The Human Risk

I’ve been to a wedding.

Not mine. Mrs Brian would have been cross.

No, it was a match made in heaven. Blessed in a sweet little church. Celebrated at a posh do. Flushed down the toilet before the honeymooners had cleared customs.

I’m sure there’ll be photos though.

He’s in Risk Management and she’s in HR.

Everyone was placed correctly. There were warning signs everywhere. It all went swimmingly. Despite the anxious looks exchanged when Granddad attempted the Lambada with the maid of honour.

I for one am glad that we have people doing these important jobs. Where would we be without them?

Back in the Dark Ages, before 1990. That’s where.

Up until then we had a nice lady who did personnel and risks were things we learned to assess for ourselves. Look where it got us. I hope all the nice ladies got excellent resettlement schemes. Or at least a carriage clock.

When I first started work could I find the e-mail address to send my CV to? Did I go through a structured interview process to help me focus on my strengths and weaknesses? Did I get to negotiate my remuneration and bonus package? Was I pointed to the section in my welcome pack highlighting the grievance procedure? Was I told about my employers contributions to my final salary pension?

No. I didn’t even get a golden handshake.

Just a big bag that I got to take home with me.

It’s lucky that I didn’t forget what life had taught me up to that point either.

Without any intervention from my employer. I managed to remember that steaming brown piles and Dunlop Green Flash plimsolls should not be mixed. That my big bag didn’t stop cars from running me over. That falling down the stairs hurts.

I had to work out new stuff for myself. Like the old, fat man at number 42. Every Friday when I forced a Jackie through his letter box, the door was flung open. I realised that if his bi-focals hadn’t been steamed up he would have noticed that his dressing gown was undone. He really needed a tissue before he had an unfortunate mishap.

I’m happy to report that I made it to the 21st Century unscathed. Unless you count the scars that prove my big bag theory.

Fortunately the modern Police Service has moved with the times. Our HR people have their very own Directorate and we could Risk Assess you to death. If it was proportionate.

I’ve even been trained to carry out my own dynamic risk assessments. A skill I never expected to master. Let me share one I’m particularly proud of with you. Only use this one when faced with a fast-approaching haymaker. It’s quite a complicated process to try and explain. But I’ll give it a go:-

Hit him first.

OR

Duck.

OR

Run away.

I feel obliged to point out that I’m not asking readers to stand in the way of fast-approaching objects of any description in order to test this. Nor am I encouraging you to strike anyone else. If running isn’t an option please feel free to put your electric chair into reverse as an alternative. Any disparaging reference to ducks is wholly unintentional.

However, failure to follow this advice could result in a removal of sick pay by the HR department.

You see how well they go together? All this talk of ‘invented jobs’, ‘empire building’ and ‘not in the real world’ are all nonsense. They’re worth every penny.

I’m pleased they’re well rewarded for their hard graft.

The free bar lasted all night.