Of course, I can always invent a meeting or two and people will come. There is still a bit of electoral glitter and pizzazz attached to my role. But I know it is all a bit of sham: I feel like the Wizard of Oz hiding behind a curtain. There really is nothing up my sleeve.
But of course I cannot tell anyone this. I must continue the charade. The show must go on. But I am finding it more and more difficult to pretend to myself. I fear I am becoming more and more like Lina Lamont in Singin' in the Rain and that's the chief constable in the background...
Of course I could cook up some expenses story to get myself in the papers, or invite a team of TV cameras into to watch me while I work.... But I know those would only be quick fixes. Nothing is going to dissipate this growing sense of ennui and pointlessness.
Thank the heavens, I have less than two years to go. I am counting the days, hours, minutes etc when I can step down and go back to growing cucumbers. I can return to my lifelong quest for the smooth vinegar flavoured cucumber.
The Secret PCC Diary until now:
- Collected diary - days one to ten
- Day 50
- Day 68
- Appointing the new Chief Constable
- PCCs must show people its worth voting (interview with the secret PCC)
- Fields of ponies: the Secret PCC does Income Generation!
- By the pricking of my thumbs, something radical this way comes!
- Too big for their pixie boots: the Secret PCC makes a speech to his Police & Crime Panel
- Witchcraft: the Secret PCC & managing awkward Chiefs
- Social media policy (Secret Diary of a PCC)
- The magic of Brasso (Secret diary of a PCC)
- The 'not giving a floating duck' problem (Secret Diary of a PCC)
- Secret PCC: A LibDem MP considers applying for Direct Entry
- Chief Constable Zero: the Secret PCC gets tough
- The Art of Listening to the Public (the Secret PCC explains all)
Legal disclaimer: just in case you thought this series of secret PCC blogs is based upon a real person or persons: it isn't. It really isn't. Any similarity to a living PCC is entirely coincidental.
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