Just a little quickie tonight as we’re off relative-visiting shortly.
I just wanted to share my joy over today’s news of another footballer in a bit of a pickle. Regular readers will know how much disgust I have for the sport & profession of football. Many years standing on the terraces at football matches did nothing to enhance the sport for me.
So it’s with a wry smile that I like to read stories of professional footballers getting themselves into trouble.
Steven Gerrard appears to have been charged – with 2 others – with assaulting a DJ at some pub in Southport as well as affray. One of the reports thought an argument may have developed after the DJ refused to play music of Gerard’s group’s choosing.
His employers have already announced their support for the player, which will only be repeated should he appear in court & get convicted; apparently it’s the law.
Burglaries, rapes & stabbings weren’t the only things being reported to the emergency services over the Christmas break.
Linda Lusardi called 999 to ask for assistance as she was stuck in traffic on the M25 & was going to be late for her pantomime. She called Hertfordshire Police to ask for emergency permission to use the hard shoulder so her audience wouldn’t be kept waiting due to her failing to leave home in time to make it to the theatre where she was performing as the Wicked Queen in Snow White. I expect she was surprised when such permission was refused.
Other heinous crimes involved a priest being declined the use of the staff toilet at WH Smiths in Manchester Airport, a male calling 999 to report a pizza shop had put mushrooms on his pizza when he didn’t want any mushrooms &Ã‚Â a lady reporting being unable to get through to the Strictly Come Dancing call centre to vote for Tom Chambers.
Ah, the great British public, God bless them, every one.
I used to worry that I had such a boring life. Well, that’s probably not true, worry’sÃ‚Â not really the right word. I’ve been quite a contented chap throughout my life, I suppose that’s why, after 30 years, I’m a PC.
I guess, being as I’m well into my middle-age, it’s more noticeable that I’m quite different from lots of my peers & colleagues. For a start, I’m much older than most of them. I often remark on how young the coppers are these days completely bypassing the fact that I joined as soon as I was 18 1/2.
I only have to check out Facebook to see how different my life is from all the young whipper-snappers. You won’t find a single photo of me with gel on my hair in some nightclub half-pissed with my arm round a mate, toasting the photographer with some gormless, drunken expression on my face.
On my rest days, at least for the last x-years, I’m to be found at home, with my family, I rarely go out on the piss, actually, I rarely go out.
When I need some fun or comfort in the bedroom department I can turn to my wife (providing there is a ‘z’ in the month & I have given 4 months’ notice & there is a solar eclipse due), I don’t need, or want to turn to the nearest female colleague who will give me 2 minutes of excitement & a lifetime of angst.
PCSO Bloggs, might call me one of those ‘holier than thou’ types, I don’t know. His current life appears to be far racier than mine. For a start he’s changed sex. Well, not literally, but in my mind. With a photo of a female PCSO on the blog since I became aware of it, I assumed he was a she. He has come out of the closet, so to speak, this week with the revelation that he is in fact a he! That’ll teach me to make assumptions.
He’s recently gone over to the light side & is currently training as a new sprog PC. His last 2 entries have been like an episode of the News of the World & Eastenders rolled into one. Turns out he’s shagging away from home, and having resultant er, problems.
He’s not the first, nor will he be the last. I’ve always assumed there is something unique about being a police officer and shagging around. Maybe it’s just that everyone does it no matter what occupation. I’ve certainly always been aware that there seem to be a higher proportion of matesÃ‚Â who are divorced or separated in the job than friends I’ve had outside the job.
Maybe there’s some sociological research which shows that working long hours on shifts with individuals who have more than just a working reliance on each other means they end up shagging. Or perhaps there is an element of power hunger in those who don the blue serge that they feel they need to conquer. Or maybe working amongst lowlife for so long grinds your own moral ethics down so badly that it’s easy to forget you ever had the morals to stay faithful. I don’t know.
I know loads of coppers, male & female, who have had affairs. If not joining them makes me ‘holier than thou’, I can live with that.
The Labour party have been banging on about increasing prison places since they came to power but there is little evidence that they’ve actually done anything about it. Well that’s not strictly true, they have done something about it; they’ve created policies for letting criminals out early because of their failure to create enough room for them inside.
This is all very strange when you realise how much easier they have made it to get people locked up. In the last ten years they have created 1,000 brand new offences for which you can receive a jail term. I’ve not got my calculator out but the Telegraph reckons that’s one new jail-able offence every four days.
Many of these crimes have been described as petty which, in other countries, would only be regarded as minor misdemeanours & therefore not with a custodial sentence. These include six months for kids caught with fireworks in public, jail for fishermen who don’t ask permission to fish on the Lower Esk in Scotland, orÃ‚Â a swift bit of porridge for anyone importing an unauthorised veterinary product. The best example given is a jail sentence for vicars who allow unlicensed concerts in the church hall.
I think I’ve mentioned this government’s reliance on legislation before. It just seems that they think the only way to deal with a perceived problem is to legislate, either that or they just need to control every facet of life. Actually, a nano-second’s thought on that and it is both reasons.
Well that’s the last working Christmas as a police officer out the way.
It was standard fare really, nothing unusual or particularly exciting. I’ve been in the control room a few times over the years. It wasn’t unusual, when working patrol, to pop up to the Control Room at Christmas & distribute the odd card or box of biscuits or chocolates. I think it always helps to keep controllers sweet when they’re dishing out the crap jobs or wondering whether to get you backup or not.
We did get a few visits but nobody from the division I normally cover came up so I got bugger all in terms of Celebrations & Quality Street.
We did take in a mini banquet ourselves though. Our sergeant had preplanned a list of which staff brought in what, just so we didn’t have 3 cases of sausage rolls and a peanut. I was eating for most of the shift.
The one thing missing this year was the silly clothes. Traditionally, folk have dressed up at Christmas; we’re shut up in a little room with no windows all year, nobody ever sees us & once a year some of us like to shrug off the mantle of a proper uniform to wear another uniform, often consisting of lots of red & white plus the obligatory stockings, a little bit of de-stressing in what can be a fiull-on job most of the year.
After 40 years someone must have discovered some research that says it makes you do your job badly or something because someone in an office who was doubtless half pissed on port & could call on the services of a driver, had decided we shoudn’t indulge in this outrageous behaviour, not on his watch.
We only had a buffet after everyone in the room had signed the Official Secrets Act & agreed to shoot anyone who breathed a word of it outside the confines of the room. The last person whose mobile phone went off in the room, Andrea, is still recovering from hypothermia having spent the entire shift hanging on for dear life to some metal girdering at the top of the police radio mast with a telescope looking for any sign of the chief constable making his annual visit to the control room, lest we be discovered with the crusty end of a cocktail sausage between our lips when on post.
Still, it wasn’t too bad & I did get home in time for a few bottles of my favourite tipple. Even if I did discover that Mrs Weeks was in such a rush round Tesco that she grabbed the non alcoholic version without realising it, so I couldn’t even blot out the disappointment of not being able to wear a santa suit & a pair of black stockings at work.
Just a quick note as I’m off onto night shift again in a few mins.
Can I just take this opportunity to say a big thanks for the socks you gave me last year. One can never have enough black socks & it was very ininitive of you to think of them, as you did the year before, and the year before that. Unfortunately, my chest of drawers collapsed in October under the weight of all the bloody black socks, but I can bin them all inÃ‚Â February so it’s not all bad.
I have quite a short list this year, so I hope you don’t mind me asking for a few things, I realise you probably don’t get many letters from 50 year olds, though doubtless you get lots of letters from chief constablesÃ‚Â & senior officers as most of them look like they still have paper rounds.
It would be really cool if you chivvied my commutation up. I’ve been told it will take a couple of days to get into my account. As you know, things being what they are at the moment, my bank might not exist two days after the job pays out. As the amount I’m due is an order of magnitude greater than the national fiscal resources of Iceland, you can understand how worried I am about my cash.
Is there anything you can do to get a few quid knocked off the price of a new Audi R8? I mean, they’re not selling many at the moment & I’d hate to see my local branch go the way of Woollies, a 60 or 70 per cent reduction could keep the wolf from the door. There was a two-for-one deal on cars in the paper recently but it was only for something shite like a Kia Picanto or something. Have a word. Ta.
If you could see your way clear to keep me out of trouble for the last few weeks I’d appreciate it. I know the chances of an injury on duty are slim for me these days, mouse-wrist can severely limit my private fun & those paper-cuts don’t heal themselves.
And finally, can I ask for a gift for someone else? I’m not sure if that’s the done thing, but if you could find a spare pair of balls I’m sure my chief constable could use a new set, come to that if you can source a job lot I’m pretty sure I can find homes for them all.
Thanks very much & Merry Christmas to you & Mrs Claus. I’ve left a wee dram for you but I’ll probably drink it when I get in tomorrow morning.
When I got married, our first house was at the end of a cul-de-sac which was on a hill. It was a brand new estate & all the residents moved in at the same time. We all had drives. In order to get off the drive you had to go up a steepish slope onto the cul-de-sac & then up the hill until it straightened out & then went downhill towards the main road.
During our first winter, someone realised that if it snowed or froze, we might have problems getting to work. We therefore all chipped in & ordered a a load of rock salt. It worked out that each household got a couple of bags each.
Sure enough, one day hence I woke up and couldn’t get off the drive for the snow & ice. Ah-ha I thought, I’ll get the rock salt out.
I got both bags and started spreading the salt over the drive, I then spread some over the neighbour’s drive and did the first 15 or so yards of the cul-de-sac. In other words, I shared it about so everyone would benefit from my two bags.
I went inside for a cup of tea to give the salt time to act & happened to look out the window just as another neighbour was distributing his rock salt. I was pretty gobsmacked to watch him cut off the corner of a bag and then proceed to pour the whole bag from his front offside wheel, up his drive & onto the cul-de-sac. He then did the same with his other bag only covering the track his nearside wheel would make. It was like two trails of gunpowder leading from his front wheels right up to the point where my salt was melting away the main roadway for him.
Which is aprospos of nothing really but I was reminded of it when reading the following story in the Telegraph this week.
Seventeen-year-old Phillip Barnes thought he’d assist some elderly residents in Kendal when they couldn’t leave their homes as the street hadn’t been gritted. He drove around looking for some and went to the local council depot. He says he was told that if he could find some grit in any of the yellow roadside bins he could help himself.
He found such a bin at a railway station, took a bucketful of grit and returned to the road where he gritted the front of some old folks’ homes.
Two days later British Transport Police arrived at his door. He was told they had the incident on CCTV, questioned him for two hours and advised he may be prosecuted or cautioned for theft. A British Transport Police spokesman said, “We have investigated this but it appears the 17-year-old and his friends who took the grit did not realise they were committing an offence. We will not be taking this any further”. Which is really the reason for the title of this post – Sometimes we are our own worst enemies.
They could have simply said, we looked in to this matter and found no offence had been committed, but rather they chose to put the guilt on the teenager and made it look like they were doing him a favour by letting him off.
Now I may have been at training school about 30 years ago, but I can still remember the salient points of the Theft Act, specifically the bit that says “A person is guilty of theft, if he dishonestly appropriates property belonging to another with the intention of permanently depriving the other of it“. I would question that someone believed they were being dishonest when they had made enquiries and believed they had permission to take the grit. Further, the Theft Act says something which is pretty relevant to this scenario –
1.A personÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s appropriation of property belonging to another is not to be regarded as dishonest:
(a) if he appropriates the property in the belief that he has in law the right to deprive the other of it, on behalf of himself or of a third person; or
(b) if he appropriates the property in the belief that he would have the otherÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s consent if the other knew of the appropriation and the circumstances of it;
Sometimes it might pay just to be up-front & stop trying to spin things in our favour.
PlanetPolice.org run a blog whereby they reproduce articles from all the best police blogs (like his one). I usually get a few visitors every day from them and I know some people read my articles direct on their site.
A few days ago I noticed that they weren’t publishing my recent entries. I emailed the guy who runs it & apparently it’s done automatically by some sort of feed system. Apparently, my feed doesn’t validate, and if you visit this link, you willÃ‚Â see so for yourself. The link highlights an error in my article on ‘The Good Old Days‘ which is a real shame because that was the most popular article for comments for some time. If I unpublish the article then my feed validates but when I publish it again it breaks.
Does anyone know how to sort the problem out because I haven’t got a scoobey?
Nothing to do with policing but very seasonal. I now have positive proof that the Post Office is completely useless. (For the purposes of anonymity, I’ll use random locations.)
Last week we received a Christmas card in the post, nothing unusual in that except that it wasn’t addressed to us. We are used to the occasional mix up with the wrong post because we live in an area which has several variations of the road name, for instance, Brown Road, Brown Avenue & Brown Grove. As they are in the same area the postcodes are similar, although not the same, obviously.
Anyway, when I read the address I noticed that it should have gone to Brown Road & not Brown Grove.
But that wasn’t all. The town was different. If we lived in Bristol, then an equivalently distanced town to which this card was addressed was Brighton, i.e quite some distance away and only the first 3 letters of the towns were similar.
And that wasn’t all, the postcode written on the envelope was clearly a postcode not even in the same county, let alone region. As far as I could tell, the letter was addressed correctly to someone in Brighton but arrived at my house in Bristol. The writing on the envelope was clearly legible. It appeared that someone in a sorting office somewhere had seen this card & thrown it over his shoulder into whatever sorting bin was behind him at the time. I have no idea how modern Post Office Communications technology works but I’m guessing that at some stage, maybe even several stages, someone actually looks at the address on the item. Perhaps nobody can read these days, I know educashun’s not what it used to be, and all that. Perhaps everyone at the Post Office is pissed at this time of year, or maybe there’s some human right which says the ability to read should not be a bar to a job in a sorting office.
Being the helpful soul I am, I wrote on the front of the envelope in large red pen “BRIGHTON NOT BRISTOL” and popped it into the nearest post box safe in the knowledge that someone in Brighton would soon be receiving their misdirected card, hopefully in the same millennium. I thought no more about it.
When the self same bloody Christmas card popped through my door again.Ã‚Â I thought I was in Groundhog Day when I saw it looking defiantly up at me from my doormat. I have no idea where it had been, probably the other side of Vanuatu & back.
The icing on the cake is the current franks they are putting on the post. In large black text clearly at the top of every delivered item is a reminder to check the postcode – if only someone would tell the Post Office.
I published the below poem around this time last year but as I was quite proud of it, I’m doing it again.
Twas the night before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the doorknobs with care,
But something was missing, my dad wasnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t there.
Out in the night parked under a star,
My Dad was there watching in his traffic car.
Now out in the snow, where nothing had stirred,
the radio crackled, the big engine purred.
Dad adjusted his cap and straightened his tie,
Got out of his vehicle and looked round the sky.
He turned up his collar and looked all around,
And listened so hard for that wonderful sound.
And sure enough soon through the cold winter night,
My Dad on patrol saw the wonderful sight.
There up in the distance so vivid and clear,
A light getting brighter it soon would be near.
He called on the radio “Tango-one-oh,
“I think I have contact out there in the snow.
“IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ve got him on mapping, itÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s him thereÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s no doubt,
“IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢m off the to R.V. point, Tango-ten, out!”
Dad jumped in the police car & looked to the sky,
Just getting closer but ever so high,
Bathed in the glow of a deep yellow light,
He finally saw the wonderful sight.
First Dasher then Dancer then Prancer and Vixen,
And Comet and Cupid then Donner and Blitzen.
Then out in the front of the beautiful sleigh,
Was Rudolph the Reindeer leading the way.
Santa looked down at the police car below,
Grateful once more for a guide through the snow.
“This is Santa, come in Tango-ten,
“It really is good to see you again.”
“Roger that, Santa, your message is clear,
“This really is the best assignment all year.”
The police car revved hard as Santa flew by,
Then magically lifted up into the sky.
Over the County they flashed blue & red,
Santa behind and my Daddy ahead.
Landing on rooftops and climbing inside,
Then off to the next, my Daddy the Guide.
They finally finished their job in the sky,
Daddy saluted as Santa flew by.
“Same time again, Santa, next year once again?”
“You bet, and my thanks go to you Tango-ten.
Into the distance Dad saw Santa fly,
He took off his cap and loosened his tie.
And feeling quite pleased with himself, as he should,
He knew he did well, he did fine, he did good.
When I open my presents although I am sad,
I know Santa leaves me a kiss from my Dad.
And although I miss him I know in my soul
Though DadÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s up in heaven, heÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s still on patrol.
Dedicated to the eleven officers who lost their lives on duty in 2008:
Bad news for comedians; the police are now vetting jokes. Anyone who tells a joke which isn’t on the police’s list of acceptable jokes faces the threat of arrest. No Joke.
Shop keeper Bob Singh runs 2 shops in Port Talbot. He regularly suffers crime, shopliftings & assaults, the normal stuff shopkeepers have to put up with. He reckons the average delay between reporting a crime & the Old Bill turning up is between 24 and 48 hours. (That’s not bad, in my force I’d say that was pretty prompt, lots of our victims have to wait a week or more)
Mr Singh has hit on a great way to get the police on his doorstep much quicker though; he simply puts a few jokes on his Christmas Special Offers flyer & officers turned up in a big van quicker than he could shout “I think it’s a racist incident”.
Bob has put jokes on his festive flyers for the last 10 years. He gets the jokes off the internet. He did the same this year and was warned that some of his jokes might be offensive. Presumably someone complained, either that or the SO25 Anti Joke Squad had a lucky break. He has been told to withdraw the leaflet by police officers. As a result he put up a sign in his shops saying:
“We would like to apologise to anyone who may have been offended by the contents of our xmas leaflet. In future we will be more politically correct. Sorry”
Examples of the now banned jokes were:
What’s the difference between a Welsh woman and a Welsh goddess? – An eight pack of Stella from Bob’s
Why is it dangerous to let a bloke’s mind wander? – It’s too little to be out on its own
What is the technical name for three days of horrendous weather followed by bright sunshine? A Welsh bank holiday
What’s the difference between a woman with PMT and a Pitbull? Lipstick.
How do you measure a blonde’s intelligence? Stick a tyre gauge in her ear!
What do you call a sheep with no legs? A Cloud!
What do you get when you cross an elephant with a rhino? El-if-i-no!
What do you call a deer with no eyes? I have No-I-Dear.
What do you do if your wife staggers? Shoot her again.
South Wales Police said one officer, along with a support officer and a trainee support officer had attended.
“The content of the promotional material which has been distributed has been brought to our attention as being potentially inflammatory and offensive,” said the force.
“The distributor has been appropriately advised and instructed to withdraw the leaflets from circulation.”
Tory MP for Shipley Philip Davies, a patron of the Campaign Against Political Correctness, said: ‘I just think it’s absolutely mindless that police are wasting time on this kind of stuff when there are so many violent offences being carried out in the country.
‘The police officer would have been better off telling the person who complained to develop a better sense of humour rather than going to call on a shopkeeper.
‘The jokes may not be very good, but that’s a long way from being a criminal offence.’
Mr Singh said, “I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought they were joking – but they were deadly serious. This proves the world has gone completely crazy. Why are the police getting involved in something like this?”
I happened to catch the Crime & Investigation channel on Sky this week. It’s a channel of non-stop crime investigation documentaries. I have to admit to being a bit of a crime junkie, so I’ve started watching a bit more of the channel.
Anyway, one of the programmes this week was about American rookies going through training school.
I couldn’t believe it, to be honest. It was good old fashioned military-style training. It took me right back to 30 years ago when I went to training school. Apparently, and you may not believe this, it is perfectly acceptable for instructors to shout at the students, incredible, I know.
Not only that but there is none of this touchy-feely, group hug, let’s discuss why you don’t agree with what you’re being told to do. Police students at this academy didn’t speak unless they were spoken to and any opinions they had were given to them by their instructors.
Some of the drill instructors were ex-military, oh yeah, they did drill too & daily inspections, some of them looked like they’d failed the auditions for ‘Full Metal Jacket’ & ‘Platoon’ because they were too loud. The sight of one of them shouting at the top of his voice with veins on his neck bulging whilst screaming atÃ‚Â rookie on his first day not to bother coming back for day 2 because he was such a worm, was something I thought had been consigned to history.
If students failed some part of the course, or a fitness run, they bloody well knew about it. If they didn’t buck their ideas up they were out of here, none of this ‘don’t worry son it’s the taking part that counts’. There were no groups sitting round a table discussing the merits of why they had to do what they had to do.
True to every military academy film or story, some fell by the wayside during training, most felt better about themselves when they came out the other end. As far as I’m aware, nobody went through a grievance procedure if they failed the course, no industrial tribunals were called & nobody tried to sue the academy for wrongful dismissal. But I got the impression that every one who graduated had earned the right to the badge & seemed to be pretty professional to me.
I’m not sure that is the case in the British system of training.
It’s a great week for scummy solicitors; what with scheming money-grabber Jim Beresford being barred from practising recently, another dubious operator has been suspended. Shahrokh Mireskandari also had his offices raided by the Solicitors Regulation Authority.
I reported on him back in September, you may recall he is a friend of suspended Met Commander Ali Dizaei & represented Tarique Ghaffur in his recent dealings against the Met.
Mireskandari was convicted in America over a telemarketing scam for which he received 3 years’ probation. His legal qualifications have been in question since it was revealed he obtained a degree from a non existent university in Hawaii. He is currently under investigation over alleged dishonesty, accounting malpractice and other serious misconduct.
So another good day for watchers of pond-life everywhere.
DC: This interview is being tape recorded. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Do you understand?
DC: You’ve been arrested on suspicion of aiding an offender in the commission of a series of burglaries.
KW: Apparently, you’ve made a big mistake.
DC: That’s what they all say. Tell me, in your own words, what happened.
KW: Well, I was in the office with my butler, we were partaking of a glass of mulled wine, for it was bitter outside, there was a cruel frost.
DC: Go on.
KW: I was surveying the square from my window & wondering at how brightly the moon was shining when I noticed a figure in the square below. I was somewhat surprised, due to the bitter weather, that someone would be out on a night like this. I called my butler over. I asked my butler if he knew the hap[ess person out in the snow & whether he knew from which abode he had come.
DC: And did he?
KW: Well, as luck would have it, my man did know the chappie – I believe you already have him in custody on some trumped up burglary charge – I was advised that he was a working class fellar from some distance away, I believe he lives next to St Agnes’ Fountain.
DC: And what did this man appear to be doing?
KW: Well, he was going round the square trying to collect fuel for his fire at home. I don’t believe he has much money & his meter had run out.
DC: And you did what?
KW: Well, by the look of him I thought he could do with a good hot meal in his stomach.Ã‚Â I ordered my butler to bring some meat & wine & some logs and we would take them out into the square to give the chap a feast, after all, it is Christmas.
KW: We gathered the items together and set forth across the square. We hadn’t gone too far when my butler started complaining about the weather. It was much darker and the wind was blowing an awful gale. He didn’t feel he could continue. I told him to buck his ideas up and follow my footsteps and he wouldn’t feel so cold. So we continued to the man, set the pine logs down to create a fire, roasted the flesh & drank the wine.
DC: I see, and I suppose the man was so grateful he gave you the contents of a sack he was carrying which happened to contain several sets of silver candlesticks, various items of jewelery & some unwrapped Christmas presents?
KW: Er, yes. A good deed for a good deed, if you will.
DC: Bollocks. The whole story is bollocks. Gathering winter fuel? According to my information, this chap lives a good league hence, which, according to Google is about 3 miles.
DC: And we already know that he lives by St Agnes Fountain, which happens to be next to the forest fence.
KW: Er, yes.
DC: So, Mr Wenceslas, if he lives next to the bloody forest, why is he walking 3 miles in the worst winter night this year into the town square which, last time I looked, contained 2 cherry trees and a rotten bush? He has all the winter fuel he could possibly need right outside his own front door?
KW: Hmmm, I never thought of that.
DC: And, you may have noticed that the snow was deep & crips and even?
KW: Yes. it certainly was, hence my concern for his welfare.
DC: Well, you may also have noticed the footprints dinted in the snow which led to every back door in the square. Each house broken into in turn and all the stolen goodies miraculously appear in your office. And as for a so called butler, we’ve checked the employment records, viewed all the CCTV which covers your castle & used various other powers conferred upon us by the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act & none such person ever existed, did they?
DC: And you took some pine logs out into the bitter night to set up a fire and cook him a meal? In all that fucking snow? Do me aÃ‚Â favour, you have the biggest kitchen in the town. Why not just invite him in & shove a sausage on the grill?
KW: Oh dear…. would now be a good time to ask for a solicitor?
Over the last 3 years I’ve blogged about lots of events throughout my 30 year career.
I received the below in an email recently, it’s not my work but I thought it would be fun to share (for those who are not on people’s email mass distribution lists)
DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN…?
It took five minutes for the TV to warm up?
NearlyÃ‚Â everyone’s Mum was at home when they got home from school?
Nobody owned a purebred dog?
When a shilling a week was decent pocket money?
White dog poo in the street?
You only had to be home when the street lights came on?
Your Mum wore stockings that came in two pieces?
All your male teachers wore ties
Female teachers had their hair done every day and wore high heels?
You got your windscreen cleaned, oil checked, and petrol pumped, without asking, all for free, every time!
Cereals had free toys hidden inside the box?
It was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner at a real restaurant with your parents?
Schools threatened to keep kids back a year if they failed. . .and they did?
When a Ford Capri was everyone’s dream car?
No one ever asked where the car keys were because they were always in the car, in the ignition, and the doors were never locked?
Lying on your back in the grass with your friends and saying things like, “That cloud looks like aÃ¢â‚¬Â¦ Ã¢â‚¬Å“
Playing footy and cricket with no adults to help kids with the rules of the game?
Stuff from the shop came without safety caps and hermetic seals because no one had yet tried to poison a perfect stranger?
When being sent to the headmaster’s office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited you if your parents heard that you had been sent to the headmaster?
And with all our progress, don’t you just wish, just once, you could slip back in time and savour the slower pace, and share it with the children of today?
Basically we were in fear for our lives, but it wasn’t because of drive-by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc.
Our parents and grandparents were a much Bigger threat!
But we survived because their love was greater than the threat.
Send this on to someone who can still remember Laurel and Hardy, The Famous Five, Secret Seven, Biggles, the Lone Ranger, Phantom, Roy Rogers and Trigger at the flicks.
As well as summers filledÃ‚Â with bike rides, cricket games,Ã‚Â Hula Hoops, monkey bars, Frozen jubblies, visits to theÃ‚Â beach and lemonade
Didn’t that feel good, just to go back and say,
“Yeah, I remember that”?
I am sharing this with you today because it ended with a double dare to pass it on.
To remember what a double dare is, read on.
And remember that the perfect age is somewhere between old enough to know better and too young to care.
How many of these do you remember?
Home milk delivery in glass bottles with foil tops
Newsreels before the movie
Four digit Telephone numbers
Press button A then button B
45 RPM records
Metal ice cubes trays
Izal toilet paper
Reel-To-Reel tape recorders
houses made of cards
Anglo/Bazooka Joe pink bubble gum
MoJos/black jacks/fruit salads
Two bob for a gallon of petrol
Do you remember a time when…
Decisions were made by “eeny-meeny-miney-mo”?
“Race issue” meant arguing about who ran the fastest?
It wasn’t odd to have two or three “Best Friends”?
The worst thing you could catch from the opposite sex was “boy or girl germs”?
Having a weapon in school meant being caught with a catapult?
There were no Saturday morning cartoons with 30-minute adverts for action figures?
Spinning around, getting dizzy, and falling down was cause for giggles?
The worst embarrassment was being caught playing doctors and nurses by your parents
Putting playing cards in the spokes
transformed any bike into a motorcycle?
Taking drugs meant the Polio injection in school
Water balloons were the ultimate weapon?
If you can remember most or all of these, then you have lived!!!!!!!
This is a continuation of a little series I did this time last year.
Deck the Halls
Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, fa la la la,
‘Tis the season to get trolleyed
Fa la la la la, fa la la la.
Knock it back like no tomorrow
Fa la la, fa la la, la la la
Just get pissed don’t count the sorrow.
Fa la la la la, fa la la la.
See the toilet bowl before us
Fa la la la la, fa la la la,
Chicken curry means a sore arse,
Fa la la la la, fa la la la.
On the street just puke, don’t fess up,
Fa la la, fa la la, la la la,
Someone else will clear the mess up,
Fa la la la la, fa la la la.
Fast away the old year passes,
Fa la la la la, fa la la la,
Punch the lads & shag the lasses,
Fa la la la la, fa la la la.
Don’t go out without a johnny
Fa la la, fa la la, la la la
STDs just are not funny,
Fa la la la la, fa la la la.
A few years back I was single-crewed on nights, working my usual area. This wasn’t unusual. We had to rely on backup from one of 3 or 4 other police stations.
I got a call to an RTC on the border of our force & the one next door. When I got there, an ambo crew were already on scene. It was an injury RTC, a girl was in the ambo & another was being treated in the car. There was nothing unusual except that the ambo crew were really anti. Any questions I asked were met with terse, unhelpful replies & within a few minutes it was clear that a) I wasn’t welcome and b) I wasn’t going to get any assistance.
I was so surprised at the attitude of the crew, as I generally had a good relationship with the local ambo crews & knew them by first name in many cases, that I went back to the nick to try to find out what was wrong. After a while, I rang the ambo station to speak with the paramedic who had been so rude to tell him that I wasn’t very happy with the way he spoke to me and to ask why he was like that. (I didn’t feel it appropriate to do so in front of his patients at the time).
It was then that I found out that he had been wound up by the goings-on in the background between his control room, our control room & the force next door. Apparently, they had been arguing between themselves as to whose ground it was. As I recall, it was actually in the area of no-man’s land between the borders & each force was saying it was the other’s & declining to send anyone. This had been going on for about half an hour. I, quite innocently, took the full brunt of the paramedic’s ire.
Which historical meanderings brings me round to today’s blog. Ambo crews.
Specifically, ambo crews or possibly control rooms, who decline to attend incidents unless they have police backup.
Apparently, people are dying because ambo crews won’t enter houses until a police officer arrives. This presents a problem if there is either no police officer present or police don’t believe they should attend. The case linked to is about someone who hung themselves and an inquest is currently being fought out between the police who are saying the ambo crew were more concerned for their own welfare than that of the patient and the ambulance staff who are saying police refused to assist them & send officers.
It’s not a healthy position to be, but I expect the blame culture is such that the regular course of action is not to accept any blame & get someone else to take the wrap. Police & Ambulance crews work together on so many occasions and very often need the assistance of each other. It won’t be nice when one or other needs some help & the next person to turn up is one who has been on the wrong end of a previous decision not to assist the other.