If you are ever summoned to a room at work and on entering you see your boss and the head of HR sitting in front of an A4 size white envelope there is one of two eventualities. One, they require inspiration for a witty comment in the birthday card of a particularly popular colleague or two, they are about to make you redundant. It was two. After 18 years of hard work (effort levels may be exaggerated slightly for dramatic effect) at the same company I was out the door in less than 18 minutes, three weeks before Christmas (I had wondered why nobody had mentioned Christmas party dates to me).
I wanted to break the news to my two sons (12 & 7) myself and the opportunity arose when my wife briefly exited the car on the way home from collecting them from school. “You’re home early from work today” observed my eldest, “Yes” I replied “and I’m not going back.” “What do you mean?” he quizzed, “well” I said “I got this phone call this morning to go to the boardroom.” His eyes lit up, “The boardroom? You mean like in ‘The Apprentice’?” Before I had a chance to elaborate any further he had pointed his extended index finger in my direction and in his best Alan Sugar impersonation belted out “Dad you’re fired!”
At this point my youngest, who had been digesting the ongoing conversation, showed impeccable comic timing by lowering the electric window and bellowing out into the street to my returning wife, “Mum, Dad’s lost his job!” I’m not sure what amused me more, his Town Crier style delivery (all he needed was a “Here Ye” and an oversized bell) or his belief that he was breaking news that my wife did not yet know about. For me this humour was the perfect medicine for what had been an unexpected day. In reality lots of people get far worse news and face far worse obstacles every day of their lives. It was just a job, they were going to pay me off and life goes on in whatever direction it takes you.
My new redundant status had at least afforded me the freedom to spend a lot more time with my family that a daily London commute did not previously allow. Christmas was the best one we’d had in years but then soon enough January comes, it’s Monday morning and I don’t actually have to be anywhere at any specific time. Initially it just feels like being on a day off from work but after two, three, four days it sinks in that this is now the rule and not the exception. Everyone was carrying on as normal from where they left off before apart from me.
I was keen to avoid a lifestyle that would see me couch dozing in my pyjamas at mid-afternoon having consumed the entire contents of the biscuit tin before the end of ‘Judge Rinder.’ The perfect solution was an active role in the morning school run, an essential requirement of which would be me getting up before the beginning of ‘Bargain Hunt’. Word on the school mum grapevine travels quicker than Kerry Katona on her way to sign a new deal with Hello magazine (“My New Love/ Engagement/Marriage/ Heartbreak/Weight Gain/Divorce/Weight Loss/Baby/ Single Life/ New Love/Engagement/Marriage” etc.) so within two days I was getting the sympathetic “there’s the poor bastard that lost his job” nods from passing parents.
Now fully unmasked as ‘Redundant Dad’ (I would have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for those meddling Mums), I threw myself further into the role by becoming a regular attendee at the weekly ‘Achievers’ assemblies. Merely minutes into the first one I was delighted to discover despite the passing of 35 years of education that;
A. Administering the loudest clap.
B. Administering the final clap after it falls silent.
Were both still accolades held in high esteem by the modern day male pupil.
A certificate was then given out to a young girl called ‘Jet’ which I thought was a fabulous name. In fact it immediately got me thinking about using my new free time to start a campaign to actively encourage more children to be named directly after the cast from the original Gladiators. Imagine the scene in the future as an old lady peers, dewy eyed, inside a baby buggy, “What a beautiful set of triplets you have. What are their names?”……. “Lightning, Rhino and Wolf.”
I was also pleased to see that the ‘Star of the Week’ awards at junior school were now handed out solely in recognition of academic achievement and effort. This was in stark contrast to infant school where to my understanding they had been primarily reserved as an accolade to celebrate particularly badly behaved children who had not been quite so badly behaved over the preceding five days. “This week’s star of the week is Chardonnay from 2M for not trying to stab any of her classmates with scissors. Big round of applause everyone for her efforts.”
Although still in my probationary period, I then took the brave step of venturing unaccompanied onto school property and into the potential minefield of the after school pick up. I would soon learn that, much like keeping a Gremlin, it was a choice that came with a strict set of rules;
- Never arrive too early as it looks like you have literally nothing else to do (even if you clearly don’t). Standing alone in a playground with only 3 trollies of lunch boxes for company is not a good look.
- Never arrive too late as if that they actually do come out on time for once (an event slightly less frequent than a Halley’s Comet sighting) you will look like a bad parent (especially if other parents correctly speculate you had literally nothing else to do).
- Don’t stand too close to or noticeably socialise with parents who currently hold an unfavourable playground status (do your homework as this can fluctuate daily if not hourly) as this could easily be misinterpreted as a sign of allegiance.
- However painful or repetitive in nature the assault proves to be, never react/swear/lash out when uncontrollable and unruly younger siblings inevitably smash into your shins/ lower legs with scooters/bikes/balance bikes while you are waiting.
- Refrain from saying comments like “Jesus is that the teacher? They don’t even look old enough to have responsibility for a paper round,” out loud even if it is difficult to differentiate between them and their 7 year old pupils. This will only contribute to an awkward atmosphere at any future ‘meet the teacher’ evenings.
The final and most important rule is comparable with the “Don’t feed them after midnight” instruction and if broken can lead to an equally catastrophic outcome.
- Under no circumstances ever make eye contact with anyone knowingly associated with or officially part of the parents’ fundraising committee (think the mafia without horses’ heads and less baseball bats). Failure to comply with this guideline will almost certainly see you pressganged into volunteering your time to an as yet undetermined stall at a future event that you have literally no interest in whatsoever.
With school adventures ongoing I have also been able to use some of my free time for more practical purposes. In short I have been able to once again unleash my previously dormant set of varied domestic skills which includes;
1. Precision bed making (including duvet tuck & anti-crease and full pillow repositioning).
2. Still half asleep early morning uniform ironing (a task created primarily due to my continued failure to carry out the “This week I’ll definitely do a whole weeks’ worth in one go on Sunday night” plan.)
3. Hand checking clothes that are currently in an ongoing tumble drier cycle to determine if they have reached a sufficient level of dryness. (*)(**)
*this can also include an extension task of needing to repress the start button if they have not.
**this can also include an extension task of de-fluffing the filter (think belly button but on a grander scale).
I have also made impressive forward steps (leaps some may say) in my washing machine operational awareness (at time of writing this is not an actual recognised qualification but probably should be). Take one of the capsule things, that look a bit like the dishwasher ones but bouncier, place it into the drum (technical terminology) with the clothes (essential element), pull out the sliding drawer thing at the top (not so technical) and add the softener (not at any point to be confused with the dish washer rinse aid). Then, despite the multitude of alternative complex washing combinations on offer (‘Flash Clean Nylon Prewash’?), turn the dial to number ‘3’ which has won favour as the household default setting and press the button that looks a bit like an eye. I’ve gone from novice to being quietly confident that I could now give Widow Twankey and Wishy Washy a good run for their laundered money (oh no he couldn’t). I hope to soon progress to solving the mystery of how the long tube thing is detached from the middle of the hoover but one step at a time as they say.
So a new chapter has begun but in the words of the legendary Sue Barker, “What happens next?”
Before the redundancy I’d finished writing a children’s story book and I was offered a contributory contract from a publishers for it to be made. This has always been my dream so I have now decided to go down the self-publishing route with the illustrations being drawn by a talented former colleague who now lives in New York. This will enable greater control over the production of what I hope will be a successful book and could hopefully be a first stepping stone to an eventual career in that direction. Since I have been off work I have also completed a second book and have decided to start this regular blog. I am most happy when I am writing and being creative so long may it continue.
When I was commuting to London, life used to just pass me by. Now life stops me for regular chats and gives me lots of news, ideas and subjects to think and write about.
Thanks for reading.
Baldyman 