Risk Assessment

I land a sweet job as the Health & Safety Officer of a local school. I envisage PAT testing, vomit-sawdusting and the occasional fire alarm. A pretty simple life – just being, overseeing.

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Of course, the slack time between these events stops being a joy and becomes a burden. I start to drink in my little hut, when alphabetising legislature becomes boring.

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I open a filing cabinet so that if anyone comes into the hut looking for me the door bangs on its drawer, and I awake, leaping up holding a risk assessment or something.

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The day comes when I have to assess the hut, as I have to for all the rooms, every six months. I find it inhabited by a lazy, unqualified drinker, usually to be found snoozing by an un-tested three-bar fire, surrounded by blank risk assessments.

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I fire myself, and declare the room safe.