My dad was a member of her majesty’s constabulary, so it’s with a strange sense of pride that last night witnessed Daughters passing out (not physically passing out, although I have witnessed that before as well) as a member of the latest intake of Special constables. The surrounding city streets and ‘burbs have now never been such a dangerous place to get caught messing about. She’ll rip your leg off as soon as look at you.

Me and Mrs G got all dolled up and with Son and a couple of her mates we drove off to Police HQ to watch the ceremony. Regrettably the chief constable wasn’t in attendance, but we had the next best in command who did a good job of inspecting the ranks, thanking everyone and passing out warrant cards and certificates. The official photographer took literally thousands of pictures which apparently we’ll be recieving shortly. In the meantime here’s a crowd shot of the assembled throng.


Everything went smoothly despite one of their number actually passing out, poor girl. They had been stood to attention for the best part of an hour, it was very warm in the room (the gymnasium in point of fact) and no doubt the nervous tension of the whole event combined to prove a little to much for her, and she gently slumped to the floor just at the end of the presentations. For her it was no doubt the relief of it all being over. Her new colleagues rushed to her assistance and within a few minutes she was as right as rain again. Such are the pressures on the youth of a modern police force. Let us hope she fares better during her forthcoming operations in the field.

For our part, we’re excessivly proud of Daughter’s achievement and hope that she progresses the way she would like. What a beautiful star!!

So then to the celebrations. Our especially special special had made arrangements to meet up with a few of her other friends in the pub for a glass of sherry (or whatever it is that the kids drink today) and we had not intended to cramp her style by joining her. Clearly we are blessed with such a wonderful daughter though as she insisted we came along too. The cynic in me would expect this would be to assist in paying the bill, but the father in me knows that doesn’t matter and in fact was not the case – mostly.

Turns out that a couple of lads from the WTC had played a post work game of golf and were also in the pub. So what started as a quiet drink to celebrate passing out became a Tuesday version of WTC with Mrs G (who luckily also managed not to pass out). Ale was quaffed, stories were told, socialising was partaken of. All had a good time and daughter was heartily patted on the proverbial back.

Her next mission is the rest of the week with her biological dad. I’ve no doubt this will be tough on her (long story) but she’s fully equipped to cope with anything now. Roll on Saturday when she returns from deepest darkest Wales.

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