Losing my Home Office virginity

So I trudged home from a gruelling press day this Monday, my bag straining under the weight of the "shortlisted" entries for this year's Philip Lawrence Awards. I was of course, delighted to be asked to be a judge, with the judging session due on the Tuesday.

Locked myself away for five hours of intense reading and bleary-eyed scoring, barely coming up for air. The following morning I wondered into the judging venue, the Home Office, feeling quite satisfied at my endeavours the night before.

From the title of this post, you will be right in presuming this was my first visit to said institution. The security conveyor belt upon entry I fully expected. After the long wait for an official to collect us, we were escorted through two pass-protected doors. Bit heavy but no major surprise there.

And then as we ascended in the lift, the full perverse glory of the interior of this building came upon us. Emblazoned on each floor, from wall to wall were giant stark banners: "Here to protect the public", "Keeping the streets safe", "We'll lock them up and throw away the key" (ok, made the last one up), and several others I haven't cared to recall exactly. But you get the gist.

I have always wondered, just what it is about the Home Office that seems to have such a harsh effect on its inhabitants, from the Home Secretary down. This was my induction to Home Office indoctrination. That very building clearly has a big part to play.

During the (very lively and enjoyable) judging session, we even had to be escorted to the loos if nature was to call. I went easy on the complimentary mineral water to just avoid the rigmarole.

But that building is something else. Give me the big daft rainbow placard that towers inside the DCSF building - any day.