February 23rd, 2007
Don’t you just love it when you know you’re dealing with someone who knows how to play the system?
Bloke rings up the other day to complain about some racial abuse. He says he is black and a white bloke down the road shouts out abuse to him in the street.
He is guaranteed a response because he has mentioned the ‘r’ word.
He finishes the call by asking why he has to put up with abuse like that from white trash.
February 22nd, 2007
So it appears I’ll be finishing my career in the same way I started.
When I got back from training school – we had them in those days – I was too young to be allowed out on the streets. Apparently, you needed to be six weeks prior to your 19th before you were foisted upon the general public. So I spent my first few weeks back from Training School in the Control Room.
I say Control Room, it was just a room with a single radio console, a telephonist (7am-midnight), the Enquiry Officer & a Station Sergeant (who also looked after the prisoners). So there was me and the Sergeant in the Control Room, every station had a control room. I knew absolutely nothing & was responsible for answering the radio & giving out the jobs and writing up the results of the jobs on an A5 pad of printed paper – there were no computers in those days. Everyone took turns on the radio.
I’m now back in the control room only it’s a little bit different now. It’s a big room with lots of people, mainly female, most of whom are known as ‘support staff’.
I’m not used to working with women. We didn’t have any on my last shift. Before that we only had 1 or 2 max. My eyes are opening to the mechanics of a female-dominated society. I must be really niaive because I’m quite shocked at the language and the topics of conversation. I thought it was just blokes that talked like that & discussed those subjects.
Going from a testosterone-fuelled atmosphere to a female-centric one is something of a culture shock.
I may never recover.
February 14th, 2007
Despite having record numbers we are not attending more & more incidents. Either we don’t have enough front-line officers to deal with everything or someone has simply decided it’s a waste of time and withdrawn the service. Neither of which appease an increasingly annoyed public.
However, I have a little-known trick that just about anyone can pull to guarantee the appearance of a friendly bobby or two on your doorstep; just say that whatever it is you are reporting was a racist incident. There is no requirement to show that it was actually a racist incident. No need to show that any racist behaviour took place. Just mention that you think it happened because you are black & this guarantees a response. (NB. also works with Asian, Chinese, Jewish and gay people but not necessarily the old or stupid).
By the time the officers get to you and discover there is no racist element it’ll be too late, they’re already there so they’ll have to take your report.
It also helps if you are in a minority group to phone in every 15 minutes demanding to know when someone will attend your racist incident. Soon someone in the control room will realise that a racist incident hasn’t been assigned as a top priority & start putting pressure on the controller to get someone to deal. You could at this point go one better than this & get your local minority community group committee involved. They will have the personal number of the local diversity inspector who will take up the demands for an instant response on your behalf. The diversity inspector will be on the phone to the control room inspector who will demand to know why this racist incident has not been dealt with yet & put even more pressure on the controller who will eventually cave in & send a unit to your complaint about kids chucking snowballs at you.
February 13th, 2007
Mr Baird fought in the War. He won’t tell you but his neighbours say he flew Spitfires.
His wife died a few years ago & he’s not been the same since; she did everything for him. Now he gets what assistance is available from the Meals on Wheels folk and the local Home Help service, plus the watchful eye of a friendly neighbour or two.
The help, such that it is, hasn’t prevented a small but dedicated team of thieving travellers from relieving Mr Baird of over £20,000 in the last 3 or 4 years.
Bless his advancing years, times change fast, things are expensive these days. Mr Baird never realised it cost £3,000 for someone to come snap a few branches off his old hornbeam tree in the front garden. And goodness, hasn’t the price of rooftiles shot up, you don’t get many for five grand these days. And the guttering that costs £400 a metre has to be specially made, you know, sir.
Still, it’s nice to know the cream of the Irish travelling fraternity are always on the lookout for Mr Baird’s safety & well being, when they need an extra bit of cash.
Sadly, the low-life scum-sucking filth never arrive when we’re sitting in Mr Baird’s bedroom, but they will, one day.
February 8th, 2007
I spent the day in the control room today, a bit of a taster before I go on a course to bring me up to speed with a few computery-type control room things.
What a bloody day to start. Run bloody ragged from start to finish.
As we all know whenever this country suffers a little bit of snow the whole place grinds to a standstill. We had four times the number of jobs we normally have in this particular sub-division. All weather-related. The thing was that it wasn’t the usual RTCs or breakdowns and abandoned cars all over the place. We didn’t have many RTCs over & above a normal shift. The thing which created 90 per cent of the problems was nuisance f****** kids.
Well, nuisance kids is a term we often use for out of control little shit-bags who don’t give a flying fuck for the rights and needs of anyone else. It wasn’t just one set, or in one town centre, it was in all of the towns we covered today. CCTV was no deterrent in the town centres that have it. They were all quite happy to line up and assault anyone they could with snowballs. It wasn’t just simple playful launching of hardened ice missiles into the friendly faces of jolly passers-by. It was attacking cars, pulling open car doors of vehicles travelling slowly or stuck in the traffic and bombarding the occupants, it was viciously assaulting anyone who put of a bit of resistance. It was taunting PCSOs with snowball attacks and bombarding police vehicles.
Oh what fun they had. It was so busy on the radio and driving the command and control computer that we didn’t even get a chance to explain to everyone who rang in why we weren’t bothering to do anything about all this riotous behaviour.
If course there was so much of it that about 80 per cent of the people who rang 999 never received any kind of police presence which left them feeling let down and just gave the yobs carte-blanche to get away with everything. Still at least the control room targets for answering the calls within 10 seconds was met, so it’s tea and medals for the department in charge of answering calls and filling in government statistics.
The ones who could guarantee a police presence were the ones who said the youths were only throwing snowballs at them because they were a) black, b) Jewish or c) gay. The fact that the other 200 people attacked during the same morning were white, female, male, old and young obviously meant that if you happened to be any of the aforementioned groups you were being singled out and deserved special treatment over and above everyone else.
This job really pisses me off sometimes.
February 1st, 2007
There are some people who, just before they open their mouth, you know are going to seriously wind you up. It’s the expression on their face, the way they walk towards you, you just know they’re going to be grief.
So you’re in the town somewhere trying to put a containment on a group of streets with other colleagues. The dog handler is out trying to find a track and the force chopper is circling overhead using its heat-seeking camera to try and locate the guy who’s just attacked a lass in an alleyway not 15 minutes ago.
You know it’s going to happen, it usually does when the helicopter is out. Someone rings up to complain about the noise. Occasionally they actually have the bottle to come out and complain face to face.
So you’re watching 3 streets in case matey-boy runs across one of them, listening for movement, noises, dogs barking, and signs that someone has disturbed someone or something. You hear a door slam and look round to see some arse storming towards you in a coat, bare legs and shoes not laced up.
"Do you really need that thing, people are trying to sleep here?"
You ignore it and turn back but he just keeps coming, oblivious that you are trying to do your job.
"Excuse me, I’ve got to be up at 7am, isn’t it illegal for that thing to fly 50 feet above the houses?"
"It probably is but that helicopter is not 50 feet above your house it’s a thousand feet or more."
"Well it’s just not good enough, disturbing the whole neighbourhood like this."
And then they put in the one-liner which they think will actually make a difference. It can vary but is usually someone or some position they think is very important and thus deserving of selective treatment over and above anyone else.
"I’m a solicitor."
Lots of thoughts run through your mind, most of them will get you into trouble if you say them.
"Well then when we catch the bastard who’s just tried to rape a girl who might have been your daughter, we’ll give you a call and you can some and defend him."
"I don’t like your attitude, the chief constable will be hearing about this."
"Good, now fuck off."