Reader Contribution: A Day in the Life of a Probation Officer
I joined the probation service in 2017 and have been working in various offices since then. Here is a typical day…
This contribution is by Andy Carter, a probation officer and writer whose work I’m personally a huge admirer of. It’s thoughtful, darkly funny, and deeply humane - and exactly why I want guest contributors to be part of Bearly Politics in 2026. Andy’s Substack, The Flagging Dad, is well worth subscribing to, and you can do so below.
The piece below is based on real experiences, but names and locations have been changed.
“Ok, Ryan, I’ve read through the court report. It says you went to your girlfriend’s parents’ house, threatened to blow up their car and shoot her dad in the head with a shotgun?”
“Well, you know what it’s like with in-laws.”
“So, you don’t regret it?”
“Not really. I wasn’t actually going to shoot him, was I? Who do you think I am?”
Ryan had been released from prison that morning on a two-year licence. As a high-risk offender (because of the shotgun and everything), I was going to be seeing him every week for the foreseeable future. I tried, as we do in opening appointments, to gather information and get to know him a bit.
“How many children do you have, Ryan?”
“Don’t know.”
“Ballpark figure?”
“Between 6 and 10?”
After a gruelling hour, and Ryan asking three times what would happen, “y’know, hypothetically,” if his drugs tests came back positive, I sent him on his way with an appointment for the following Monday.
I went into the staffroom and stared out of the window into the middle distance for a while, before being snapped out of my daze by my colleague banging around with his fancy cafetiere which he sometimes - but not always - allows me to use. When he was finished, he chucked a spoon into the sink with more force than necessary.
“Morning, Ian. You alright?” I asked.
“Living the dream, Andy. Living the dream…”
The Tannoy, which has had the volume turned up far too loud for several months now, but nobody seems to do anything about it, blasted out:
“VISITOR FOR ANDY IN RECEPTION.”
I hadn’t got any scheduled appointments but men on probation tend to show up as and when they fancy. If they show up at all, of course.
“Alright, Andy.”
“Hi, Darren.”
I led him through to one of the interview rooms. I was quite fond of Darren, a middle-aged drug user and prolific shoplifter/public nuisance with stats to rival Erling Haaland.
“Can I have bus fare for getting back, Andy?”
“You live directly across the road, Darren. In fact, I can see your flat if I look out the window.”
“Coffee then?”
“Hmm.”
I made him a coffee.
“What’s this piss, Andy? Haven’t you put any sugar in it?”
“Don’t push it. How are you settling into the new place?”
“It’s alright, but there’s a slight problem, Andy.”
“Go on?”
“It’s haunted.”
After Darren left, I had back-to-back appointments for the rest of the day. Here’s a quick highlights reel:
A murderer who described his offence as “not his brightest move”.
A monosyllabic bloke in his early twenties who arrived wearing a Rolex but assured me he was no longer dealing drugs.
An internet sex offender who claimed no wrongdoing and persisted with his story that a “friend”, whose name he couldn’t remember, had stolen his laptop (with friends like that, eh?).
An armed robber who had once called me, in a wonderfully retro insult, “a speccy, four-eyed div”.
A videocall with a prisoner who believed he was Jesus, but his main concern today was getting hold of some watermelon-flavoured vapes.
It can be a tough job.
Even more so over the past year or so. With prison populations spiralling out of control, the SDS40 scheme was introduced in September 2024, meaning eligible offenders could be released at the 40 percent rather than usual 50 percent mark, alongside the FTR48 where eligible offenders recalled to custody - for reoffending or breaching conditions - would be released after 28 days rather than remaining locked up until the end of their licence or until the parole board direct it.
Basically, loads of prisoners are being kicked out early, giving probation officers little or no time to plan for their release1 , often without any accommodation. It’s hardly the best platform for staying on the straight and narrow and an awful lot end up reoffending.
Who’d have thought it, eh?
Also, the reality is that some of these guys prefer being in prison. To be honest, I can see why having a roof over their head, living with your pals, and getting three meals a day is preferable to living on the streets in January with a tent (if you’re lucky.)
This is, of course, incredibly sad, but a former punter of mine - and friend of Darren’s - who fell into this category would get released, go straight to a police station, and lob a brick through the windscreen of a police van within a couple of hours. He did this FOUR times and the admin - the sheer amount of admin - he created felt like my own personal prison sentence.
One obvious solution, it would seem, is to build more prisons. However, it doesn’t appear to be quite that simple and reminds me of the recession in 2008, when I once said, in all seriousness:
“Why can’t they just print more money?2”
These early releases are a factor behind workloads becoming unmanageable, leading to staff burnout and widespread sickness across the service. While this is usually genuine and, of course, people need to take care of themselves, I didn’t love the time a colleague took long-term stress leave, then posted regular holiday snaps on Instagram3.
However, despite the various challenges, and the occasional feeling that I’m repeatedly smashing my head against a wall, I take a lot of pride in my work and can’t see myself doing anything else anytime soon. It’s certainly never dull and, from my experience, the vast majority of probation officers are decent, honest people who, and yes, I’m going to slip into cliché here, genuinely want to make a difference.
It’s not something you sign up for to get rich4, but, amid the chaos, you do get some wins.
The guy who gets clean.
The guy who finds a job.
The guy who reconnects with his family.
The guy who says, “I used to think you were a prick but you’re actually not too bad.”
The guy who stays out of prison for a year for the first time in his adult life and he marks the occasion by making you a really, really good origami owl in Leeds United colours.
These are the things that keep you in the job.
As I was packing up at the end of a long day I received a text from Darren.
“Nice to catch up earlier.”
Very friendly? Haunted flat notwithstanding, he’d been doing pretty well recently. He was engaging with services and hadn’t reoffended in, I don’t know, six weeks? Hang on, was Darren a small win?
“Can I get one white and two brown?”
“Have you texted me instead of your drug dealer, Darren?”
No reply.
Still work to be done.
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More by Andy Carter:
Conversations as a Probation Officer
Conversations as a Probation Officer (Part 2)
“Are you sure he’s in the waiting room now? I didn’t even know he’d got out?”
I was 21 at the time, alright…
“No probs, mate, I’ll just deal with all your high-risk sex offenders while you’re at the Subtropical Swimming Paradise in Center Parcs.” 👍 👍 👍
My Monzo overdraft would attest to this
I spent 30 years in the police service and I’ve been retired from that for 18 years.
This piece made me laugh. Each of the characters could have featured at any point in the operational part of my career.
Why? Because there has been no movement, drive or policy to improve parenting, social conditions or support young people like the 6 to 10 nameless products of Ryan’s indiscriminate, heroic even, ejaculatory exploits. What lives will they have?
History repeats itself, if we let it.
Probation officers do good and difficult work.
There is a need however to start at the beginning and create a society supported by services that reduce initial offending and other socially damaging behaviours.
Oh and decent employment, housing and wages might help a bit.
Andy is a comedic genius and one of my favourite Substackers. All his material is solid comedy gold.