I remember that briefing office , in the grimy basement. Staid, sterile and without joy. Single stripers all pumped up and fresh faced, old cronies, laying it on thick. Long stories about experiences long forgotten.
A briefing desk that was never used to brief. Gormless looks if you ever asked for clarification on the paperwork. Dispatchers like meerkats popping up their heads desperately trying to avoid eye contact .
dystopia in all but name. Sad, miserable and will not be missed.
My only joy was turning up 10 mins late, shoving the paperwork in the envelope, and leaving without looking at it , nor turning on that bloody iPad. That drew some looks from the overly diligent sycophants down there. The i’m important, ‘cos I’m standing bolt upright brigade, lol .
(Ps. That huge poster with the two gay captains holding hands always puzzled me....)