presented to Richard, so understood that everything would have to be provable and in black and white.  It was only because I managed both houses that I discovered another con that Kev was involved in and I have to say that it was so cheeky I was impressed.

I mentioned some time before that Gordon came from his house every Friday evening and sat with Jimmy in his house watching films.  It was always Kev who dropped Gordon off and who returned to pick him up and escort him back to his own house.  I had been there once or twice and could see that Kev was always in a real hurry to get back to his house.  Now that I managed both houses I could see that there were always two people on duty every Friday night, specifically for this visit. However Kev was supposed to stay with Gordon.  We, in Jimmy and Andrew’s house thought he was running back to Gordon’s house, the staff member in Gordon’s house thought he was with Gordon in Jimmy’s house.  He was in fact working for another company and took a fellow out every Friday night to a local pub for beer and darts.  So while the rest of us were busy dealing with Gordon, Kev was in a pub somewhere being paid an hourly rate by two companies to drink free beer.

Now apart from being so cheeky you have to admit that it is quite a con. It was the only provable fact that I could record against him.  Richard as an accountant agreed with me that the receipts for fuel and beer were quite obviously not genuine but we couldn’t prove that he had fiddled money from the company.  Richard didn’t impress me.  I didn’t expect Richard to hold Kev across his desk while I battered seven bells out of him with a pair of brass knuckle dusters, I’m sure Tony could have found me a set.  But an indication of indigence that the people he was responsible for supporting to live in the community were being ripped off didn’t come, absolutely nothing.  Richard went through the disciplinary process and fired Kev.  He refused to inform the other company that were being ripped off on a Friday night what Kev was up to, which I couldn’t understand.

In fact he didn’t speak to me about the incident until I was summoned to his office a week or two later.  I hoped he would turn in to a human being and say something along the lines of, 'I know where Kev lives lets go and get him,' but no, this was born again Richard.  I was now under investigation as he had received two written complaints about me and my treatment of the people I supported to live in the community.  Despite the fact that we could open the house diaries and match the hand writing in the letters to various entries in the diaries and with the fact that they belonged to the old team leader and Kev, both of whom had just been fired, Richard insisted that he would have to follow the investigation through.

I couldn’t believe it; I had never met a boss like it before in my life.  Richard was a proper civilian manager, he knew nothing about leadership.  I often remembered Jan in Natural Breaks putting the violent fellow in the front seat of her car to take him to a family barbeque at her house while Andrew would ask me who Richard was and what was he like.  The problems I faced in my present position were difficult enough without receiving what I considered to be the proper support and encouragement.  But as I was aiming for the top, I knew that once there, there would be no support, so I may as well get used to it now.  They say that it is lonely at the top, but no one ever mentions how fecking lonely it is as you begin to make your way up the slippery pole.