PoliceCameraPaperwork

I've Got It!!!

2007-12-26T14:23:00.000Z

No, not a nasty dose like the one I wished on Jacqui. And by the way, I still haven't seen her on Sky News having a crafty scratch "down there". Bloody Santa not making my wishes come true!

Anyway, what I have got is the answer.

But what's the question? Well, if you also wear the Cloth, you'll know how we keep being issued with kit that's completely useless. It just doesn't do what it says on the tin. What's the phrase? Oh yeah, "not fit for purpose".

For example, my fleece lets all the cold air and water in and after wearing it twice the word Police started to fall off it.

My strides are itchy and uncomfortable and, on the odd occasion I get to chase somebody like in The Bill, I can't jump over fences without worrying about scrotal damage.

And my shirts are OK as long as it's not too cold. Or hot. Or wet. Or unless they're taken out of the packet.

I noticed that our PCSO's had been issued with some really nice looking strides. They were like combat trousers, but a bit shiny and smooth to the touch. I knew I'd never be issued any, because I'd only get them dirty and my Inspector would have to sew patches onto them. But I thought I'd treat myself to a pair. I phoned up our clothing store and asked who the supplier was (some company in Derby) and then phoned them direct to make an order.

I spoke to a lovely lady who explained that they were £70. I told her she was mistaken, that I only wanted one pair and not one each for everybody I know. But apparently it was I who was mistaken. Because they were £70 a pop! In the end I went to Millets and got two (slightly less shiny but still very smooth pairs for £30. And they were fleece lined!)

So, that's the answer. Instead of Forces spending inordinate amounts of money on kit that either won't get used, because it's crap, or won't get issued because it's too expensive, I've decided to suggest a complete overhaul to the system.

Basically, we all get issued with £300 worth of vouchers to go and spend at Millets during the Boxing Day sales. We get kit that works and the economy gets a little boost.

And then we get our Inspector to sew the Force badge on what we buy.

I'm Not Rubbing It In But...

2007-12-24T13:51:00.000Z

But, I'm now off work until the 27th of December. Which seems like an awful long way away. It'll have been nearly a week by the time I get back.

Normally I hate being off work for more than a few days because I start to wonder what I'm missing. I mean, I like drinking beer in front of the telly as much as the next bloke. And I shake a mean tush too, so bars and clubs definitely aren't off limits. But no matter how good a time I have, being off work just isn't as funny as being at work.

So I wanted to say a big thanks to everyone out there who's going to be looking after me tonight. And also tomorrow as I try not to look too hungover in front of the family. (The smell of sprouts and burnt turkey can make me puke at the best of times but after one too many half shandies....)

Without the nurses, doctors, coppers, paramedics and firefighters Christmas would be an altogether different proposition. So I am grateful.

But if my thanks don't help you to see the bright side of working whilst I'm shakin' it just think:

Off duty nurses won't be able to extract random household objects from people's arses which "accidentally" got stuck up there.

Off duty paramedics won't be able to answer 999 calls from somebody who's got a condom stuck up their nose after a Christmas party prank gone wrong. (on a separate issue, I wrote "cuty" instead of "duty" on this one. Freudian slip? There are an awful lot of cute paramedics out there...)

Off duty coppers won't be able to turn up to a disturbance outside a pub and threaten to arrest everyone unless they sing you "Merry Christmas".

And off duty firefighters can't all jump in their big red busses and go down town to collect kisses off pissed office workers.

So, silver linings everywhere. Working at Christmas isn't too bad after all.

And if all else fails, think of the overtime.

Merry Christmas all x x

Merry Christmas (Winter Festival for those of you worried about upsetting anyone)

2007-12-20T18:38:00.000Z

Well, here we are. Once again it's that time of year and, as I write this, there's only four shoplifting days left 'til Christmas.

I've been watching the other blogs and, apparently, I'm not the only hoping that Santa brings our illustrious Home Secretary a dose of the clap this year. I thought I'd share with you the letter I wrote to Santa in the hope that, in case he doesn't exist, somebody out there can make my wishes come true.

Dear Father Christmas,

My name is Paperwork and I have been very good this year. I arrested some bad people and made sure that they weren't able to hurt or steal from the nice people for at least a few hours. I was nice to my Inspector, even though he's a buffoon, because I know how sensitive he is. I only broke one Police car. And it wasn't really broke. Well, the wheels were, but that's all. And I was very sorry. And lastly, I only shouted at people when they were unpleasant. The nice people all got smiles.

So, Santa, please can you bring me the following things?

1) A new car. Not for me you understand. It's for work. Only, the one I'm driving there now has over 120,000 miles on the clock. And, because H.M. Inspectorate have decided we've got too many cars, my Inspector won't give me one.

2) A new pen. I know, I know. You brought me loads last year. But I'd used them all by February. Which wasn't bad. Imagine if the Government weren't cutting down on the paperwork we have to do...

3) Some business cards with "I know it'll bugger up your budget, but I want what I'm entitled to. Thanks." printed on them. This is because I've decided to stop putting overtime on my card. As you know, I used to do it all the time but now the nasty Mrs Smith has screwed me over I'd rather just have the money now. And anyway, it's not like we're allowed to use the time off anyway.

4) A big stick. Because Mrs Smith keeps screwing me and I don't like it. I thought perhaps I could poke her with it until she goes away.

5) Some friends to play with. I used to have lots of friends at work, but they all keep disappearing. They go to somewhere called "specialist unit" and nobody ever sees them again. The Inspector told us we were going to get some new friends, but they were called "Support Officers". He said we're not allowed to play with them in case they get hurt.

6) A new slogan. Because I'm bored of the one we've got. Everybody's started using it. In. Every. Sentence. As in;

Officer 1: "Where are you going, colleague?"

Officer 2: "Why, I'm just popping out to Make ****** Safer. And Feel Safer"

Any slogan will do, but if you could bring me one that has something to do with "Locking Up Villains Until They're Too Old To Commit Crime" then that'd be nice.

7) A donkey jacket, brazier and a big cardboard placard. I don't know why, but my friends (the ones who haven't disappeared) say we're going to need them soon. By the way, what does "scab" mean?

8) A Commendation. I saw in General Orders that the Chief gave loads out last week. I know I don't deserve one, because they were all on Quality Development Projects and Community Diversity Teams and I just arrest the bad people. But it might be nice to have a "Santa's Commendation" to put on my wall.

9) Finally, Santa, I want you to bring peace and goodwill to all. Apart from the following:

people who can't be arsed to work for a living and expect me to pay for their Stella and Sky Sports
people who think it's OK to treat others like sh*t
people who want me to raise their kids for them, because frankly they're too busy stealing. And drinking Stella
people who can't so much as sniff a can of Stella without punching whoever happens to be stood next to them
people who can't be arsed to sort out their own problems, "because, like, the Police should, like, do it, right, cos I pay your wages!"
people who don't understand the concept of "that doesn't belong to you"

All the best Santa,

Paperwork, aged 5 x

Never Judge A Book By It's Cover

2007-09-06T14:31:00.000+01:00

Is what my old mum always used to say. And she's right...

...unless you happen to be driving a green Peugeot 106, have a skin head hair cut, are covered in tattoos, have a girlfriend/f**k buddy in the passenger seat and insist on talking about "disrespecting" you.

Under these circumstances I can be fairly confident you'll give me loads of attitude and insist on making a huge display for the benefit of your neighbours (none of whom appeared to be at work, even though it was a weekday morning) so that you could be a local hero for telling me to "f**k off!"

I'm also pretty confident that when I tell you that you're under arrest for being a pillock that you'll kick off and your (we'll call her) girlfriend will start screaming at me to leave you alone.

And then, even though I'm about nine and a half stone and you weigh almost double that, I wouldn't be that surprised if you started kicking off and shouting about how I'm assaulting you and that I haven't got the right to grab hold of you and kick your legs away from you. (Actually, during the confusion, I never got the chance to ask which university you studied law at.)

As I wait for other officers to turn up I'm not that surprised that your underclass brethren decide to crowd around me and get all brave. Particularly the ones who are happy to drag their young kids with them (what, no school today either?) so that I can't marinate anybody with my new pava spray.

Oh, and not wanting to prejudge anything, I'm kind of expecting you to plead not guilty to the public order and resist arrest charges. And in doing so to sponge yet more money from the public purse. Well, why should you care? It's not like you pay taxes is it?

Which is a point that didn't go down too well during the cafuffle as we gave each other a hug in the middle of the road.

Random Leary Woman: "Oi, leave it out. We pay your wages!"
Me (for a moment not watching my tongue): "Er, no, I pay your benefits. So move away and dribble spit on someone else".

I'll stick another post on similar to this one which demonstrates why I think my patience with these people is starting to fade somewhat. I need to be careful before I come out with something that will get me in trouble.

Suffer Little Children

2007-08-16T10:40:00.000+01:00

There's been a couple of instances recently in the news where young children have been either neglected or actively abused by family members leading to the deaths of the children.

One of the things I found hardest to get to grips with after joining the job was coming face to face with this sort of depravity and not throwing the parent out of the nearest window. I couldn't understand how an adult could treat any child so badly, never mind their own. But there were lots and lots of examples of how wrong I was. Still, I never quite got used to it.

One particular time, we'd been looking for a guy who was wanted for theft and burglary and we knew he spent a lot of time at a particular house. The woman who lived there, we'll call her "Sara", was a raging heroin addict and had four kids. The youngest was still in nappies and the eldest about fourteen. Her place was basically an open house for any drug addled low life in the area and when her benefits couldn't stretch to her heroin she paid for them by whoring herself to the other users and anyone else she could find. She'd do this at home with the kiddies still in the house.

Anyway, we'd gone round there and put containment on the house to stop the bloke we were looking for skipping over the back wall. I knocked on the door and, after being told to "f*ck off" several times I persuaded Sara that it would be easier if she opened the door from the inside rather than us doing it from the outside.

I walked in and the sight I was met with was enough to block out the abuse she was giving me from about six inches away. As she called me every name under the Sun, including a few I'd never heard before, screaming into my ear I gazed around her "home".

The kitchen was covered in dirty clothes and dirty plates and pans. To the point that you couldn't see any of the work tops and most of the floor. There were flies, living and dead, all over and a small army of ants working their way around the days old rotting food. Turning left, I walked down the hall into her "living room". I call it that, but the only things actually living there were probably what Tony Blair was searching for in Iraq. The sofas were taken up by a group of heroin addicts I was on nodding terms with and they were engrossed in the football. I said hello to them as I looked behind the sofa for the chap we were looking for.

Instead, I found Sara's youngest, filthy dirty and with a nappy overflowing with piss and shit. He gave me a big smile and wave. His hands were black with ingrained dirt.

Sara's carpet was purple originally, but in most places had either worn away or was now more of a browny black colour. There was a stench of human fecaes that made me retch. I asked one of the bobbies with me to wait in the living room and I walked upstairs. Again, the carpet had all but worn away. On the landing there was an ironing board set up and, on the ironing board a large saucepan. Sticking out of the pan was a wooden spoon. I looked inside and saw it contained some rice krispies and milk that had long since gone off. The stink of the sour milk did help to cover the smell of urine from the bedrooms though so small mercies...

The bathroom was more filthy than the living room, the toilet caked in brown stains and the bath full of more dirty clothes. The bedrooms were equally bad, with matresses on the floor barely covered by dirty sheets. Again, the floors were covered in dirty clothes and half eaten takeaway meals.

Sara's room, unsurprisingly, was the cleanest of the lot. That said, it still stank of sweat, dirt and recently burned heroin. I prodded around the rooms with my stick and we eventually found the bloke we were looking for hiding in a cupboard set into the wall in one of the kid's bedrooms. Considering he was going to go to prison, he was remarkably compliant. I put this down to the fact he was close to passing out due to the smell. In fact, he perked up enough to put up a bit of a fight one he'd had some fresh air.

We obviously removed the kids that were there under a Police Protection Order and Sara kicked right off. The loving, caring mother was probably stressed about losing her child benefit payments. As I carried the toddler out (admittedly at arms length. I mean, I like kids as much as the next person but...) Sara was again screaming at me as she was held back by a bobby and one of her smack head mates. The temptation to drag her upstairs and stick her face in the pan on the ironing board was almost overwhelming.

Instead, as she followed me outside and played up to the growing audience of jeering anti-Police neighbours I instead just pointed out, loud enough for them to hear, why exactly I was taking her children away. All of a sudden the neighbours weren't quite as supportive of her.

As we drove away we felt like we'd done a good job all round and I definately didn't mind filling in the paperwork for Social Services to follow up on our P.P.O. Thing is, within a week, the kids were back living in the slum after Sara had given "assurances" to the social workers. Still, we felt like we'd done our bit and at least we knew to keep an eye on the kiddies in the future.

I bumped into her eldest not long ago. She'd left Sara's as soon as she could and got a place at a hostel for young people. She found a job and started a college course and she's doing OK. She's been in trouble once or twice, but not for anything particularly bad and I felt really proud of her. She's beaten the odds and I just hope her brothers and sisters do too.

Only The Big Issues

2007-08-13T10:35:00.000+01:00

So much has changed since I popped off and have since come back.

There's a new Prime Minister (I was going to say new Home Sec' too, but that goes without saying. When's the last time anyone spent more than eight days in the post?) and we're waiting to see what his thoughts on Policing are.

The threat from Al Qaeda is still ever-present culminating in some mis-guided numpty trying to drive his BBQ set into Glasgow airport. (On a side issue, could they possibly have picked a worse target? Anywhere else in the country the passengers would have been running for cover. In Glasgow they all weigh in and give them a pasting. Even the bloke who was on fire! I saw (made up) an interview with one of them on TV. He said, "I saw he was on fire and tried to put him out with the fire extinguisher". Interviewer: "Yes, but they work better if you spray water out of them, not beat the person around the head with it".)

There's been massive falls on the stock exchange leading to fears of global financial meltdown. Or something.

The football season's just started and I'm trying to convince Mrs Paperwork that we need Sky Sports. Even if it means we don't eat for a couple of weeks. Think of the weight we'd lose.

And it looks like we've got another fight on our hands to get a pay rise in September.

But all of these issues pale into insignificance alongside that of a new tea fund that's been introduced in my absence. Honestly, turn your back for five minutes and somebody goes and hikes up the prices and buys crap biscuits. Supermarket own-brand digestives are inferior! Only custard creams, bourbons, hob nobs and McVities digestives (chocolate or plain) are acceptable!

It's possibly because of this trauma that I was a very bad boy on my return. My inbox contained a daft amount of emails, so many that it would (possibly) have taken days just to skim through them. So, in the interests of efficiency, I just kind of deleted them all. I've got to be honest, after the initial burst of endorphin-fuelled high I did wonder whether it was such a good idea. I mean, there was almost certainly one or two in there that, if not exactly interesting or important, did need some sort of action from me.

So I'm waiting for the fallout and trying to think of excuses. I was going to blame it on the Home Secretary. By the time they work out who it is this week they'll have forgotten why they're asking in the first place.

I Only Popped Out For A Loaf Of Bread...

2007-08-10T13:20:00.000+01:00

Er, hiya...

Sorry I've been a bit quiet. I had to go work away at short notice.

I've had loads of really nice emails and other messages from people asking where I am and, if I've died in some sort of yachting accident, can they have my kit?

Well, just to dispell any rumours, I'm back, I've not been sacked, I haven't run off with the Superintendant's wife (recently), I am still here and I definately DID NOT toe the party line.

It's my first proper day back today but I'm going to try and get something a bit more substantial down on Monday.

In the meantime, hope you're all enjoying the weather and keeping safe out there.

Peace and love,

Quick Update

2007-06-21T10:56:00.000+01:00

Very quickly, I got a reply to the nasty email I sent.

I was told to "tow the party line".

That's me told then.

What Is The Average Copper?

2007-06-21T10:12:00.000+01:00

Leading on from the previous post, it's got me wondering about what, exactly, is the average copper? So, here's a few thoughts... I'll use the word "he" and a kind of "gender non-specific way" because I can't be bothered to write he/she all the time...

He is always covering his arse about using words like "he".
He goes on duty with one set of handcuffs, one baton, one can of CS spray and about eighteen pens.
He likes nicking thieves and drug addicts.
He can't remember the last time he got the chance to nick a thief or a drug addict.
He genuinely wants to make a difference in society, but is saddened by the fact that all the beaurocracy in the job is doing it's best to stop him.
His staple diet at work is kebabs and pizza, apart from when Mrs Paperwork makes him a lovely pasta salad which he takes to work in a tupperware tub.
On those occasions, he forgets to take a fork and, after using one from work, forgets to take it back and it ends up going home with him. Because of this, his kitchen drawer contains six knives and sixteen forks.
He loves going to jobs on blue lights.
He is neither racist, sexist, homophobic or Gingerist , yet he lives in constant fear of being accused of such.
He manages to make jokes about things like badly decomposed bodies, not because he's unprofessional but because otherwise the things he has to deal with would severely screw his head up.
He is assaulted on a depressingly regular basis.
And yet he doesn't routinely beat people up, regardless of what tosh you sometimes see in the papers.
He knows that part of the reason there's so few bobbies about is because so many people waste Police time with spurious nonsense. Because of this, he doesn't understand why those same people then complain when it takes us so long to respond to their "request" for Police attendance.
If the job gave out NVQ's for everything we actually do, he'd be qualified in social care, child care, negotiating, IT, book keeping and accounting, health and safety, law, management and people skills, performing arts, public services, first aid, driving, animal care and "looking interested". However, they don't, so he can be classed as unskilled when it comes to pay rise time.
He knows that, without his goodwill to work until he's ready to drop then the whole house of cards would come crumbling down. However, even when treated shodilly by Senior Management or Government he still doesn't withdraw this goodwill and continues to blue arse from job to job picking up more and more bits of paper along the way.
He knows that justice is blind and all people are equal before the law. Except Police officers who, if accused of some minor indescretion (whether or not with any substance) will be investigated by a crack team of detectives and are far more likely to face prosecution (whether or not there's sufficient evidence to meet charging guidelines).
He works best if there's fresh tea and a nice cake at parade.
On the few occasions he watches The Bill he'll scream things like "That's wrong!" constantly during the interview scenes.
On the few occasions he watches The Bill he'll probably say, "Fair enough" during the scenes where everyone's jumping in and out of bed with each other.
Regardless of all the crap that gets thrown at him from all sides; Management, Government, public and media, he still enjoys his job and realises that, without him, we'd all be buggered!

Your Personal Police Officer

2007-06-21T09:26:00.000+01:00

Assuming I'm like most coppers in most ways (there's a post in there somewhere, must make a note!) I don't think I'm too distinctive in trying my absolute best to avoid becoming anyone's personal Police officer.

This happens when you deal with some spurious complaint in, say, January, and that person then makes a note of your name and collar number and puts it on a post-it note next to their phone.

Then, and for ever more, you'll be called to deal personally with every matter of insignificance that happens to that person.

You get into work after a few days off and check your emails. Most of them will be a load of old tosh about some new diversity project or other, some will be a general email from somebody you've never met telling you that they're retiring/changing departments/moving to Australia then there's the ones from any number of civillians telling you off and putting you in your place.

Stuck somewhere in the middle is an email from a colleague telling you that you have to return a call to Mrs Eileen Bonkers who has phoned about a matter you're dealing with. Eileen Who? You do a quick check and see that you attended there six months ago and gave her advice about pigeons or something. And, because she made a lovely cup of tea and had some nice biscuits, you made the schoolboy error of telling her who you were.

Now, she owns you. You are hers, as surely as the ornamental plates commemorating George V's wedding over her fireplace.

This time she's reporting a problem with "youths" congregating near her house. (On a side issue, given her age, "youth" could include anyone up to and including 50 years old. But anyway...)

When you call her, she'll first want to tell you how unhappy she is it's taken you so long.

"But Mrs Bonkers, I've been off for a few days..."
"Don't give me that. The Police never had days off before this country went to pot." (She'll then go on for a few minutes about how "this" would never have happened if that lovely Enoch Powell had been the Prime Minister. Use this time wisely! Have another cup of tea and look at holidays on the internet).
"Well, we have to now. European rules I'm afraid." (Always, ALWAYS, blame Europe!) "Perhaps in future it might be helpful to call the general number and they should be able to get an officer out to you on the day?"
"That's no good, I'll have to explain everything to them all over again! You already understand!"

I haven't got the heart to tell her I haven't really been listening.

So, you trot round there, have some more custard creams, and listen to how teenagers are running amok with "those skateboard things" and how "it isn't safe to even step foot outside anymore!" You give her half an hour of nodding and making sympathetic "hmm" noises before telling her you'll set up a task force. Then, when you get back, you allocate the message to somebody from the Safer Neighbourhood Team.

This Personal Police Officer thing does have a good side though. There's nothing like the feeling of elation you get on answering the phone and Mr Doolally says, "PC Copper already knows all about this".

"Right, I'll send him an email and get him to call you straight away!"

Nothing To Do With The Police

2007-06-18T15:35:00.000+01:00

This has got absolutely nothing to do with my job. I just hadn't heard it for ages and it made me smile. It's the sort of speach that I wish I was able to give, but I'm not nearly articulate enough.

I'd consider playing it to all the little sh*ts I deal with who take it upon themselves to cause me grief, but I doubt they'd have the concentration span to listen.

There you go, a Police reference! Hope you enjoy. I'm off to drink coffee.

That Email I Mentioned

2007-06-18T14:42:00.001+01:00

As I think about what to write on this, I can feel myself getting angry again! If all of a sudden this post goes all "sadl;jfkaeofj avmaik" don't be alarmed. It's me punching the keyboard.

I opened up an email from a chap who's an Acting Chief Inspector. He was forwarding a string of emails to all the Sergeants on our Division. This string of emails had been through two Supernintendos, any number of other Chief Inspectors, somebody called a "Governance Manager" (how do they think up their job titles? Stick a pin into a random page of the dictionary?) and started with a Civilian member of staff with a whinge.

Apparently, the staff in the Enquiry Offices (the front offices of the Police stations) are a bit niffed at all the producers they're having to deal with. Basically, if you're given a producer by a copper to show your driving licence, insurance etc, then you have to take it and your documents to a Police station. Here, a Station Desk Officer will check your documents and fill out another form to show that they're all OK. It is, as it were, part of their job description.

But not, it would seem, something they're over keen on. Hence the long string of emails. (As an aside, I wonder if this would work for me? "Sorry guv, I'm not keen on dealing with domestics. I'll send you an email...")

The person originating this email (bearing in mind she is paid with tax payers money) had sat down and audited every single producer issued since the begining of the year. The officer can choose to have the documents just "checked" (i.e. is the insurance in date and for the right car etc) or recorded, where the policy numbers etc are written down.

This woman had produced league tables of those officers who had issued more than five "check only" this year and made them into a lovely looking Excel spreadsheet. One of my officers was on the list.

I've got to be honest, when I first saw the spreadsheet I hadn't bothered reading the email properly so my first thought was, "that's fantastic, he's in the top ten. I'll have to remember to thank and congratulate him". But apparently this wasn't the point. I was supposed to "have a word" with him about the strain he's putting on the Enquiry Office.

So I replied with one of those emails that you write when you're angry, press "send" in a blind rage and then, afterwards, think "oops".

I listed the following points whilst I was venting my spleen:

the fact that there's inadequate numbers of officers, meaning that those who are available are getting dumped on more and more, means that we should be thinking of ways to maintain their morale and enthusiasm. This wasn't a good way to do that.
officers are, for want of a better word, "marked" on how pro-active they are. A good way of measuring this is by seeing if they are getting out there and stopping our criminals and checking, amongst other things, that they've got insurance etc.
this bloody woman is paid thousands of pounds of my money. If we absolutely have to employ her, then I'd rather she was doing something even vaguely worthwhile with her time.
people are starting to get hacked off with email after email telling them what they're doing wrong (normally only filling out three forms with the same information, rather than the fourth one that's required by some department that doesn't even exist any more, but that still, for some reason, wants their copy of the information). It wouldn't hurt to send the odd one telling them how marvellous they are. Infact, they could even do this in person although I accept they'd have to be careful not to fall down the stairs as they descended their ivory towers.
that checking drivers' documents when they've been required to produce is, kind of, this bloody woman's job. If they don't like it then they can go and get another job. There's probably loads of well paid Council jobs for people who can use Excel and Outlook.
that I was starting to get hacked off with the way the job was going and that I'd rather spend my time catching burglars rather than dealing with drivel like this.
and that, finally, I wouldn't be "having a word" with the officer, other than to give him a pat on the back.

a;ljf;aokj;dkrnaoei!!!!!!!!!

I'm looking forward to the reply that'll be waiting for me when I go back to work. I'm really getting a bit too bolshy these days. This sort of stuff used to just wash over me but I think I've just had enough to be honest. Which, I accept, probably isn't great for my career.

lskjfo;asujf;adkjfakjfaowiejfoawijfa'woiejfaslkjf;lasd f;asoifj;oajf!!!!!!!!!

The Results Are In

2007-06-18T13:38:00.000+01:00

Right, that's weekend nights done with. It was, as usual, stupidly busy, although last night PC Rain was on duty and gave us a bit of breathing space.

If I had to give five words that come into my head when I think about the weekend they'd be;

fights (in pubs, outside pubs, in the street, in houses. One fight, between brothers, was on a cricket pitch). The majority of the fights I went to were refreshingly civilised. Only a couple of them involved weapons such as bottles and metal bars or, in one case, a television.
alcohol. While I try and remember everything we did (I've just woken up and am going to need several more coffees before my brain starts working) I'm struggling to think of any job I went to that didn't involve somebody being pissed.
rape. Unfortunately, because it's the weekend, there were the usual number of females (and one male) reporting having been raped whilst out drinking. This included a 13 (yep, thirteen) year old girl who'd been out drinking vodka with her mates.
domestics. For anybody reading this from abroad, the weekend is traditionally when British people drink too much, go home and knock lumps out of their wives/girlfriends/husbands etc. Last night we arrested one bloke who's been systematically bullying and abusing his wife for seven years. (I think I'm supposed to use the word "allegedly" here?) which is a coincidence, given that this is exactly how long they've been married. As we slapped the cuffs on he gloated, "I bet I'll be out in half an hour. I'll show the bitch!" Happily, he'll still be locked up now. Eating microwave lasagne.
gobby kids. I. Don't. Understand. Why. They. Can't. Just. Shut. Up. And. Walk. Away. You'd have thought that, given that they've been drinking and causing problems they'd want to avoid any Police input to their frivolities. But no. We turn up and they see it as an opportunity to show their mates how hard/clever/funny they are by arguing. This normally happens about fifteen seconds before the first one of them is locked up and made to look a bit daft/stupid/wet. "Children of Mytown: I wasn't joking when I threatened to arrest you. Go home!"

So, how did it measure up to my wish list?

1) I went to lots of jobs on blue lights and only rarely had to use my scribble stick. One mark.

2) There wasn't chance to watch Hot Fuzz. But we did spend a lot of time quoting our favourite bits and slipping them into conversations with the public - "I don't care who your dad is, jog on!" Half a mark.

3) I arrested one young chap for possession of different drugs. But he was actually rather pleasant. And we waited for hours to get through custody. So, no marks. However, I assisted in the arrest of the bloke from the domestic, and we only had to wait half an hour, so maybe an Honourable Mention.

4) I wasn't quick enough with the P.A. system turning up to fights. However, I went to a report of anti-social behaviour where a van load of PCSO's were having difficulty dispersing some kids. Inexplicably, I started quoting Jim Bowen over the P.A. ("And Bully's special prize, a night in the cells!") For some reason, (they were probably a bit scared!) this did the trick and they all buggered off. Half a mark.

5) We camped it up a bit, but not nearly as much as we should have. I did give my best Julian Clarey "Hiya!" when turning up to a disturbance at A&E, but that's about it. No marks.

6) I was threatened by lots of people; with the sack and with variations on "I'll see you off duty". On one occasion, I got my pocket book out and, pretending it was a diary, said "I can pencil you in for Wednesday, but it'll have to be quick because I've got a breakfast meeting." One mark.

7) Emails! I'm going to do a seperate post on this. But, trust me, this one scores marks!

8) Automatic (false) alarm at quite a nice house. Four bedrooms (one en-suite), nice big lounge and a lovely garden. Kitchen was a bit small for my liking though. One mark.

9) The wife from the domestic counts as a real victim. Particularly as she was brave enough to give us a statement. We spent a good few hours there between us making sure that her shit of a husband gets what's coming. One mark.

10) Bloke phones up to say he's been assaulted by his brother. When we get there, they've already made up but he's got a bit of a fat lip. He doesn't want to give a statement (says it was just an arguement) but I've got a dilema here (see NCRS on the "Creative Writing" post). He's reported a crime and I have to investigate it, and in so doing waste hours of my time. I ask him how he accounts for his injuries, then absent-mindedly rub my foot on the kitchen floor saying, "Ooh, that's a bit slippy" (they'd spilt something during their "arguement"). His eyes light up, "Er, I slipped and banged my face on the cabinet".
"Splendid, sign here and we'll be off!" One mark!

11) After the email I'll be writing about, I realised that I could never come up with anything quite as stupid as management and would only embarass myself by suggesting something with a bit of common sense. I didn't even try. No marks.

12) And finally, well, I'm here. One mark.

Adding them up, eight out of twelve. All in all quite a good set of shifts. I'm working next weekend too on lates and I'm quite looking forward to it.

All Of A Sudden I'm Smiling!

2007-06-15T17:29:00.000+01:00

As my last post has put me in a splendid mood, I thought I'd write a wish list for the set of nights I'm about to start.

1. I want to be able to go to lots of jobs using blue lights and not have to take my pen out of my pocket when I get there.

2. I want to get the chance to watch Hot Fuzz during the wee small hours.

3. I want to arrest a Bad Person and not have to wait for hours to get him booked into custody.

4. I want to go a fight outside a kebab shop and start singing "Eye Of The Tiger" over the p.a. system. Just to see what happens.

5. There should be a squad "camp-a-thon" where one member of the team has to act like Sebastian for an hour at a time.

6. I should be threatened by at least 5 people per night saying "wait til I see you out of uniform".
My reply each time should be, "Well, it's a lovely offer but I'd like to get to know you a bit better before you get me out of uniform". Ideally, this should be whilst it's my turn to "do" Sebastian.

7. I want to have loads of emails from people whinging about me not submitting paperwork to them. I should reply to each of them with a different recipe lifted from the Jamie Oliver website. Again, just to see what happens.

8. I want there to be a report of an automatic alarm at a really nice house so that I can have a good look round and do my Through The Keyhole bit. "Who'd want to live in a house like this?" There's a version we play when we go to visit the underclass - "Who'd want to take heroin and systematically ignore and abuse their children in a slum like this".

9. I want to meet a real victim of a real crime and be able to help them so that they leave feeling a sense of justice and protection from the Police.

10. When I meet a pretend victim of a this didn't really happen crime I want to smile sweetly and use the phrase, "Look, please don't take this the wrong way, but I really don't care enough to stay for another minute.

11. I want to spend some time composing a suggestion to Senior Management. I'll give it some snazzy title like, "The Way Forward - Together". It'll probably involve lots of terms like "stakeholders" and "partner agencies" and the gist will be making all warranted Police officers redundant and replacing them with raspberry flavour Police-shaped jellies. It will no doubt be taken seriously and by the next time you read this blog I'll have been promoted. Twice.

12. Most of all, I'd like to come home safe at the end of the shift.

Eye of The Tiger

Posted Mar 21, 2006

A music video for the 80s classic Survivor - Eye of the Tiger. From Rocky. http://www.rockinthebury.com

Got 'Em!

2007-06-15T17:15:00.000+01:00

Quick update, because I've only just heard, there's been four blokes nicked on suspicion of committing all those distraction burglaries. Apparantly, as is so often the case, they were spotted by some bobbies on patrol who were switched on and locked 'em up.

Can't say too much about it at the moment, for all sorts of legal reasons, except , "yes!!!"

Three Cheers!!!

2007-06-13T19:28:00.000+01:00

I don't know who this guy is, but he's just become one of my favourite people!

I Sometimes Wonder Why We Bother

2007-06-13T17:08:00.001+01:00

I was flicking through the other blogs I like reading earlier and saw this on 200 Weeks' blog.

The post itself is the normal top fair from 200, but I was drawn by one of the comments left below. Just in case I haven't put the link in properly above (which wouldn't be the first time) I'll cut and paste the comment here:

fuck all pigs says:

Great news as another Nazi pig gets put down. What a wonderful week it is now. shame the guy did not stick a few more Nazi pigs before they got him.

Someone should dig up the dirty pig cut off the baldheaded Nazi cunts head and stick it on a lamp post in luton town center, as a warning of what all pig scum should get for being a traitor to the man on the street.

and may may more of the scum follow this scum to an early grave in the most painful way possible.

every dead pig is a victory for the people.

I should apologise first for the language in the post. I thought it was worth people reading it in it's glorious entirety.

Now, given the poster's name is "Fuck All Pigs" (and assuming this isn't referring to their weird sex life) I'm going to assume this guy isn't our biggest fan.

I posted a comment on the blog too making a couple of generalisations about them based on what I've found during my career. They may be right, they may be wrong, and I guess I'll find out by what they reply, but here goes.

Firstly, some people aren't that keen on the Police because of some personal situation. Maybe we've let them down at some point (because, like everyone else, we sometimes make mistakes) or maybe it took us longer than we'd have liked to respond to a call due to the fact that there aren't that many of us.

Whatever the reason, I can normally sympathise with these people and try to do my best to make sure that their latest experience of the Police is a lot better. I'd get a lot of personal satisfaction if I knew that they had changed their opinion in some way because I'd put the effort in.

Then there's the person who HATES the Police. And they're normally quite vocal about it, shouting things like, "I hate the Police".

My normal response is then to ask how many times they've been arrested. The answer's normally somewhere between "several" and "lots".

You see, I've learned that the people who HATE the Police normally do so because we keep catching them breaking the law. And then locking them up for it.

I've lost count of the amount of times I've been accused of harassment because I've stopped the same person for the umpteenth time. ( I once searched the same heroin addict three times in the space of about two hours. The third time he accused me of harassment. I told him that I'd stop searching him when he stopped stealing things. I didn't see him in the town for a couple of months after that. Job done!)

They normally hate us because they're on bail and we do bail checks at midnight to make sure they're not out burgling people's houses. They don't hate us specifically for being on their doorstep; it's more to do with the fact that they can't commit crime because of it.

Then there's the person who hates the Police because all we do is spoil their fun. The fact that their fun involves causing a nuisance for everyone else (who has called us to complain) doesn't really come into their thinking. The bottom line is, in their eyes, they're doing nothing wrong and we're just facist pig baby killers who are agents of a Police State. (They like saying things like that. They once heard somebody else say it on some film or other and it makes them feel very "Che Guevara" to repeat it!)

This is a youtube video from a student "party" that was broken up by Police in Leeds recently. It's just one of loads. If you search under "hessle avenue raid" or similar you'll find lots of comments about The Police State on there.

It's impossible to reason with these people. They are always right and, though they love to spout on about free speech this only applies if you actually agree with them. If you don't agree, it's probably because you're a sexist, racist, facist pig.

The point behind this rather long-winded post is that, regardless of the crap we take from these people, regardless of the abuse they dish out at us, we still go running to their aid whenever they ask for it.

I mean, if they get jumped on their way home after a hard nights yoghurt eating and beanbag sitting who are they going to call? Their mate "Sundance", the committed pacifist? Nope, they're gonna dial 999 and expect us to get there as soon as possible.

I wonder what their reaction would be if we turned up and found some right wing idiot cleaning their boots on the callers face and we just said, "well, sir, this skinhead does have the right to express himself. I don't want to make him feel oppressed in any way." I'm bloody sure they'd be screaming for us to chuck him in the meat wagon, demanding we gave him a kicking.

So, to Fuck All Pigs and all of your like out there I've got this to say. I know you hate me, and I know that you're not going to change your mind any time soon. I also know that, when we meet, you're going to call me all the names under the Sun and treat me in a way that you'd never want to be treated yourself. I know all this, but still I'm here for you. The next time you're in the sh*t with nowhere else to turn, you know where to find me.

PC Jon Henry

2007-06-12T08:28:00.000+01:00

It's now 24 hours since the fatal stabbing of PC Jonathan Henry in Luton. As tends to happen, a few more details are starting to emerge about the incident and about the man himself.

The incident was called in to Police at about 7.15am. So, at this time, Jon and his mates would have been sitting in a briefing, having a brew and chatting about the day ahead. Who had people coming back on bail, who had appointments elsewhere and what work was to be allocated to which officers.

There would have been laughs and jokes, and grumbles about how hard it is getting up on earlies.

Somebody would have been having the p*ss taken out of them for something they did the day before, and they'd have come back with "Ah, but remember that you you managed to lock yourself in that woman's toilet!"

And then the weighty issue of what the squad was going to do for breakfast.

Basically, a team of Police officers getting ready for the day ahead and, tragically, you can imagine them talking about their plans for the evening. Within half an hour one of their number would be dead.

Jon left behind a wife, Mary, and a baby daughter, Maggie, who isn't yet one year old. I've never met them, nor had I met Jon or his team, but I hope that in some small way their grief is helped by the knowledge that they are in the thoughts of so many of us.

It's because of Mary and Maggie that I want to be careful about how I word the rest of this post; to make sure that it isn't disrespectful to Jon's memory. I think it's wrong to use the death of a Police officer to try and make a political point.

But it's the thought of all the Police widows, widowers and orphans that makes me feel like this should be written.

For some time now the majority of frontline Police officers have called for us to receive better protection, both from the judicial system and in terms of the equipment which is issued to us.

Firstly, there needs to be mandatory "life without the hope of parole" sentences for those that murder (and I mean "commit murder" as in this case) Police officers in the line of their duty. The murder of a Police officer was one of the last offences for which a person could be hanged. And, although occasionally a Police officer was shot or stabbed, there was some sort of deterrant there. A person going to commit an armed robbery could think, "if the Police come and I'm cornered, I can either do 10 years for the robbery or hang if I kill the copper". And they would, normally, choose to give themselves up or at the very least not resort to using their guns.

Nowadays, there's no difference between killing a public servant in the course of their duty and killing your neighbour because you've fallen out. I'm not saying the life of the Police officer is worth more, but the fact that they are on duty serving the public should be reflected in sentencing.

It took years for the Police to be issued with a decent baton in this country, and how they wailed and cried in Westminster and in Middle England when they were issued. The same debate happened, to a lesser extent, with the advent of quickcuffs.

When the idea of CS incapacitant spray being issued to every officer was mentioned, you'd have thought that "CS" was actually some sort of machine gun! Still, after an unbelievable amount of drama, it was issued. And today no officer would consider going out on the beat without these three appointments.

The call for Taser is growing. I've heard that at least one force has already bought enough to issue to all frontline officers and are just waiting for the nod from the Home Office (or whatever it's called this week). I wasn't present at the incident yesterday, so my knowledge is limited. But I believe that the murderer was arrested with the assistance of Taser. I can't help wondering if Jon would still be alive today if he had been issued with it himself.

People, I'm thinking about Amnesty amongst others, will tell you how dangerous they are.

Jon Henry's friends and family will tell you how dangerous knives are.

How can I be expected to protect the public effectively without being given the means to do so. I have to be able to protect myself in order to protect others. I too, like Jon, have a family. I'm sure that every Police officer, past and present, who saw the news yesterday had the same thought, "there but for the grace of God..."

Finally, have a look at National Police Memorial . Soon, Jon's name will be recorded here, alongside those other officers who have given their lives in the service of the public.

It's because of this huge list of names and, selfishly and I suppose cowardly, because I don't want to join the list, that I believe it's time for all of us to put pressure on the Government to roll out Taser to all frontline officers.

PC Jonathan Henry

2007-06-11T20:20:00.000+01:00

A quick post before I talk properly about this tomorrow, but I wanted to express my sorrow and dispair at yet another Police officer being killed in the line of duty.

PC Jonathan Henry died from injuries received whilst protecting members of the public from a knifeman in Luton, Bedfordshire.

My thoughts are with his family and friends at this time. I'm proud to wear the same uniform as him.

Why The Police Need Creative Writing Courses

2007-06-09T17:27:00.000+01:00

NCRS, which stands for the National Crime Recording Standards, means, basically, that if somebody reports a crime then it gets recorded as such.

In theory that sounds all right. We're all intelligent people and we know that that space in the corner of the room should have a DVD player in it. Therefore, it has been stolen! Elementary.

However, an unfortunate by-product of NCRS is the fact that we have to take on face value all sorts of spurious reports from some people who are mad, lying deluded or a combination of the three.

"Right, so it was martians who stole your garden gnome? Here's your crime number." Well, it's not quite got to that point yet, but we're not far off.

When I was a lad, I would often get into fights at school. It wouldn't really matter what it was over. Whose ball it was, whose football team you wanted to be on at break, whose dad was hardest and whether your dad really was Mr T. Whatever, at some point during lunch break I'd probably end up having a scrap.

I used to tell me dad when I got home, but soon realised that this lead to me getting a clip around the ear and a telling off. The one thing he didn't do was phone the Old Bill. If he had though, I'm sure some bobby would have come round and, er, given me a clip round the ear probably.

However, if my dad was to phone the Police now the bobby attending would bring with him a hundred weight of paperwork to complete and I'd be video interviewed. Because I'm a victim. Of course, they'd then go and see the other lad (or girl if I'd been properly beaten up) and of course they'd be a victim too. Bottom line, we're both as bad as each other so we can both have juvenile reprimands.

When I first joined the job, which isn't actually that long ago, I went to a reported shoplifter. Turns out it was a 11 or 12 year old girl nicking sweets. She'd never been in trouble before. The shopkeeper knew her and her mum (in fact, he'd already called her) and just wanted her to get a telling off.

So I did. I waited for mum to turn up then I told the girl off until she started crying (otherwise you can't be sure they're actually listening) and then, er, well we all went home. Mum was happy that her daughter wasn't going to Cell Block H and that she'd learnt her lesson, shopkeeper was happy that he could go back to, well, shopkeeping and I got to go back out and look for some proper criminals. I can't remember if I found any. Probably not. But the point is I was out there looking. Nowadays I'd be hauled over the coals for dereliction of duty.

Now I'd have to spend hours on the job; appropriate adults, interviews, solicitors, statements, file preparation....

Because of this, every copper who's been in for a little while (anything over about six minutes) quickly learns the art of "batting" or "cuffing".

In essence, this is a Bad Thing. It means, if I'm honest, getting rid of a job rather than dealing with it "properly". However, "properly" isn't necessarily the best way for all concerned. So some jobs genuinely deserve to get "batted".

If I go to a 11 year old shoplifter tomorrow, in exactly the same circumstances, I can either get the golden "detection" to help off set our unsolved burglaries, in which case I'll get little else done all day, or I can try and introduce a bit of common sense into procedings.

First time around, I could have given a result like, "shopkeeper doesn't want to make a complaint, mum's taken daughter away, no crime". And that's it. Finished. And this was fine with the bosses.

Today's copper has to be much more inventive with the the wording. So, I've found the following phrases of great use...

"There is sufficient doubt to suggest that a crime has not been committed".
"This was not an assault, rather a case of school yard japes". One of my favourites. I actually used this one. And it worked!
"It is impossible to tell whether this is new or old damage".
"A heated arguement rather than an assault".
"No possibility of successful prosecution".
"Not in the public interest to continue".
"A disproportionate use of Police resources".
"The suspect has stated that he made a genuine mistake and has paid the money owed".
"The witness was unable to provide any description".
"There is evidence that the item may actually be simply lost or misplaced".
"A minor neighbour dispute that doesn't amount to harassment".
"Things said in the heat of the moment but not meant".
"An unfortunate, unforeseen set of circumstances which could not have been avoided".

I'm not giving away any secrets. It's only what their solicitors tell them to say, and if we investigate a crime we're looking at all sorts of other things like CCTV, witnesses etc. And that's the point. Police officers like arresting crooks. If we think there's half a chance of locking somebody up who deserves it, we'll be there like a rat up a drainpipe.

It's just that some jobs really neither need nor deserve Police input.

Caller: "My neighbour keeps harassing me by cutting his lawn on Sundays when he knows I like to watch Coronation Street".
Result: "A minor neighbour dispute that doesn't amount to harassment".

See how it works? So, if the government insist in making us nothing more than crime recorders, the least they can do is send us all on a course so that we can do it with a bit of flair!

When Our Best Isn't Good Enough

2007-06-08T17:42:00.000+01:00

I posted the other day about the spate of distraction burglaries we've been having. Well, I got to meet one of the victims to show him some photos of possible suspects.

At first, it wasn't clear that he was going to make the appointment at the station. Not because he couldn't be bothered, but because, at 86, he's also the sole carer for his wife who has dementia. She has good days (like when one of my team went to visit them and she thought he was the gardener. Kept trying to give him a spade!) and bad days, when she doesn't even recognise her own husband.

Luckily, she was having a good day and so "Robert" came in to view the slides I'd set up on the computer.

While we were waiting for the hamster on it's wheel to turn enough for the computer to warm up we were chatting about each other's lives. "Robert" (not his real name) was in the RAF during the Second World War, barely out of his teens. He'd met his wife "Gladys" towards the end of the War and they'd married shortly after as it wasn't certain he'd still be alive if they waited. The closest he's ever got to hurting anyone else was in the defence of this country.

They then spent the next 60 years working hard and paying taxes up until retirement, at which point they just wanted to see out their twilight years in quiet comfort. They have two sons, one who lives in Manchester and one who lives in Australia, and so they are pretty much on their own. But that's fine with them, as long as they have each other.

Neither of them had ever been in any trouble with the Law and, though I've still not met "Gladys", "Robert" was a thoroughly decent and funny chap. He loves his wife dearly and dotes on her.

The burgling scum who carried out this crime were able to because, when they came calling, Robert had popped to the shop to get him and his wife something nice for lunch. Gladys didn't stand a chance but, because it was one of her good days, she was able to tell Robert that some strange men from the water board had been round to check for leaks.

He was immediately concerned and, when he checked, over £500 was missing from the house.

Robert had only just missed them, and actually may have passed them at a neighbours house as he walked back from the shops. Hence his appointment to view photos.

From the description he'd given, I'd put together just over a hundred photos for him to look at. We have to show them in groups of twelve, and to be honest it's really rare that anybody gets picked out. This can make me feel a little blase about showing them, but this was one time I really wanted a result.

We went through the photos twice but none of them rang any bells with Robert. I'd already heard that CSI had found no evidence at their bungalow and, although we may have found a witness from house to house, to be honest it's not looking like we're going to catch them this time.

As I turned to him to give him this news the words just stuck in my throat. The reason I joined the Police was to help the Roberts and Gladys' of this world. And this time, as with all too many others, I've not been able to.

I've got quite adept at lying to the public, trying to give them hope that something will come good when I know full well that it'd take a miracle. But I looked at Robert and he had this look of quiet shame about him, like he'd let me down. I was lucky that he beat me to it and I was able to hide my cowardice in telling him the truth. He said, "well, that's that. Sorry I couldn't pick him out. Thanks very much for trying to help us. It means a lot that you and your officers care enough to try."

Bloody typical, I'm supposed to be helping him and he's the one giving my self esteem a boost!

We've put some things in place with his neighbours that'll make it a lot less likely that this will happen in the future, but that's scant consolation to be honest.

Still, we will catch these bastards. And the best bit will be going round to see Robert and Gladys for a cup of tea and giving them the news.

Canteen Culture

2007-06-08T00:14:00.000+01:00

Although this story appeared in january this year, I'm still hearing a lot about the "Canteen Culture" within the Police. Apparently, it's still rife within the Force.

I'm not sure if I'm doing it right though. When my team are together on a van crew at the weekend we have a laugh, which includes taking the p*ss out of each other.

(And if any of my team are reading this, yes I am only short. And, yes, my hair the other day did make me look like a 10 year old schoolboy. Noted!)

If a member of public draws our attention, then we may well comment, privately, about their physical appearance. Particularly if they look like Quasimodo's bigger, uglier brother.

One of the females on my team dropped a bollock the other week and referred to herself as "having a blonde moment". I didn't challenge her comment.

The probationer with the youngest service said "I'd better go and make the tea then hadn't I? Because I'm the newest". I didn't stop him and give him a big hug. (In fact, I told him not to forget to put 2 sugars in mine.)

The most respected copper on the team referred to one of local oiks as "a thieving little shit". Instead of writing him up for the discipline book, I kind of agreed with him.

One girl, we'll call her "Susan" was outside having a brew and a ciggie with me when she made some comment along the lines of "I think there's too many people sneaking into the country then committing crime. I reckon if they get caught breaking the law they should be sent home again!" I know, I know. I should have reported her to Professional Standards and stood there cheering as she was made an example of. But, given that I agreed with her, too, I'd have felt a bit hypocritical. So I made her another cup of tea.

I've also been overheard referring to people as "girlfriend" rather than "partner"; "black" rather than "african british"; "gay" rather than "member of gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender community" and "tosser" rather than "Superintendent".

I know I'm not supposed to enjoy myself at work, in case somebody takes offence, but I can't help it. I love doing my job, I love helping people (those who actually need my help and not just a slap around the back of the head) and I love the time I get to have a laugh with my squad.

It's just that, with all this unprofessional behaviour, nobody's resigned or gone off sick with "stress due to bullying". I mean, if you believe the hype, we're all spending 8 months of the year on the sick playing golf and putting shelves up at home.

I'm not suggesting for a second that the people who bring in these regulations about what we're allowed to say/do/think are wrong. I mean, they must be right. The Force is spending thousands on them. It's just that, no matter how often I use phrases like "thieving scumbag" or "gutless yob", I don't seem to be upsetting anybody.

Which brings me back to the start of the post. I've looked into it, and I'm definately part of the "canteen culture". But, for some reason, nobody's offended. If anyone's got any suggestions on how I can improve my performance (there's targets to meet here!) I'd be grateful.

A Bit Tipsy Are We Sir?

2007-06-07T18:12:00.000+01:00

Soon after putting on my big hat for the first time I realised that there's two types of drunk people.

The first type is actually, normally quite a laugh. They come staggering up to you, give you a big, beaming smile and slur something like, "You know what? You're a copper you are. I love you. Do you wanna be my friend?" And then they try and give you a (friendly) bear hug. Honestly, I can't take my mum anywhere these days!

I don't mind dealing with Nice Pissed Bloke. They're good value and definately beat Mr Angry as a way to spend ten minutes. They'll tell you that they could have been a pro footballer. And show off their skills with a discarded kebab. Before falling over.

Or that they're going on the X-Factor next week. And then serenade you with a really, really bad song. Sung really, really badly. Before falling over.

Even the ones who want to tell you how bad their lives are, and just drone on and on about how their wife left them, their house fell down and their dog died aren't too bad. You just give them five minutes of TLC before pretending there's something really important going on that you just have to go to. As long as they manage not to vomit on my face I don't mind them at all.

If it's quiet, we've even been known to join in with their singing/dancing/football/reminiscing. It's all in good spirits (literally) and it helps keep up the image of friendly British bobby.

However, there's the other sort of drunk who I hate with the very fabric of my being.

Pissed Angry Man or Pissed Leary Woman who is insisting on having a fight. With someone. Anyone really. Doesn't matter. "He barged into me!" "He spilt my pint!" "He looked at my bird!" "She chatted my bloke up!"

These are the people who insist on being arrested. Even when you're giving them the chance to just get into a taxi and go home. You'll say to them, "Look, why don't you just go home. You've had a good night, time to get yourself off." And the inevitable reply is, "I don't have to go nowhere! You can't tell me! You f*cking pr*ck!"

Right. Best you come with me then.

These are the same people who phone up, absolutely bladdered, reporting that they've been assaulted by bouncers. And they've done nothing wrong! Even when you point out that the CCTV shows them trying to start fights all round the club, including with the door staff.

"I wanna make a complaint!"

"Yeah, me too sunshine. But who's gonna listen?"

And they'll get all brave when their mates are with them. Full of "Wait 'til I see you off duty!" (At this stage, I normally point out that their grammar's atrocious. "But you're not on duty, sir. Did you mean "Wait until I see you when you're off duty"?")

This stage is normally followed by the bit when they start crying, which in turn is followed by the bit where they get violent again.

So we have to restrain them and then they get the chance to complain about us assaulting them the next day.

This sort of drunk person makes my Friday and Saturday late shifts a complete pain in the arse. You need the patience of a Saint and half a dozen witnesses to prove that he got that crack on the swede by headbutting the side of the car.

I've realised that the best way to deal with them, as you take them to the ground, restrain them and wrap them up with limb restraints is to get ultra, ultra nice and professional.

"Now now sir, we don't want to do that do we? We might end up hurting ourselves."

Or the fantastic, "Is there anything I can reasonably do or say that will help you to calm down?"

"Fuck off!!!!"

"I'll take that as a no then sir". This has to be delivered with your best "media smile" to be completely effective.

Strip Search

2007-06-07T01:02:00.000+01:00

One of the parts of my job I dislike the most is strip searching people. And until Keira Knightly or Eva Longoria decide to come to Mytown and start stealing, then insisting on dealing with me alone then that's unlikely to change.

There's a couple of reasons why, when in Police custody, you might end up being strip searched.

If you've been arrested for being in possession of drugs, or if you're a known, current drug user then it's pants off. This is to make sure you don't have any more hidden away that you can overdose on whilst in your cell. Because then we'll lose our jobs. Oh, and we don't want anything bad to happen to you.

If you're known to be suicidal then, again, you may well be strip searched. This is to make sure you can't self-harm whilst in your cell. Because then we'll lose our jobs. Oh, and we don't want anything bad to happen to you.

And then, if you're known to carry weapons or if the offence you've been brought in for is weapons related then, again, you'll have me or Female Me staring at your bits shortly afterwards.

I also saw one person get strip searched after repeatedly telling the Custody Sergeant to "f**k off!", though I'm not sure whether that was the reason for the search.

Anyway, you go in front of the Custody Sgt who directs the officers to conduct a strip search. You'll then be taken to a cell with at least two officers. They will ask (which means tell, but we're polite) you to remove the top half of your clothing which will then, in turn, be searched. You'll then have to pop your hands on your heads so that they can see you haven't got anything squirrelled away in your arm pits. If you've got particularly long arm pit hair, they'll have to give it a little rummage through to make sure there's nothing in there.

You'll then put your top half clothing back on (or the Police issue paper top if we're keeping your clothes) and you'll have to remove the lower half of your clothing. And, yes, this does include your underwear. I've strip searched some people, who have been in exactly the same position dozens of times, and try to swear blind that last time they didn't have to take their shreddies off. Well, you do. And if you refuse I'll have to come over and do it for you. Which will involve me touching you whilst you're naked. And I really don't want to do that.

You'll then have to show the soles of your feet and squat down to make sure there's nothing hidden where the Sun don't shine. Anyway, you then put your clothes back on and that's it. It doesn't take very long, but it's not very pleasant for any of us.

Apart from the vagrants. These people seem to revel in getting a bit of air to their boy bits. They'll stand there in the cell and swing "it" about looking like they're in the middle of a country stroll.

And they smell like something has crawled up their arse and died. As do their holey underpants, which I have to turn inside out to make sure there's nothing hidden in there. I am able to sit here and swear, on oath if necessary, that skid marks come not just in brown but in a variety of different colours. And textures.

The drug users are often covered in pus filled absesses, particularly around the groin where they "deep vein" because their other veins have collapsed. Their clothes stick to the sores and pull off any fresh scabs they've got.

And I've heard all sorts of unpleasant stories from female colleagues about them having strip searched female prisoners who are on their period but who haven't, er, fully taken care of their feminine hygeine. It's for this reason we keep a store of sanitary towels in the custody block.

Sometimes, of course, even a strip search doesn't find everything. Heroin users, particularly, are very adept at hiding some fairly large, sometimes sharp objects up their bums. One bloke, knowing that he was going to get nicked, managed to get heroin, citric acid, spoon and cigarette lighter up there. That's when you know that, perhaps, your addiction has got to an unmanageable state.

So, that's my bit done for the recruitment department. Should bring the applications flocking in. When they suggested a "warts and all" look at Policing, maybe they didn't have the hairy wart on some wino's backside in mind though?

There's Scum Then There's....

2007-06-03T16:19:00.000+01:00

Most Police officers reading this will be on nodding terms with "Operation Litotes" and "Operation Liberal". For those of you who haven't heard these terms before though, they are to do with "distraction burglaries".

Now I reckon most coppers (though I can only really speak for myself) have some sort of grudging respect for decent villains. The type who plan their heist down to the final detail, sneak in and out without anyone noticing and nobody gets hurt. Think "Oceans Eleven" but with less hair spray.

I would love to catch somebody who's done a job like that, but I'd probably shake their hand just before I shut the cell door on them.

However, this isn't Hollywood and most of the criminals in our area don't have the same gleaming white smiles and $500 hair cuts. They have the brown, yellow and black teeth with greasy, dirty mop of hair that is normal for the raging heroin or crack cocaine addict.

And they don't plan their jobs to the minutest detail. They instead find a house that looks like somebody elderly lives there and then try and con their way in. I'm not giving away any secrets here. Groups like "Help The Aged" and "Age Concern" have been offering advice to the elderly about this type of criminal for years.

Trouble is, it normally gets ignored. Not because the person involved is stupid, but rather because they come from a different generation and don't like to seem rude. So when a total stranger turns up at their door, the old person's first thought is probably, "I'll try and help this person". Of course, the person at the door is thinking "Where's your pension book?" There was a two hour delay in us getting one of these jobs reported the other day because the victim concerned didn't want to bother us!

A genuine victim of crime, who really needed us there and then, didn't phone us because she probably knew we'd be too busy trying to sort out the latest arguement between "Dean" and "Bianca" or taking a statement from somebody desperate to use us as a weapon in some insignificant feud.

I've posted about this sort of crime before, right at the start of the blog. I can't remember if I wrote that we caught the bloke in question. He's since had his bail cancelled because the CPS has decided to put it in the Too Difficult Box and not prosecute.

This guy, incidentally, describes himself as "Irish Traveller Builder". Only he was born in the UK, lives in a house (paid for by me and thee) and doesn't build anything. Instead he's decided he's far less likely to get his (stolen) jeans dirty by just stealing money instead.

I'm writing this blog because there's a spate of these jobs happening at the moment, all over the country and more than a dozen elderly people in our area have been hit in the last couple of weeks.

Now, I won't say too much about their technique because some smart arse brief might decide that it predjudices some future trial. Because we WILL catch them. That's not the issue. It's just whether or not we catch them in the house and record them saying to the occupant, "I was actually lying to get in here. I only really want to steal everything you own that isn't nailed down". Because otherwise the CPS will just laugh when we send them the file.

To be fair, most of the victims don't make the best witnesses. Poor eyesight, the onset of dementia and a prediliction for trusting everybody all conspire to make them excellent targets for the gutless thieves who do this sort of thing. It's just that, with the other job I mentioned, we actually did have a picture of him entering the lady's house. And he was good enough to be wearing the same clothes when we nicked him the next day. He was as guilty as a puppy sitting next to a pile of poo, and still he gets away with it.

So, I'm instead going to go and visit all the elderly people in my street and let them know that this sort of thing is going on. Again. And hopefully one or two of them will be that much less likely to fall victim.

The other step is to lobby the government to push for tougher sentences for these people who specifically target the most vulnerable people in our society. I'm going to suggest throwning them into bags and beating them around the head and neck with cricket bats.

And Another Thing...

2007-06-01T15:13:00.000+01:00

Whilst doing the "Quotas" post, I started thinking about some of the training that our new officers get. I've noticed that quite a few of them are a little bit reticent about laying hands on people during arrests or they tend to freeze a bit during other confrontations.

This isn't because of them as individuals. The Police haven't started recruiting directly from the W.I.

I reckon it's because of the way their training is pitched.

Every lesson has a moral, and that moral is generally "If you do this, you'll get sacked".

During Officer Safety Training they're told that they have to justify their actions (quite rightly so too) but that if they receive a complaint of excessive force then they could, potentially, end up with a criminal complaint against them and lose their job.

It's all, "Do this, lose your job. Do that, get a complaint. Do the other, get disciplined. Do practically anything, and potentially all those could happen plus your picture will be shown to small children as a warning to behave themselves."

So when they're getting all this negative input, is it any reason that some of them end up thinking, "hang about, if I don't do anything then I can't get sacked..."

Instead of having confidence instilled in them, they instead have fear thrown at them.

Instead of being told, "In these set of circumstances, it's perfect reasonable to....", they are told, "Well, it's for you to justify. And if you can't then you're out on your ear".

I've had probationers stare at me in disbelief as I've grabbed somebody and thrown them across a garden and into a fence, before taking them to the ground and cuffing them face down. They've asked, "Er, Sarge. Are you sure it's OK to do that?"
And I've replied, "Well, yeah, he was trying to stab me with a screwdriver".

Even then they're not sure. I know because they'll say things like, "I'm not sure".

Our society needs a Police Service that is disciplined and only resorts to force when it's necessary. But, when it is necessary, those officers need to have the confidence and skill to act firmly and decisively without dithering. Otherwise they, their colleagues and any members of the public we're supposed to be protecting will get hurt.

When I'm tucked up in bed, I don't want to have some nutter with anger management problems looking after me. But, at the same time, I don't want a load of pseudo Social Workers worrying about the Human Rights Act either. In fact, I want Pat and Carl from Road Wars...

Quotas

2007-06-01T14:47:00.000+01:00

I was speaking with a probationer on my team last night about how he feels he's getting on. Basically, he was quite happy overall but worried about a comment that his tutor made during his last review.

Whilst they were going through his work, the tutor raised a concern that the probationer wasn't giving out enough tickets. This isn't the first time that this has happened. The last time, the other officer concerned went out and dished out a dozen or so seatbelt tickets. I suggested that his tutor had spent a little bit too long staring at white boards and not long enough dealing with members of public.

Now, this is quite a difficult subject to broach.

On the one hand, if somebody is using their mobile or haven't worn their seatbelt, then they know they're in the wrong. They can't really argue if they get a ticket.

But personally, I like to make a distinction between the types of people I deal with, and this will have an effect on who does and doesn't drive off with a fine.

I think my job is to make things a difficult as possible for the bad people, so that the good people can go about their lives as safely and unhindered by crime as possible. Likewise, I don't think I'm here to alienate decent people who've made a minor mistake and who, otherwise, are probably more law abiding than most of the politicians who write legislation.

If I stop Mr Joe C Decent, who has never been in trouble before, goes about his life not causing bother for anyone and just wants to get on with things, then they're probably going to get a bit of a mild ticking off. And as long as I think they're actually listening to me then that'll be the end of matters. (Not always. See "The Attitude Test").

However, if I stop Billy D Burglar for not wearing a seatbelt, and if they are still getting up to no good, then that person is almost certainly going to get a ticket. My thinking being, "If today I can't arrest you for stealing DVD players, then at the very least I can give you this".

It's only a ticket, I know, but at least it feels like I'm chipping away at a criminal's activity. And anyway, they won't have insurance so eventually they'll be disqualified from driving which helps disrupt them even more. (On a side issue, I got into trouble once. Whilst giving out a producer, I asked one burglar "Where do you want to fail to provide?" He didn't see the funny side and put in a complaint. Never mind.)

I think that sometimes we're a bit too quick to forget that we sometimes make mistakes and commit some of the more minor offences. I know plenty of coppers with points on their licences. It doesn't make them bad Police officers, but it does remind us that we're all only human. We can all have an off day and I don't think it should always cost us money or points on our licence.

We're in danger of alienating a huge proportion of the public on whose support we rely. And the other officer, whilst doing what his tutor said and dishing out tickets left, right and centre, helped perpetuate that. Like I've said, if all twelve recipients were active criminals then I wouldn't have a problem. After all, I reckon we've already lost their support given that we keep locking them up.

So, my own policy (definately not the Force's) is that if you're a criminal and I stop your car, then you're going to end up with a bit of paper to show for it. Otherwise, as long as you at least give the impression that you're paying attention, you'll be OK.

That said, the other day I stopped one abnoxious rich fella who definately was paying attention. In fact, whilst paying attention he sneered, "I could pay your wages with what I make in one day". So, he should be able to afford the fine then, eh?

Another Quiet Night

2007-05-30T13:18:00.000+01:00

Not much happened last night.

Just the stabbing of a newspaper delivery man, the drug assisted rape of a woman who'd been out with her friends and an aggravated burglary where somebody got pepper sprayed and beaten with a metal bar in their own home.

All of these were pretty big jobs, but the one I wanted to post about was the first job of the night. Nothing special, just a routine anti-social behaviour job. Kiddies messing about, making noise and setting fire to trees. Fortunately, unsuccessfully.

I caught up to a group of four of them and, though they were initially pretty gobby, three of them took on board the threat of being dragged home to mum for a proper telling off.

One of them though, a fifteen year old who'd been on the cheap lager, refused to listen to what he was being told. He was argumentative, loud, obnoxious and very nearly ended up being tied to one of the trees they'd tried to set alight whilst I showed him how to do the job properly.

I took him home and his mum, an enormous, scary looking woman with prerequisite stained dressing gown, blaring TV and hoard of screaming children answered the door. It was, by now, midnight.

She started screaming at the little oik before I'd even got into the lounge (I use the word "lounge" only because the TV in here was louder than the others. To be honest I'm guessing. It could've been the kitchen for all I know. Everything was buried under dirty washing).

I tried explaining why I was here and she'd interrupt me to point out that her son was a "little shit". Now, it's rude to disagree with a lady, so I nodded and said, "well yes, I suppose he is. But we should probably try and calm down a bit." Little Oik's reaction was to tell his mum to "f*ck off, you pr*ck!"

It was about this time that I lost patience, and anyway I was starting to get dizzy with the smell. So I locked him up for being Drunk & Disorderly (using those Section 69 powers again) and took him down to custody.

I've done some extensive research into the subject of the people who inhabit our sink estates and I've found that Underclass + Alcohol - Intelligence = Arguements, Fighting and Grief for me. I know they can't help it though. Trying to drag themselves up into some sort of decency would require an awful lot of effort and would eat right into their TV and Pub time. So I don't blame them for their failings.

On a side issue, this lad re-defined the word "thick". His grasp of the English language spoke volumes of his parents interest in his schooling and underlined why I could never be a teacher.

Whilst I was booking him in, he kept jibbering on about how he hadn't started any fires, oblivious to the fact that that's not why he was there. "I didn't burn nuffin!" he'd cry indignantly.

I tried to do my bit to introduce him to the Queen's English by pointing out that this was, in fact, a double negative which meant that he'd just admitted to burning something.

He looked at me with a glazed expression. "Yer what? I didn't burn nuffin!"

The Inspector was there doing custody reviews. He valiantly tried too. "What you should say is "I didn't burn anything" It's correct English"

"Yer what? This is my English! And I didn't burn nuffin!"

I gave up and went for a coffee. Apparently he's told his mum he's going to be an engineer and build things when he leave school. Out of lego probably.

No One Likes Us, We Don't Care

2007-05-29T12:01:00.000+01:00

Nights last night, and it was fairly quiet. Only one job really stands out.

Just before 3am a bloke phones the Police reporting a concern for the welfare of a friend of his. Apparently, she had taken an overdose and threatened to throw herself off her balcony. Our control room ran her through PNC on our way there and updated us that she makes allegations against Police officers. Including allegations of sexual offences. Splendid!

We got there within a few minutes and spoke to the informant, who was very drunk. He told us that his friend, a woman, and he had been drinking and that she had become depressed. He said she'd taken up to 30 tablets and threatened to take more, plus she had made the threat to launch herself off her balcony.

We spoke to "Lorretta" via her flat intercome and were told to f**k off. She explained that we were on private property and had no right to be there. Not strictly true, but I didn't feel that it was the right time for a legal debate. We got a neighbour (who, given the time, was surprisingly pleasant) to let us into the communal entrance and we walked up to her flat.

I knocked on the door and spoke to her through the letterbox. And the language she came out with made me blush. A laydee screaming things like, "f**k off you f**king pr*ck rapist c**t! I hate the f**king Police! You're all wa*kers!" And so it went on. Already this woman was starting to try my patience. Inbetween insults, she'd say things like, "Yeah, so what? I'm gonna top myself. Why don't you just f**k off and let me get on with it?" And, much as at this point I'd love to let her crack on, I've now got a duty of care towards her. There was a point where I could have passed a couple of razor blades and some more pills through the letterbox to her though.

But, I'm a professional, so I can't let that show. However, I eventually had to point out that, if we had to, we would force an entry to her flat. Which would cause a lot of damage. Wouldn't it be easier just to open the door so that the paramedics could speak to her? Apparently not. It was actually easier to prop herself up against the other side of the door to stop us being able to use the Big Red Door Key.

To stop myself from swearing at her, a mate and I left one of the paramedics and another bobby to stare at her backside through the letterbox and went off to check whether we could get in anywhere else.

We popped round to the other side of the building and her balcony was possibly reachable, with a bit of lateral thinking. Three of us made this sort of wobbly human pyramid thing, and I was just able to reach the bottom of the balcony and drag myself up, my feet slapping another of my mates round the chops. If this sounds impressive, then it definately wasn't. Think "pissed Chinese acrobat with inner ear problem".

Poking my head over the top I could see that she'd moved to the lounge and was on the phone. She still hadn't noticed me, so I helped one of the other officers climb up, just as she looked up and noticed us. It was quite strange, we both just sort of looked at each other before both thinking, at the same time, "patio door!"

We made a dash for it and I got there about half a second before she did, letting myself in followed by my colleague.

Now, if she was unpleasant before, she was really quite nasty now! Screaming in our faces, swearing, calling us every name under the Sun. With her following me down the hallway I went and let the other officers and paramedics in through the front door.

It was now about 3.15am. We tried to talk to her, and make her understand that she needed medical attention. But she was now saying tha she hadn't taken any pills. But that she did feel like killing herself. And then she'd scream a bit more, telling us to f**k off out of her flat!

For some reason, she took a particular dislike to me. I think it's because I chose to deal with her abuse by looking confused and saying things like, "Loretta, I think we've got off on the wrong foot her. I think there's issues we need to iron out before we can move on?" If I'm honest, I could see that this really wasn't calming her down, but there's only so many times you can be called a "f**king pr*ck c*nt rapist w*nker!" before the novelty starts to wear off.

I also had to think about how we could resolve this issue. We couldn't invoke a Section 136 Mental Health Act detention because she was in her home. We could potentially get a doctor and Approved Social Worker to assess her mental health, but it was now getting on for 4am on a bank holiday Monday. And because she had been drinking I knew they'd say she was unassessable.

I left her phoning various news desks of various national papers to go and make a phone call to the Out Of Hours Social Services. I spoke to a chap who was actually quite helpful. He agreed to get the doctor to phone back and speak to Loretta. Maybe he could persuade her? To be honest, we'd stopped thinking she was that serious about killing herself now, but you have to consider what it'd look like if we left her and she did go and kill herself. Out of spite if nothing else. So we were going to have to stick it out.

I let Loretta know what was happening and was only interrupted a couple of times as she screamed all sorts of rubbish at me. Then the phone rang and she put on this amazing telephone voice, like a receptionist at a top bank's head office. She sounded like the bloody Queen, "Hello doctor, yes doctor, no doctor, please tell them to go away doctor".

She handed the phone over to me and went off to scream at someone else. The doctor said he'd pop round to see if he could persuade her to go to hospital voluntarily and rang off.

And we stood around. And waited. And waited. We had nothing to do other than get abused by this drunken, unstable, slightly odd-smelling banshee! Every now and again she'd smash something or shout at us to leave, but by 5am the shine had definately gone off this job.

Both our control room and the paramedics control room were chasing up the doctor, who still hadn't arrived, and I spent most of the time on the balcony talking to a lovely paramedic about our jobs and different incidents we'd been to. Smashing people, paramedics. We both agreed that if the doctor wasn't there soon then we'd throw ourselves off the balcony, just so we didn't have to listen to this bloody woman.

The doctor eventually turned up at about twenty past five. I quickly briefed him in and then he popped into Loretta's bedroom to speak to her. I'd warned him that she made allegations but he didn't seem to care. He was in there for less than five minutes before coming out and saying he wasn't concerned and we could go.

He hadn't even finished the sentence before he was nearly stampeeded by a load of coppers and a couple of paramedics. Poor chap. For all I know he's still lying there with boot prints on his forehead.

This isn't the first job like this I've had to deal with, and I'm sure it won't be the last. Loretta did have one bit of originality about her. I've posted before about how people name drop with the Police, "I know Such and Such. He's my mate and he'll have your job." That sort of thing.
Well, whilst we were there Loretta screamed at me, "I know your Chief Constable Xxxx Xxxx (she even got his name right!).
I replied, "Really, tell him I said "hi"."
Loretta: "Yeah, he's a w*nker too!"

Excellent, not just me then!

Health And Safety

2007-05-28T18:50:00.000+01:00

I went on a Health And Safety course the other week, specifically tailored for Policing.

Now, I didn't have particularly high hopes to start with, but when the person giving the training kicks off with the question, "What risk assessments did you carry out on your way in to work today?", you know you're in for a long day. (Apparently, the chap "continually risk assesses his environment, starting with making sure the dog isn't asleep next to the bed so he doesn't trip over it. This bloke IS his job.)

Still, I persevered and managed to pay attention to most of it. And I'm happy to report it's too dangerous for me to leave the station. And to stay in the station. I suggested staying in bed, but that's too dangerous as well.

This country has gone crazy for Health and Safety, and the man from the H&SE with his clipboard now holds more sway than any Chief Constable. It's one thing keeping a weather eye out for trailing electrical wires and signs that say "Danger, Asbestos! If you come in here you will die soon!"

But practically everything I do involves some sort of risk.

I put this to him: "What about the incredibly violent chap who'd really rather not be arrested?"
His answer? "Well, under those circumstances you should have enough officers present to minimise the risk before you arrest him. About five or six."
Me (chuckling): "What if there's only three officers on duty?"
Him (annoyed): "Well you have to risk assess!"
Me (starting to enjoy myself): "OK, I've assessed it. We haven't enough officers. Now what?"
Him (smiling now): "Ah, well then you withdraw."
Me (admittedly a bit smug): "But then wouldn't I be neglecting my duty? What if it was you he'd just assaulted? You'd want him arresting wouldn't you?"
Him (looking for something to throw at me before realising that'd be "dangerous") "Right, moving on....."

You see, Health and Safety is difficult to implement if your job is, by definition, not very healthy. Or safe.

Broken sleeping patterns due to shift work. DANGEROUS!
Running through gardens chasing thieves. DANGEROUS! (but really good fun!)
Going into a put to arrest somebody for a serious assault. DANGEROUS!
Driving quickly to a burglar on premises. DANGEROUS!
Entering a house during a domestic incident. DANGEROUS!
Having somebody wave a knife at you because "They're coming!" DANGEROUS.

If you ask The Man With The Clipboard everything is dangerous. Their lives must be bloody dull! But anyway, in the spirit of reconcilliation, I've decided to do my bit to meet them halfway and I've designed a new Police uniform.

I don't know if it'll catch on. And one or two of my colleagues might not be pleased. But the chap from the HSE is going to love it.

The Attitude Test

2007-05-28T10:52:00.000+01:00

Does not exist. There is no such thing. Official!

Right, hopefully Professional Standards have got bored and stopped reading now.

Of course there's such a thing as an attitude test. It might not be something that we do consciously, but we're only humans after all. So it follows that everybody, regardless of their job, is also susceptible to it.

If you work in a bank and a customer comes in shouting the odds at you, being aggressive and abusive, then let's face it you're not going to bend over backwards for him. It's human nature that you're going to get defensive and get him chucked out.

We're the same. If we stop a car because the driver isn't wearing a seat belt, then the quickest way for them to guarantee getting a ticket is to get all unpleasant with us. And, conversly, the best way to try and get away with just a ticking off is to be a bit nice. That's not to say I expect people to kiss my ass and treat me like God. Just an acknowledgement that they're in the wrong and a civil, polite, "I won't do it again officer, sorry" is probably going to save you £60 if it's me who stops you.

The reason I mention this is my best mate got a complaint the other day. He'd stopped somebody driving down a service road. Very minor offence. Now my mate (and you'll have to take my word here) is the sort who prefers catching proper villains to dishing out tickets for minor traffic offences. He walked up to the driver's window and gave a cheery "hello". The driver's response was, "What!? I'm off to pick up my daughter. I haven't got time for this rubbish! You lot are just tax collectors. This is highway robbery and you haven't got any right to stop me!" Etc etc, and so it went on. And the guy got a ticket.

When he made the complaint, he admitted the offence but said that my mate was out of order for asking him to get out of his car and for then refusing to get in the guy's car with him.

For some reason, and I genuinely struggle to understand why, there's a lot of people who think it's perfectly OK to speak to us like we're dirt. In a way that they'd never stand to be spoken to by anyone else. You'd have thought that the fact they were speaking to a Police officer might engender a little bit of respect. But no: "I pay your wages". "You're a public servant". I've heard them all before.

A report was published recently stating that in our Force the number of official complaints against Police regarding "attitude" and "civility" has rocketed. It's funny really, because I've had a few of these myself. And on every single occasion the person making the complaint has been really abusive towards me during the incident.

Well, I've decided enough is enough. I deal with enough nasty jobs and people to help keep the public safe. I don't get paid to be spoken to the way my chum was. So I reckon the way forward is to spread a bit of love. Try and cheer the angry people up a bit. From now on, whenever anybody tells me "I pay your wages!" they're gonna get a huge hug and I'll start delivering thank you cards to their house every day. Maybe flowers on Sunday?

And if they tell me "You're a public servant!" I'll turn up at their house at 3am on a Sunday morning and ask if there's any light dusting they need doing. I might even wear a little apron.

And if they tell me I'm just a tax collector, they can expect a visit every other day reminding them that "self assessment needn't hurt, get your tax returns in on time".

You Might Need An Adult To Help You With This Bit...

2007-05-27T12:30:00.001+01:00

I've just been reading a post on a blog called Purple Plus that reminded me of a job I went to a couple of years ago.

The radio message from control room was "Male assaulted by group of youths. They've attacked him with a knife and cut his finger off!"

So, fairly nasty job. We all (four of us) went shooting round there. I asked the area car to go and see him whilst one officer did house to house enquiries in the block of flats. Meanwhile, I took one for the team and did an area search for this guy's finger. He'd said that it happened near some shops close to his flat. It was cold and windy and I was crawling through hedges and all sorts with my torch looking for the missing digit.

Finding nothing, I started following the route back to his place, still looking for the finger. Still no sign and, strangely, no trail of blood.

The officers with the male were updating me that they weren't sure about his story. He was also giving the paramedics a bit of a hard time. He just wasn't acting very "victim". The Police officers thought that, perhaps, he wasn't being entirely straightforward with the truth.

By the time I got to his flat, the ambulance had taken him off to hospital followed by one of the Police officers. I walked in and immediately was hit by the stench of rotten food. His kitchen was piled up with half eaten meals and piles of cat poo.

His pet cat, a scraggly looking thing, was limping around the flat bumping into things. Poor thing looked like it was on it's last legs.

I went into the lounge and there was even more mess. The guy was clearly not great at looking after himself. Worryingly, there was also a lot of military stuff lying around, including knives. Lots of knives.

There was some blood on the sofa and coffee table, but not huge amounts. However, there was also a copy of Jamie Oliver's cook book there too. And that had bloody hand prints on it. As well as marks that looked an awful lot like they'd been made by knives cutting something.

On a hunch, and holding my nose to help with the smell, we started searching through the flat. There was no blood near the front door, but there was a trail of blood leading from the bedroom to the lounge.

Now, if the kitchen was a bit unpleasant the bedroom was even worse. I won't go into too much detail, as I write this I've just had my breakfast, but let's just say there were a few times that he clearly couldn't be bothered walking to the toilet when he'd been caught short in the night.

There was more blood in the bedroom, particularly on and around the bed. Oh, and more knives. But still no finger! Though I've got to admit that when I was poking around the poo stained clothes that perhaps I might have looked a bit closer.

I followed the trail of blood back to the sofa in the lounge. Next to the cookery book there was another, really evil looking knife, and a pair of small gardening sheers. Both had what looked to my non-CSI eye like blood on them.

I was with one of the bobbies on my team, Justin, and we looked at each other still a bit confused. We looked under the cushions on the sofa and, though there was some more blood, his sodding digit still hadn't turned up.

I checked in with the officer at the hospital. I asked him to make sure this guy's finger wasn't hiding in one of his pockets. But no, still no trace. He did update me, though, that the exact details the victim was giving kept changing. He couldn't remember anything about the people who did this, or where it happened. He was also still very agressive in the way that he was speaking to people. I told him I'd come down as soon as I could.

I looked down at the floor next to the table and there seemed to be more blood pooled there than anywhere else. Justin and I got down on our hands and knees and lifted up the sofa. I got my torch and stuck my head under and there was the guy's finger, now about three inches from the end of my nose!

After I'd run around screaming and swearing for a few seconds, we wrapped the finger in the cleanest thing we could find (which, to be honest, wasn't that clean) and then popped it in a bag of frozen chips.) Justin took it down to the hospital for me whilst I went outside for a calming cigarette.

So, no signs of a struggle outside. Nothing heard by the neighbours. No blood anywhere outside the flat or near the front door (including around the handle). No sign of forced entry and the finger was under the guy's sofa. And he lives alone. He'll have done it himself then. He cut his own finger off with one of his knvies using the cookery book as a chopping block. Then he snipped off any straggly ends with the gardening sheers.

I updated the officer at the hospital about what we'd found and the fact that we were bringing his finger down to the guy so they could be reunited.

When we pointed out to the bloke that he'd clearly done this himself he said, "well, yeah. But I didn't want to get into trouble so I thought I'd better say somebody else did it to me".

I asked him why he did it in the first place. His reply: "I didn't like it any more".

Riigghhht. I disappeared and went off to arrange a visit from the hospital psychiatrist.

Oh, and the surgeons couldn't reattach the finger. Too badly damaged. So, if you're at the shops in Mytown and the bloke stood just behind you smells a bit pooey, has a strange look in his eyes and has difficulty picking his nose, my advice is to take three big steps backwards. And don't give him anything sharp.

Tough On Crime

2007-05-26T18:28:00.000+01:00

I've just been reading the Labour Party manifesto from 1997 as part of a thread I was writing on Police Oracle

It surprisingly makes quite interesting reading. I'm not saying that the people who wrote and publicised it were lying. But perhaps they are a little bit...forgetful. Take a cheeky look if you fancy it: http://www.psr.keele.ac.uk/area/uk/man/lab97.htm

The thing is, before you decide how to cut crime, you have to understand why people commit crime. Basically, it's easier than having a job. If you have a job then you have to turn up on time, be nice to your boss, work reasonably hard, pay tax, sit next to the guy with B.O. during lunch. The list in endless. You can understand why they want to avoid the stress of it all.

Whereas, if you choose to lead a life of crime then you can pretty much work your own hours, you don't have to be nice to people if you don't want, tax is out of the question and if you have to sit next to somebody with B.O. you can get your own back by nicking his wallet.

So, if I'm right and career criminals choose to be such because it's easier, then it follows that we have to make their choice harder.

So this is my manifesto. I'm not actually standing for office, but perhaps this week's Home Secretary might want to cut and paste it and pass it off as his own?

1. Give discretion back to Police officers. If they're not chasing petty rubbish simply to meet Government targets then they can concentrate of giving proper criminals a quality service.

2. Allow the Police Federation, in consultation with ACPO and the Home Office, to decide what level of beaurocracy is actually necessary. You see, we know that some is unavoidable. But, trust me, we can trim it right down for you and so make ourselves more efficient.

3. Build prisons. Lots of them. I reckon about eight to ten should do it. At the moment prison population is around the 80,000 mark. Liberals will try and tell you that this means you have failed. They're wrong! It means you've successfully locked up 80,000 criminals. Imagine how much more successful that makes you if you filled all your new prisons with other criminals.

4. Remember, the first priority for prisons is to make it that bit safer for decent people to walk the streets. Yes, it's nice if they rehabilitate offenders. If possible, we should aim for that. But recognise that some people are inherently dishonest or violent. Not your fault! Just keep them locked up.

5. A 5 year sentence should mean "5 years". Prisoners shouldn't get time off for good behaviour. They should get time added on for bad behaviour. Give this power back to prison governors.

6. Labour tried to show how tough on crime they were by introducing mandatory prison sentences for people who commit their third dwelling burglary. Wrong! I would introduce mandatory prison sentences for people who commit their first dwelling burglary. And, after release, if they commit another one we'll send them back again. For twice as long. And so on. Pretty soon burglars will be receiving 8 year sentences for their crimes. Word will get around: "it's not worth it".

7. A huge proportion of crime is committed by people addicted to Class A drugs. And they are then allowed to use this as mitigation for their crimes. Wrong! Again! They're admitting to further offences. This is an aggravating factor and should whack another few months on top of their sentence.

8. Following on, they know that if they get caught with a "personal" amount on them, they'll get a little slap on the wrist and not much else. Send them to prison for what we'll call "Narcotic Custodial Sentences" - basically you're sentenced to, for example, 6 to 12 months. And whilst they're there offer them drugs counselling. If, and only if, they successfully complete their treatment, they get to leave after 6 months. If not, it's not a problem. They get to stay for the full 12 months.

9. Allow Chief Constables, reporting to an elected Police Authority, to run their own Forces. You see, Home Secretary, you don't live where I do. I've got a better idea of what the problems are outside my front door than you do.

10. Crime is intrinsically anti-social. A crime is committed against society as a whole, as well as the individual victim. So on conviction, a criminal should repay that debt, whether they have received a custodial or a community based punishment. Picking up litter, painting over graffiti, whatever is decided by the Court. And they should be nice and visible while they're doing it.

11. Speaking of anti-social behaviour, if a person is evicted due to their behaviour then they should be blacklisted throughout the country from social housing. Evictions should also be simplified and easier for the Police and Local Authorities to get. I know, they'll say that they've got kids so they can't be made homeless. That's OK. We'll put the children into care. Let's face it, they'll probably be better off than with their parents.

Anyway, just a few ideas. I won't hold my breath for the Liberal Democrats asking me to stand in the next election. But, honestly, the vast majority of people out there just want to be safe and don't want to have to worry about whether their DVD player will be there when they get back from the shops.

A Disclaimer

2007-05-26T01:00:00.000+01:00

I was chatting to somebody the other day and they mentioned that I should have some sort of disclaimer on the blog. "This Does Not Reflect Official Policy" or something. Apparently it's so that

a) if I say something naughty it might help me with the "bringing the Force into disrepute" charge and;
b) so that people don't think it's an official Police Force site.

Now, I'm in with the first. Anything to help me see my pension.

But seriously, how many Chief Constables dance round PSU vans waving their arms around and singing songs? I'd have thought it was fairly obvious that this isn't the official blog of, well, anyone. For one thing, if it was there'd be less spelling mistakes.

But, just so that there's no mistakes, here's a video of me during my training. Aye!

There. The Chief's not got one of them.

No Care In The Community

2007-05-25T23:39:00.000+01:00

I was on earlies today and spent a couple of hours writing a letter of complaint to a mental health trust elsewhere in the country.

Yesterday, a group of their staff had brought some of their residents to our patch on a day trip. At about half eleven in the morning one of them (a schizophrenic male in his 30's) did a runner. The staff called us at half three to report him missing. During the call, they classified him as "vulnerable".

The staff remained until just after 5pm but then left to return to their residential unit. By coincidence, within a couple of minutes of them phoning us to say they were off, we received a call from a local school reporting a strange male wandering round the school grounds talking to the children there.

Officers popped up and it was the same male.

We called back the staff, who by this time were still only about twelve miles away, and gave them the happy news. Their response? Put him in a taxi.

We pointed out that, as he was vulnerable (their words) that we had a duty of care to him and couldn't just chuck him in a taxi and wash our hands of him. We asked them to meet officers at a Little Chef nearby. At this point, because the Little Chef was quite a way off our patch, they were only about a ten minute drive from the restaurant.

Bearing in mind we weren't even asking them to come all the way back, we didn't feel that this was too unreasonable. But apparantly it was. The staff on their minibus at first refused to turn round, then turned their mobiles off. We spoke to their managers who also refused to make the staff come and collect the male and suggested we either detain him (under the Mental Health Act) or just leave him to get a train or taxi home.

To cut a long story short, two Police officers ended up driving the best part of 200 miles in order to get this guy back to his residential centre. All because the staff who had brought him out for the day wouldn't accept any responsibility for him.

This got me speaking with another Sergeant and an Inspector. The Police Service is the only public body who don't have the luxury of being able to say, "nope, not our job". All others, mental hospitals, social services etc, regularly turn their backs on people who need their help and refuse to accept the moral, if not legal, obligations their jobs bring.

I'm not talking about all people in these jobs, obviously. One of the Senior Nurses on duty at the residential centre when officers got there was amazingly helpful. But if you go into something like Social Work, you would hope that you'd expect to have to put yourself out every now and again to help somebody in need. And it must be a complete pain sometimes with under funding and heavy workloads. But it's part of the job.

Because the residential staff had apparantly sought advice from a psychiatrist who stated we could just put the male in a taxi, we'd have been covered by doing so. If something had gone wrong and somebody had been hurt, our arses would have been covered. But the Police officers dealing thought that the chap needed more than that.

And this sort of thinking brings consequences. If you lived on our patch last night and called for help, it might have taken longer than normal for us to reach you. Part of the reason is that half the squad on duty were miles away doing somebody elses job for them.

The Horse Whisperer

2007-05-23T19:24:00.000+01:00

I got the chance to look a bit daft earlier for a couple of hours. As a few colleagues and I tried to catch a horse that was loose and had been playing chicken with the cars on a dual carriageway.

We managed to corral it into a field and keep it there by sort of waving our arms about and shouting things like "whoa, horse, er....whoa". Robert Redford I'm not.

We waited for the "experts" to come. I've used speach marks because this chap from the Council who looked a bit like Grizzly Adams turned up in a big, red land rover. He rubbed his over hairy face and said something like, "it's a stallion".

Now, I'm no animal expert, but I could have told him that. It was obvious from the fact that the horse had five legs. One of which kept twitching every time it looked at me.

Apparently there was a "mare" "in season" in a nearby field and this had given the "stallion" the horn.

I couldn't be doing with all these technical terms. I mean, "in season???" I don't care if it's fashionable. I just want it caught!

But he couldn't catch it. Because he hadn't brought any rope or other, specialised horse catching equipment. Apparently he thought he'd better just come and take a look. OK. Cheers. Would you mind looking a bit more closely. Whilst grabbing the bugger! Before it decides that in the absence of a lady horse I'll do.

Er no. Apparently not. He needed to call the expert. (Yep, I know he was supposed to be the expert. I suppose this was an "expert, expert"?)

In the end we enticed it over to a corner of the field with some carrots (kindly donated by a local shop) and about half a dozen people from the Council we managed to get it caught and walked it back to it's field, fifth leg quickly disappearing in disappointment.

Still, a couple of hours in the Sun watching Grizzly and his mates run around in circles. There's worse ways to earn a living.

Airwaves - The Wave Of The Future

2007-05-23T19:00:00.000+01:00

This is exactly how Airwaves - the new Police radio system - was sold to us when it was introduced a couple of years or so ago.

Apparantly it's digitally encrypted with crystal clear digitally enhanced sound quality. It gives the Police the ability to communicate securely with colleagues all around the country and has advanced features like two-way point to point where officers can call each other privately.

Well, I don't know about that. I'm really not that bright. I just know they're crap. And that they've been crap since we first got them.

When there's no signal a little red light flashes at the top of the radio to let you know that nobody can hear you. Now, I'm not one to whinge, but just the fact that the red light is needed at all isn't great. Not to mention the fact that it gets so much use I'm starting to question whether the green "everything's working" light actually exists.

We report the radio fault to the Control Room. Who report it to O2 Airwave (the company who run them). And it is then the duty of O2 Airwave to come up with some excuse as to why it's our fault. Hopefully, somebody from their company will read this and I can save them the bother of using the following thin excuses. We've already heard them. Come up with some new ones:

1. It's because of the nice weather.
2. It's because of the bed weather. (This is logic you can't hope to beat. So, the radios are fine as long as there's no weather? What, like on the Moon?)
3. It's because you're in a building. (Very occasionally, we have to enter buildings. Like when we're at domestics, shoplifters, burglaries, missing persons...in fact all the time. It's a bit unavoidable.)
4. It's because you're in a car. (We'll walk to that 999 emergency then. The caller won't mind).
5. It's because the van you're in has a metal cage at the front and back. (Right, well in that case we'll lose the cage. The big, angry man won't mind sitting still in our car I'm sure.)
6. Too many people are using the same radio channel. (On a side issue, who are all these people using the radios? They're not coppers!)
7. The mast is down. (so, er, put it back up?)
8. The radios are over charged.
9. The radios are under charged. (There's that logic again.)
10. It's a "software problem" that isn't their responsability.

I could go on. But I haven't done the special "poxy excuse course" that O2 Airwaves send it's engineers on, so I probably wouldn't do it justice.

Today a female officer was attempting the arrest of a male who had stolen some beers from a shop and made off. She found him on a nearby estate and they had a tussle. He became violent, she called for assistance and for over a minute we did nothing. Because her radio didn't work properly.

Six weeks or so ago something similar happened and I wrote a comment on the incident to the effect "I've done a risk assessment and the radios are making it too dangerous for officers to attend incidents on their own" (I thought it might be nice to chuck the health and safety thing back at them!) And so I refused to send any of my officers to any jobs unless there was a clear risk to life and somebody really needed our help. And within a couple of minutes of writing this on there I had bosses coming at me left, right and centre to give me bollockings and remind me about my duty.

I couldn't help wondering why they weren't busy bollocking O2 Airwave for providing us equipment that doesn't work.

The only reason I'm bothered about things like this and low staffing levels (apart from the increased chances of me getting a kicking) is because I really want to do a good job whilst I'm at work. And it frustrates me when I can't because of something not working properly.

2007-05-21T20:22:00.001+01:00

This won't make much sense until you've read the post below.

Please bear with it!

Things That Made Me Smile This Weekend

2007-05-21T19:39:00.000+01:00

1. Gross misuse of the van P.A. system (see "Bad Boy" post)
2. The drunk fella who, for some reason, decided to run away from our van. Whilst looking at us rather than where he was going. And ran into a garden wall.
3. Catching 2 burglars in the act at a caravan park. Then finding out that they were there to get their legs over with the woman who lives there.
4. Watching middle aged "larger" ladies trying to negotiate a road barrier rather than use the subway outside a night club. "Look, they bounce!"
5. The whole van crew doing the dance to "Tales Of The Unexpected" whilst singing the theme tune. "La, la, la, lalala, la la la".
6. Helping the "vulnerable misper" (who turned out to be a really funny and nice alcoholic) find their way back home.
7. Going to a fight outside another kebab shop, very quickly getting bored of listening to two sets of abusive, drunken, aggressive idiots and just arresting everybody.
8. Watching a 15 year old drunken halfwit tell a Police Officer "You can't nick me. You haven't got the right!" And then being proved wrong in the best possible way.
9. Having a conversation with a paramedic crew that got interrupted. But bumping into them later to carry it on. This happened about four times and by the end we had more or less finished what we had to say. (All our local paramedics are fantastic company, very pleasant and funny people. But tend to be covered in blood a bit too much for my liking).
10. Overhearing the following conversation with a particularly annoying (and definately uninjured) buffoon:
Buffoon: "I've been assaulted"
PC: "Oh"
Buffoon: "I said, I've been assaulted"
PC: "Yes, I heard. Thanks for telling me"
Buffoon: "Well what are you going to do about it?"
PC: "Nothing"
Buffoon (indignant): "Why?"
PC: "Because I don't care"
Buffoon (now deflated): "............."
Buffoon walks away...

Things That Irritated Me This Weekend

2007-05-21T19:22:00.000+01:00

1. All the cells being full and having to wait hours to book people into custody after driving them halfway across the county.
2. Pissed up teenagers. We took a 13 year old girl and 2 15 year old boys home on Friday alone because they were busy puking in the street.
3. Crap pub licencees. Actually, just one. Who called for our help then gave us a load of abuse. It's been noted Mrs X!
4. Phone calls reporting harassment ongoing for a year. Right, and you chose to call us now? That'll be cos you're pissed then?
5. Not having enough Police officers to properly Police our area. Me and 3 PC's between 5pm and 10pm. At which point another Sergeant and 2 PC's came on duty. Strangely enough, the Chief Constable lives in another part of the County. As does the local MP. Coincidence?
6. My burger going cold because of a "flash" job coming in. A particularly crap "flash" job that involved two sisters arguing over something or other. (I'd have more details but I was thinking about my burger).
7. The step-father of said 13 year old girl who just said, "she's not my daughter, can't you do anything?" when we took her home.
8. The woman reporting theft of money from her house by one of her friends:
Her - "I'm not threatening her, but I'm going to kill her".
Me - "That's kind of a threat though, isn't it?"
Her - "You know I don't mean it. I'm just going to beat her up".
Me - "Riiiggghhht."
9. The bloke we nicked for fighting with a group of males outside a kebab shop. His friend had started the fight and come off worse.
Him - "He's my mate he is"
Me - "So what actually happened?"
Him - "See him? He's my mate."
Me - "Yep, I can see him. He's your mate. How did he get his injuries?"
Him - "I'm his mate and he's my mate. We're mates."
Me - "Yes, you said. But I need to find out what's happened".
Him - "We've been mates for years. He's my mate."
Me - "Really? You should've said".
10. The bloke who jumped out infront of our van whilst we were on a blue light run shouting "Taxi" at the top of his voice. Van full of coppers in unison "Idiot!" (or words to that effect)

I Am A Bad Boy

2007-05-21T18:50:00.000+01:00

We were on a lates weekend just gone, and it was another unbelievably busy one. On both Friday and Saturday night every single cell in the entire county was taken.

As a contingency, we normally take prisoners to the next county across when this happens. On Saturday their cells were all full up as well.

The team were absolutely knackered to the point that people were starting to snap at each other. We normally get on so well that this was a bit of a shock. I decided that something needed doing to relieve the tension and bring everybody back round with a few laughs.

So I grabbed the microphone for the Van P.A. system and played the Benny Hill theme tune over it from my mobile phone. It got a good reception from the punters and the team relaxed and started laughing together again.

And then I had that thought that happens far too much to be good for my career: "what if one of the people in this van is an undercover journalist".

So I should apologise now for any offence this one minor lapse may have caused.

And also for when I did the same thing playing the theme tunes to "The A-Team", "Airwolf", "Jim'll Fix It" and "Baywatch".

And also for doing that blue light run with the "Bad Boys" theme tune playing (we're not allowed to use sirens after 11pm).

And for when we coasted up behind the drunk bloke who looked like he was trying to mate with a tree and shouting "boo!"

For all these things I am very sorry.

Police: The Paperwork

2007-05-21T15:14:00.000+01:00

As the blog's got the word "paperwork" in the title, I suppose I'd better actually write something about the reams of the stuff we have to get through.

Firstly, it's worth mentioning that absolutely everything in the Police has a piece of paper attached in some way. I don't know why, but somebody, somewhere, decided that without getting through half a rainforest a day the whole system would simply crash and die. So, because of this, everything gets written down. And repeated. And photocopied. And carbonated.

The most paperwork you'll do will be connected to an arrest. Imagine you've stopped a known drug dealer in the street and decided to search him:

First, a search form. In our Force that'll up to 10 minutes to complete. When they were designed, they expected them to take about half that time. They were probably filling them in in a warm, dry office and didn't have some junkie to keep an eye on at the time.

You've found some "white powder". Fantastic! Drug user is arrested. Tidy little arrest that makes you feel like you've achieved something. Off to custody...

At custody, you'll fill in a form with the prisoner's details,
Then one regarding him being searched (in custody, not the initial search) and how in-depth the search was,
And then a form cataloguing his property.
There'll be a form detailing the reasons for arrest and why it was necessary to make the arrest (n.b. don't write in here "because he's broken the law". I did that once in a fit of pique and got told off.)
You'll explain the reasons for arrest to the Custody Sergeant in front of the prisoner (I think we call them "guests" now?). As a reward for being so eloquent, the Custody Sergeant will hand you a number of forms.

The prisoner/guest/person with too many rights will then be popped into his ensuite room. You go to do some paperwork.

You'll complete an "investigation plan" for your supervisor so that he/she can check you haven't forgotten how to suck eggs.

You'll probably want to search their home address also for further drugs. Of course, you can't just do this. You need to...

Fill out a form requesting permission to search the house and get it signed by an Inspector.

Right, you didn't find anything so, back to the station.

You'll write up a crime report as you have discovered the crime of possession of said white substance.
You'll have to write up your pocket book detailing what happened, what action you took and why. This is seperate from the arrest statement you'll write later. Some forces now use Incident Report Books which have a notes section and a statement section to cut down on replication. However, you'll note that there's still 2 sections that need completing.
You'll do your interview plan, which is a plan of how you anticpate conducting the interview with your suspect. (We're still allowed to call them suspects).

Prior to the interview, if they want a solicitor then you'll have to meet them to give "disclosure". This is your opportunity to give the suspect a winning hand by letting them know what you know so that they can concoct a decent story. Not all solicitors do this (and I don't bear solicitors any particular ill-will. They're doing a job) but I'm sure that once or twice they've "suggested" possible defences to their clients.

You're now in the interview room. You need to fill out the form for the interview tapes
Oh, and fill out the interview seal to go round the master copy when you've finished.

Interview over. The suspect has coughed the lot and admitted what a bad lad he's been. The Police can't be trusted to make decisions any more so, even though he's fully admitted the offence, we have to ask CPS permission to charge him and put him before a Court. Of course, when I say "ask" I mean...

Fill out form MG3 telling the CPS what's happened to this point, what was said in interview, what the strengths and weaknesses of evidence are.

The CPS decide he should be charged. Marvellous!

Complete the charging forms (which are computerised normally) and which state what the person's done wrong and where.
Before they're released on bail, complete a PNC Intelligence Document detailing what's happened (you'll notice, this isn't for the first time) and where etc. Also anything about the person's behaviour, appearance or places they frequent etc.
Complete the form for taking their fingerprints.
If you don't want them to get bail you'll have to fill out form MG7 stating why. Remember, unless the person is charged with stealing the Judge's favourite garden gnome, they're very unlikely to be remanded in custody.

The prisoner's gone. Now you have to do the file for Court:

Write an MG6. This is a sort of confidential memo between you and the CPS telling them stuff like "the defendant has been convicted of 6 drugs offences previously and has failed to comply with Community Based Punishments" etc. It normally runs to two sides.
The MG5 - The Case Summary. A summary of the offence. For this job it should be faily straight forward.
The MG16 - Bad Character. There's been a change in the law which means that a persons previous thievery or violence etc might be introduced in Court before sentence is passed. Obviously, if your prisoner's a "bad 'un" then this may take some time....
Previous convictions record - though mercifully this doesn't need to be hand-written any more. We can just print out the PNC record.
Your arrest statement, which again should be fairly short for this job. For different offences, you will also have to take statements from witnesses and get other officers to write statements too.
The file cover, basically just setting out who the defendant is and what they've done wrong.

You'll also have to place the drugs onto the property system and get them locked away securely:

Complete the paperwork for the property store.
Then, finally, finish off the crime report to show that you've detected the crime and the public are that much safer thanks to your efforts.

So, for a really simple arrest, that's at least 26 seperate forms that need completing. I've used as simple an arrest as I can think of to stop this long, dull and boring post dragging on even longer. That said, there is a certain realism to it. Things are this bad for two reasons (in my opinion).

Firstly, we have to duplicate everything. An arresting officer will go to sleep being able to recite the facts of the case because he'll have written about them in his pocket book, statement, crime report, MG5 and PNC Intel' Document etc. These could be combined using the computer technology we've already got.

Secondly, every time the Government or Bosses get rid of a form as being "obsolete" (I think the last time they did this was something to do with "Form For Telling People To Turn Out Their Lights During Blitz Blackout") it gets replaced with four other forms. Each of them specifically designed to get the person whose idea they were promoted.

It's probably worth noting that a similar arrest in the USA would go slightly differently:

officer conducts search and finds drugs.
officer seizes drugs and arrests suspect.
he then completes a quick report for his supervisor.
no interview required: if the junkie's got an excuse he can tell the Court.
officer goes back out to arrest somebody else.

Possible Murder

2007-05-18T15:23:00.000+01:00

Is how the job sounded at first...

The local ambulance service received a call from a member of public last night. This member of public reported having seen a male lying at the side of the road. When he went over to the male he saw that he was totally unresponsive. Eventually, after shouting at him a bit, the male came round and stood up, mumbling something like "no police" before staggering off up an alleyway.

The male collapsed another couple of times before coming to the side entrance to a shop. He opened this door and let himself in, locking the door behind him. The member of public reported to the ambulance that this male looked like he'd been badly beaten and possibly stabbed. So whilst attending the paramedics, quite rightly, called us.

I got there first and was met by the paramedics who'd been there for a minute or so. They filled me in on what they knew, and it sounded an awful lot like "bloke leaves shop, gets mugged and stabbed then crawls back into shop and dies in a pool of his own blood". It's amazing what your imagination does when you find yourself first at the scene of a job like this.

By now, other officers were begining to arrive. Whilst a couple of them cordoned off the carpark outside the shop I busied myself banging really loudly on the door. No response. Bugger! Because the door was predominantly glass, we couldn't use the Big Red Door Key to open it, so I called for the armed response car to attend with their door opening gadgets. (In truth, these are just another door enforcer and a "hoolie bar" which is a long, scarey looking piece of metal. But they have protective stuff to wear that stops them being shredded by the glass).

The next officer to arrive was the local beat bobby who knew this property quite well. He told me that it was well known for drugs. So now I was imagining "bloke leaves drugs hideout with £5000 in cash. Other drug dealer decides to "borrow" this money from him, stabbing him in the process. Bloke then crawls back into the flat to die in a pool of his own blood".

The beat bobby went off to another shop round the corner because he knew that there was a keyholder there as the two shops were related in some way. By now, there's about 8 or 9 coppers there, a major scene log running and house to house enquiries going on.

The key holder turned up with the keys to the outer door, but stated that there was a self-contained flat above the shop. He also gave us a probable name for the unconscious male - "John". "John" lives in the flat above the shop. We ran him through our computer and he's well known for getting into fights. Which he invariably loses. Splendid. The latest possible scenario is "idiot leaves his flat, starts fight with first person he sees and promptly gets the poo kicked out of him. He then crawls back into the flat to die in a pool of his own blood".

We let ourselves into the shop and searched the ground floor. No trace of the male. We went upstairs and the flat door was locked. Lots of banging. Still no reply.

The armed response fellas came upstairs and "opened" the door for us. By smashing it's lock and causing lots of damage. Not a problem because we have the power to do this in order to save life and limb.

So in we went and "John" was lying there. Fortunately, not in a pool of his own blood. He was unconscious again and the paramedics brought him round. At which point "John" showed himself to be a complete halfwit. He became really abusive to the paramedics (which is one thing I won't stand. I mean, you kind of expect it when you're a copper but the paramedics are there to help save his life!) and to us. He was aggressive and disorientated. He also hadn't been cut, stabbed or otherwise beaten.

The paramedics could tell that he'd taken a bucket full of amphetamine and that this is what had caused him to collapse outside. I asked if he'd been assaulted. I didn't get a straight answer but, as he told me to "fuck off" I took this to be a no. His family turned up and called him all sorts of things that I wish I could get away with and we left them to it. And to be fair, they accepted he was their responsability and were happy to look after him.

In total, given the number of officers at the incident for over an hour in total, this job probably took about 10 to 12 hours of Police time. Which wouldn't been half as irritating if the time had been spent on somebody at least vaguely pleasant and appreciative of the efforts made to make sure he wasn't lying in a pool of his own blood.

Conflict Of Interest...

2007-05-17T13:20:00.000+01:00

That normally means you're the president of the World Bank and you give your girlfriend a huge payrise. Or perhaps you're a Cabinet Minister who rushes through the passport application for your Brazilian lover.

But I've just found myself on Mrs Paperwork's bad side. A mate's just phoned me and asked me a favour. He needs me to work on Monday to help cover something that's cropped up at the last minute. And I said yes, because he's a good friend who needs my help. But also, if I'm honest, because I love doing my job and I'm passionate about doing it well.

This means that there's sometimes a conflict between home life and work life.

Being a copper's quite an odd job in some (actually, flippin' hundreds) ways. I used to work in an office and, if I was doing an 8am til 4pm shift, I knew that I'd be finishing work at, well, 4pm. Come what may I'd be walking to my car by five past. And if I was in the middle of something then I'd finish it the next day I was at work, regardless of whether that was after the weekend.

This job's different though, and I know from my own and from friend's experiences, that it can cause all sorts of dramas at home.

I've got an ex- who could never understand why, if I was due to finish at 5pm I'd sometimes have to arrest someone at 4.30. And then, obviously, be off late. Or why, because there's a big incident running, the Inspector can quite lawfully turn round and order you to stay on duty. Because she wasn't in the Police she couldn't get her head round why I didn't just turn round and tell them to stick it and go home.

The Police is more than a job. It's a way of life that gets under your skin and into your blood. And the nature of the job is that, sometimes, the unexpected happens and we don't get to go home on time. Sometimes we get phone calls at home telling us that we have to work tomorrow, when we'd arranged to go out for the day with the Other Half.

And I do, genuinely, understand what a pain in the arse it is for them. And I also understand why this is one of the biggest causes for Police officer's relationships to break down. The ex- I mentioned still now says that it's the Police that split us up. (I maintain it's the fact that she slept with someone else, but I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree).

But, I have to be honest here, I don't help matters because I admit I am really into my job. Even now, several years after I joined, it still sometimes hits me: "Wow, I'm a copper. Fantastic!" And because of this, still being honest, I know I say "yes" to maybe more than I should.

But I can't help it. I joined up to arrest villains and put them away. I mean, obviously I very rarely have the time to do that. There's paperwork needs doing first. But I've seen people get arrested on TV so I know it does happen.

If any of you reading this are thinking of starting a business can I make a suggestion? Open up a shop next to the local Police station and sell nothing except flowers, chocolates and "I'm sorry" cards. You'll make a fortune.

2007-05-16T21:05:00.000+01:00

Police Blogs

2007-05-16T16:50:00.000+01:00

I've just been skimming through some news stories on the internet about Police officers (amongst other emergency service staff) getting squarely in the poo for writing blogs.

Apparently, the bosses are worried that we might create an unfavourable impression upon the public. This is a quote from a press release from the Met' stating that we should "consider the impact of expressing views and opinions that...bring the organisation into disrepute".

Ah, right. I wouldn't want to bring the Police into disrepute. I'm actually under qualified to do so. So I'll be leaving that to the Home Office and Senior Management who keep coming up with hair brained ideas specifically designed to annoy and alienate most decent, hard working and law abiding people.

Here's a deal, and anybody from ACPO or the Home Office can leave a comment on the blog which I'm happy to reply to:

I promise to stop blogging when you promise to stop buggering up the Police Service that I'm proud to be a member of. I stop writing on here when you stop imposing some (let's face it) really stupid regulations and legislation on my and the people I serve.

I'll not hold my breath though, eh?

What do we do then?

2007-05-16T15:45:00.000+01:00

I heard a chap on the radio earlier today lamenting on how it took the Police days to attend his home after his car was stolen. Where were the Police then? Busy investigating murders and GBH's?

Er, unlikely. You see it's also the annual Police Federation Conference this week and the major debating point has been how much of out time is wasted on absolute rubbish.

Man arrested for possession of an egg with intent to throw. Schoolboy arrested for assault with piece of cucumber. It went on. The list was long and embarrassing.

The main reason given for us wasting out time like this is the fact that we have to spend our days chasing Government targets. Basically, if somebody reports a "crime" (I'll use inverted commas because a lot of the crimes that get reported are not, actually crimes) then we believe them and issue them with their "crime number". However, this means that we have an undetected crime on our hands. We can't have that, because it makes the figures look bad. So we have to then detect that crime by either charging the person involved or issuing them with a caution (or reprimand/final warning for the youngsters).

So it's true to say that the reason the man with the undeveloped chicken foetus was arrested because we needed to tick the "detected" box. Makes the Chief Constable look good you see.

But there's also another reason we waste so much time on tat like this: because people report it to us!

I mean, seriously. Imagine Little Johnny, your son, comes home from school:
You: Little Johnny, you look upset. What's wrong?
L.J: Little Sammy threw a piece of soggy cucumber at me. It hit me on the arm.
You: By God, that's terrible! Call the Constable! I want Little Sammy dragged through the highest Court in the land! (there follows a 999 call then as much as 20 hours of a Police officer's time as he video interviews half the school and organises the slap on the wrist for Little Sammy).

Imagine how different, how much nicer it would be and how many more bobbies on the street if the conversation went like this:
You: Little Johnny, you look upset. What's wrong?
L.J: Little Sammy threw a piece of soggy cucumber at me. It hit me on the arm.
You: Oh. Never mind. Tell the teacher if he does it again. (there follows a nice family meal and Little Johnny goes to bed having forgotten why he was upset in the first place. The next day Little Johnny and Little Sammy sit next to each other in Maths and spend the whole lesson talking about Power Rangers).

People don't sort things out for themselves any more. They don't talk to their neighbours. They don't talk to their kid's school. If they've got a problem their first thought isn't, "how can I sort this out". Instead it's, "who can sort this out for me?". And the answer, invariably, is the Police.

We're supposed to be an Emergency Service. For helping people out. In emergencies. Instead we've become a one-stop shop for people who should be speaking to the Council, Samaritans, the Ambulance Service, their neighbours or God.

To be fair, I suppose I'm getting paid whether I'm catching burglars or arresting somebody for throwing a cup of water over their boyfriend. Maybe I shouldn't be moaning and just crack on with whatever comes my way. But, if that is the case, then the public can't have a go at us if we're not there when we really need them. We're probably still investigating the "my ex- stared at my house" complaint you made last week.

Role Models

2007-05-15T15:40:00.000+01:00

A lot gets said in the papers about rold models; how footballers and movie stars should be more positive role models because youngsters look up to them.

I mentioned in another post about how my mate got assaulted at a job the other day. I thought I'd go into a bit more detail about the job. I have to be careful because the case is "sub judice" which means it's not gone to Court yet. So I won't be mentioning their true names.

At about 5am a security guard from the train station phoned Police on 999 reporting a male trying to break into a car in their car park. He was apparently banging the windows of the car with a brick. A number of officers responded to the shout. The station where I work doesn't cover this train station, but I initially called up for the job because everyone was so busy. However, within seconds, about five or six other officers responded, all of whom were much closer. So I cancelled and went back to writing up the previous incidents.

My mate (we'll call him "Harry") was the first officer at scene. As he pulled into the car park the thief (we'll call him Scumbag) saw the Police vehicle and ran off, vaulting a fence and entering some wasteland that is still owned by the rail companies but doesn't get used for anything. Harry updated that he had a "runner" and gave chase, himself vaulting over the fence.

At this point I changed my mind and started to make to the job. We were hearing updates from Harry but, because he was running, his transmission was broken and it was hard to tell exactly what he was saying. When I was still nearly a mile away Harry pressed his emergency button on his radio, calling for assistance.

Again, he tried to explain where he was but was unable to make it clear. I now know that the reason for this was because he had caught Scumbag, but that the thief wasn't complying. Whilst trying to keep us updated, Harry was also having to deal with a male, much larger than him, who was trying to do him some serious damage.

Within minutes there were about a dozen or so bobbies within a couple of hundred metres of Harry, but none of us could see him. We could occasionally hear his voice but he was in really deep undergrowth. He managed a quick update saying he was near a car park. During the update, in the background, we could hear Scumbag thrashing and screaming. Then Harry gave another update: "I need a first aid kit. My head's bleeding quite badly." Scumbag was still screaming insults in the background. We were calling to each other frantically, desperate to help our colleage and friend.

Eventually, we found Harry. He was being lead away from his prisoner, his face, head and body covered in his own blood. During the scuffle his glasses had been knocked from his face and this, with the blood, meant he could hardly see.

He later told us what had happened. On the far side of the wasteground, he had cornered Scumbag who couldn't climb over the barbed wire fence. Scumbag turned on Harry who drew his Asp, the Police issue baton. Scumbag made a lunge for Harry, who struck him twice on the arm. This caused Scumbag to fall to the ground and become temporarily subdued. Because of this, Harry attempted to handcuff him. However, with one hand cuffed, Scumbag got his second wind and again lunged for Harry. This caused them both to fall over and for Harry to drop his baton. With them rolling around on the floor, Scumbag grabbed the asp and struck Harry twice on the head with it.

But Harry, though dazed and seriously injured, refused to let go of his prisoner. Even though he was starting to get weak, couldn't see and felt dizzy and groggy, he would not let him escape again. I've just got off the phone to Harry and asked him why he did this. And Harry replied "He'd committed a crime. He'd have had to kill me for me to let go of him."

So what's this got to do with Role Models? Well, I just think that we could do a lot worse than Harry. He typifies the Police officer who's willing to risk themself in order to keep other people and their property safe. He's paid to do a job and he does it to the best of his ability. And, if we believe all the press about Police sickness records, I suppose he'll take the opportunity to have a month or two off in front of the telly?

Actually, no. He's back to work on Thursday. His GP's warned him not to leave the station to deal with any incidents. The GP obviously doesn't know Harry too well.

Bonkers Shift

2007-05-12T14:21:00.000+01:00

I was on a night shift last night, supposed to last from 10pm through to 7am this morning, but things didn't quite go to plan. It's possibly my last night shift for quite some time because I'm changing jobs (just waiting for the start date from the bosses) so it might as well have been a memorable one.

It was absolutely bonkers! From leaving the nick at about half ten (cup of tea and slice of cake happily digesting) we didn't stop. Which was a shame because it's my birthday tomorrow and we were going to have a get together in the early hours. I'd even brought in sausage rolls (which the early turn shift will have finished by now).

Amongst other things we went to an old lady who'd fallen and couldn't get up. On our way there our CCTV operators told us that there was a key safe outside the door and they gave us the combination, so we wouldn't have to get the Big Red Door Key out. The paramedics turned up just after us which was good, because my mate and I weren't going to have to blunder through our really basic First Aid:
Me: "So what do we do?"
Mate: "Er, well she's complaining of pain in her hip and she's not sure if she lost consciousness."
Me: "Right then, er, recovery position?"

(on a side issue, the recovery position was specifically designed for people who are supposed to know what they're doing, and don't have a clue, but have to make it look like they do. I use it all the time, pretty much regardless of what the injuries are. Broken arm? Recovery position. Stabbed in the chest? Recovery position. Piece of lego stuck up nose? Recover position... and souvenir photo).

Anyway, old lady. The paramedics had been there before. Lots of times. Apparently the last time it was a poltergeist who pushed her over. I nodded sagely. Yep, they'll do that every time. She needs to get the Council out.

So, we left the paramedics to it. Then we went to a "Concern For Welfare" of a woman whose husband was reporting her missing. They'd had their troubles over the last few months and the wife had admitted that she'd started thinking about going off with someone else, and that she'd started flirting with a bloke at work. As the guy was telling us this (he was huge, 21st and covered in prison tatts) he was really calm about it. Really calm. To the point that it was quite unnerving.

My chum and I were a bit freaked out by the whole thing and started to imagine her lying in the bath, chopped up and wrapped in cling film. After using the guys loo (and checking behind the shower curtain) we went looking for her around the local car parks and actually ended up bumping into her a bit later. She was fine, just wanted "space". Which is understandable. They lived in quite a small flat. With the size of her hubby she's probably not been able to exhale properly for days.

We had two or three house parties go wrong when the kiddies had drunk too much alcopops and decided to take on the world. "No, really. You are doing something wrong. You're in the middle of the street shouting at everyone who comes close. Including me. I promise you, on my honour, you are breaking the law and unless you tell me your mum's mobile number now so she can come get you, I'll prove it by locking you up." Anyway, parents turn up, kids tell them how horrible I am, parents look suitably embarassed and off we go.

We went to a fight between brother and sister at an address I know really well. The family's been disfunctional for as long as I've known them (think The Simpsons without any of the redeeming bits) but things have gone downhill since the dad walked out. Well, I say "walked out". He's halfway through a six year sentence for selling heroin. But, you know, it must be hard for the family.

The mum's in the middle of a break down that's well into it's third year. The eldest son "Daniel" received one of the town's first ever ASBO's. He's very proud of this. And he should be. It'll probably be the only qualification he ever receives. The daughter "Michelle" is at fifteen already an alcoholic and has been the victim of sexual assault whilst drunk three times. And there's a youngest son "Robert" who has the pre-requisite ADHD and spent my visit jumping from one surface to another like a pyjama clad baboon.

The fight was about who owned some cannabis and we eventually got them to agree to discuss the matter in the morning, after I'd gone home. They all went to bed and we went to the next fight, outside a nightclub just around the corner. Other officers were already there by then and we weren't really needed. So we took the opportunity to stretch our legs and have a wander up the High Street.

Then, a bit later, a job came in from the train station car park. Some bloke breaking into a car. Everyone (who wasn't tucked up at a job) rushed down there and the guy ran off when the first Police officer arrived. There was a foot chase over some waste ground. We were trying to find the officer but it was really hard for him to describe exactly where he was. Then he pressed his emergency button. We couldn't make out what he was saying exactly, other than he wanted a first aid kit because he was bleeding quite badly.

We got really frustrated. We knew roughly where he was, and could hear him struggling, but the undergrowth was quite dense. Eventually someone got to him and I caught up about a minute later. As I did the officer was being walked away by colleagues, his head, face and body covered in blood from two huge gashes to his head.

Apparently the officer drew his baton when the thief was cornered. The thief lunged for the officer who struck him on the arm with the baton twice. This caused the thief to fall and the officer got one cuff on a wrist, but then the thief began to struggle again, causing the officer to drop his baton. As they rolled around on the floor, the thief grabbed the baton and hit the officer around the head with it. Twice. But complete respect to the bobby who refused to let go of the scumbag and even managed to get the other cuff on.

(In fact, on a side issue, I know there's loads of stories about Police brutality and how we like to dish out beatings when there's no cameras. This guy was arrested right out of the way of any cameras and there were over ten Police officers present who'd just seen their colleague covered in claret. And still he got to the cell block with nothing apart from slightly sore wrists where he'd been struggling with the handcuffs. Regardless of what any of us might have wanted to do, we're really not like that. It's not worth the pension.)

Anyway, he was locked up and because we seized his clothing and all sorts of other things (including the van he stole from) practically the whole shift were tucked up with paperwork of one description or another.

However, there was just time for one last job. A chap rang us to say he was following two lads down the High Street and that they were carrying a vacuum cleaner. Which belonged to him. I found two bobbies from somewhere and they popped down. It turns out the two guys had burgled a flat that our informant was managing and getting ready for new tennants (hence his hoover being in there). As they made good their escape, they'd offered to sell the hoover to the first person they met. Which happened to be the owner!

They were locked up but it didn't end there. They'd taken their girlfriend to the burglary but forgotten to bring her back again. She was found sound asleep on one of the beds in there. Like Goldilocks but with a raging drug habit.

So once they were dealt with and everything else was done it was 9am and we all crawled off to bed. Not the same bed. That would be taking team building too far. But, you know...

And the injuries to the bobby weren't as bad as we initially thought. He's going to have two really big scars on his bonce but his skull wasn't cracked and by the time he was taken home after doing his statement he'd started to joke about it. Top man.

Section 69 of the "Ways And Means Act"

2007-05-11T14:36:00.000+01:00

I wanted to introduce you to a less well known but really useful piece of legislation. It's the Ways And Means Act and, unlike most legislation which goes on and on, it only has one section: Section 69.

Section 69 states: "If you can't screw 'em one way, screw 'em another".

This law has loads or practical applications and here's a few examples:

1) You stop somebody driving a car which isn't theirs. But they state that they have the owner's permission. You speak to the owner who initially says, "yes, you're right officer. My car has been stolen. Thank you for finding it. Who was driving?" And you tell them it was their mate when they suddenly "remember" giving them permission after all. What can you do? You've caught sombody who's committed TWOC (taken without owners consent) which is a good collar. But now they're going to get away with it. But think! Section 69! You tell the owner that as the driver of the car wasn't insured, but that they had the owner's permission, then the owner has committed the offence of allowing an uninsured driver to use a vehicle on the road. The owner thinks about this then starts telling the truth and gives you a statement.
2) You're called to a house because the family are concerned about the woman who lives there. She's clearly barking with persecution issues and paranoia. She's made threats to harm herself because she's sure that "they" are after her. Now, because she's in her house, you've got no power to detain her and make sure that she receives the medical care she needs. So what do you do? You use Section 69 by engaging her in conversation from the end of her garden. Because she can't hear you she comes closer, into public, until she's also at the end of her garden. And then you detain her and take her to hospital. And she gets help instead of killing herself.
3) A group of youths run into an off licence and steal a crate of beers. The Police come running but the owner of the shop can't remember who, exactly, did the actual stealing and who was just there as part of the group. Around the corner you see somebody kind of matching the description holding a can of lager. He is arrested on suspicion of theft. The owner of the shop can't say for sure that he did steal the beer. In interview he denies stealing the lager, stating that he was only there looking on. He refuses to give any names and says "I was only drinking the lager, I didn't nick it!" As he says this, he has a smug look on his face. Damn him and his equally smug-looking solicitor. Another thief evades justice! But no! Section 69 comes into play. You have your own equally smug look and point out that he's going to be charged with handling stolen goods (the individual can of lager) which is actually more serious than the theft.

N.B. This used to be called "lateral thinking" until the government made it illegal for Police officers to think laterally by taking away all their discretion and making all decisions centrally.

The PC PC

2007-05-11T13:45:00.000+01:00

We've all seen over the last few years how political correctness has crept (or should that be swept, tsunami-like) into society. I often find myself in situations where I'm not sure what to say, but luckily I know there's a whole list of things I definately can't say.

So even if I'm being really ineffective I know that I'm definately not going to upset any visible minority ethnic, same sex partnership, non-indigenous, trans-gender, travelling fraternity different faith people. And I know this because I keep being sent on Diversity courses and learning how to get in touch with the fact that I'm a Nazi, facist, sexist......and so on.

You see, the (one of many) problem with political correctness is that it's had so many negative knock-on effects that I'm sure the well-meaning, middle class, hand-wringing Guardian readers didn't foresee. Or at least they were too busy drafting the Human Rights Act to notice.

The government brought in a piece of legislation fairly recently, an ammendment to the Road Traffic Act. This ammendment, to Section 165, meant that if Police found a car being used on a road and the driver was either uninsured or didn't have a driving licence we could seize the vehicle and get it off the road. Great idea, safer for everyone else and makes us feel a little bit better about paying our insurance. The seizure needs the authority of an Inspector, but this is fairly straight forward. They just want to make sure that the bobby who's stopped the car has asked a few simple questions of the driver.

However, the other day an officer had stopped a car and the driver of it admitted that he wasn't insured. The officer asked the duty Inspector for authorisation and then started filling out the paperwork safe in the knowledge that the authorisation wouldn't be far behind.

And then the Inspector denied the authority. Because he felt that it would be against the drivers human rights to have his vehicle seized. The officer, in carrying out his lawful duties, was infringing this blokes right not to have the State interfere with his day to day business. Now, the fact is the Inspector was wrong (which happens a lot more than would be helpful). The bobby just asked another Inspector whose head was slightly less up his own arse and got the authorisation.

But it's just an example of how the Human Rights and Politically Correct brigade have caused a culture where too many of us are concentrating on covering our arses rather than getting the job done. Instead of thinking "how do I best lock up this scumbag?" (ah, there's another word I'm not allowed to use) Police officers are thinking "how do I best avoid being complained about and potentially losing my job?"

And who knows? Maybe they're right and I'm wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. But what I do know is that, when I'm tucked up in bed I want a Police Force out there protecting me who aren't constantly worrying about losing their pensions and who are thinking "I want to send thieving scumbags to prison".

You Know You've Joined The Police When...

2007-05-10T16:04:00.000+01:00

1) Somebody at a party asks you what you do and you look at your feet and mumble something about "civil servant". (Doesn't work if you actually are a civil servant. In fact civil servants mumble something about "Police". But you get the gist...)
2) You're running late for work and you pop into Tesco's on the way to buy cakes. Saves time later and keeps your Sergeant happy.
3) A good night out on the town means "I did 4 hours foot patrol outside a nightclub and it didn't rain, nobody started fighting with me and the nice man at KFC gave me something to eat.
4) You can deal with death, serious crime, tragedy and heartache without batting an eyelid. But as soon as somebody uses the word "gossip" everything stops until you find out who's now sleeping with whom.
5) Your other half asks where you left the keys and you point using your whole hand instead of just your finger.
6) Everybody stares at you and it's not because you've left your flies open. But you still can't help checking sneakily just in case.
7) You wave at ambulances and fire engines. Even when you're not at work.
8) There's a story on the news about a huge demonstration in your area that's turned violent. The news reader says she's worried about impending death and destruction. Hundreds might lose their lives; thousands might lose their homes. You wonder if there's any overtime going.
9) You check your emails and eight different people from eight different departments are all telling you to complete a particular piece of paperwork. And they're all saying that theirs is the most important thing in the world. And they all wanted it done by yesterday.
10) After a few years of taking statements you could go on Mastermind with a specialist subject of "old lady's biscuits".

Helpful Hints

2007-05-10T15:54:00.000+01:00

Some people have very little contact with the Police, and it can be quite daunting when they do. So I thought I'd jot down some little hints to help things go as smoothly as possible.

1) Don't say "haven't you got anything better to do?" As soon as you say this you've answered your own question. Because whatever the officer was doing is now less important than writing you out a ticket.
2) Don't say "shouldn't you be out catching burglars?" You're overlooking the fact that we keep having to stop catching burglars to deal with people not wearing their seatbelts.
3) Don't say, "you can't do this". Because the chances are we can. And now we're probably going to prove it by doing it.
4) Don't ask me if I was bullied at school. Because I might have been for all you know. And now I'm going to deal with the resurfaced feelings of sadness and low self-worth by giving you a ticket instead of a ticking off.
5) Don't call me a "fu**ing little pr*ck" and then act all surprised when I arrest you.
6) Unless you're a High Court Judge don't try giving the officer instruction on what the law does or doesn't say. We have to go to training school and learn all sorts of definitions before we're let loose on the public.
7) Don't tell me "I know the Chief Constable". Because we both know you're telling porkies. (This doesn't work if the person you've stopped is the husband/wife of the Chief Constable).
8) Do try smiling. We're not used to this and it might throw us enough to let you off.
9) Do be nice. This is called "passing the attitude test". Which, officially, doesn't exist. However, we're only human so if someone's pleasant to us we're much more likely to keep our pen in our pocket.
10) Try to avoid leaving the house with any of the following objects in your car or about your person: drugs, knives, guns, stolen property, items for breaking into people's houses or cars, my DVD player (as you'll have read on previous posts, I'm quite attached to it).
11) And if you absolutely can't avoid having any of the above items with you, it's probably worth not attacking me with any of them. This will almost certain affect the way I am with you.
12) Don't give me a false name. Particularly one that's either not very imaginative or a bit too imaginative. Expecting to get away with calling yourself "Al Kaseltzer" means you think I'm incredibly thick.

Reality TV

2007-05-08T04:59:00.000+01:00

If "real" Police dramas really were real:

1. At no time shall there be more than 4 Police officers on screen at any one time. Because there aren't more than 4 Police officers on duty.
2. Sometimes the Police work at night. To keep things simple, we call this "nights". So we'll have a couple of scenes in the dark.
3. Detective Inspectors don't charge about nicking villains. They sit in offices telling me what to do.
4. Of those 4 officers on duty, at least 2 will be doing paperwork at any one time.
5. The Police canteen has been closed and turned into offices for Civillian support staff whose job is to send me emails.
6. The Police cars aren't shiney and new. They are, in fact, decrepit and old.
7. When CID interview someone, there isn't a uniformed copper standing at the back of the room saying nothing. (see point 1.)
8. Solicitors don't just sit there saying nothing. They're too busy making sure their client remembers the story they've concoted together.
9. The Police officers wouldn't wear their hats every time they got out of a car. In fact, they lost their hats about six months ago and haven't seen them since.
10. Their radios only work about half the time. The other half it sounds like you're talking to metal mickey's less eloquent step-brother.
11. The Police would warn the hooded youth that they might end up being arrested. The youth would reply "fu*k off!"
12. Officers would attend a concern for welfare where the occupant of a house hadn't been seen for 2 weeks. Instead of swinging into action they'd stand on the door step poking each other saying "You go in" "No, you go in".
13. An officer would try to break up a fight outside a pub. However, instead of helping out, the public would start recording things on their mobiles hoping that they'd get something worth selling to the news.
14. And finally, the Sergeant would want to get a PC in for a bollocking but within a few seconds the PC would put in a grievance for bullying. The Sergeant would be sent off to the naughty boy corner on "administrative duties" and the PC would get the posting of their choice.

Shift Lag

2007-05-08T00:19:00.000+01:00

I'm writing this roughly six hours before I'm due to start an early turn shift because I'm wide awake with no prospect of seeing the inside of my eyelids for hours yet. That's why I've been messing about with the layout and colours of the blog. Oh, and I've put my mum's favourite piccy of my on there. (I'll leave it to you to decide if I'm joking or not.)

Anyway, got me thinking about "shift lag". It's kind of like jet lag, but you don't get a sun tan and a man with latex gloves doesn't rummage through your luggage.

Seriously, working shifts totally changes the meaning of words like "weekend". This week, my "weekend" is Thursday and most of Friday at which point I'm back on nights.

I made the schoolboy error of having a kip this afternoon because I was feeling a bit tired. And the bit of a kip stretched out for four hours. So now I'm wide awake and thinking about going for a bit of a stroll. At bloody half past midnight!

I'll finish nights on Monday morning and have to force myself out of bed at about lunch time, otherwise I won't sleep Monday night. Which means for most of Monday I'll either be asleep or annoying my chums by being irratable to the point that they wish I was asleep.

And that's another thing: "lunch time". Because we find ourselves working at "Oh My God" o'clock we eat totally inappropriate meals at totally inappropriate times. Microwaved lasagne at 4am. Coco Pops at 7pm. That sort of thing.

Actually, I remember I used to have microwaved porridge on nights. One particular shift I was absolutely starving come about 3am because we'd been so busy. The microwave had just gone "ping" and I'd had my first mouthful when a shout came in. Two males assaulting a third who was lying on the floor.

Now, this member of public needed our help, so there was no chance of me not going. But my stomach thought my throat had been cut! Nothing else for it but to jump in with someone else and try to find my mouth with my spoon whilst sat on the back seat of the area car as it's doing 60mph. In fact, I must've been hungry because I didn't spill any.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, shift lag. Because I'm awake now, and I'm probably only going to get a few hours kip, I know that at about 10 or 11am later on it's going to hit me like a cricket bat in the chops. And that's probably about the time the member of public comes into the station wanting to make a complaint about how another copper was rude to them. After five minutes with a sleep deprived me they're either going to think that rudeness is endemic in the Police or that I'm being somehow ironic by trying to out-rude the other officer.

"Don't You Throw Bloody Spears At Me"

2007-05-07T22:21:00.000+01:00

I was watching Zulu the other day and Michael Caine's famous mis-quote reminded me of a job I went to as a Probationer.

I was single-crewed and on one of our more visited housing estates taking a statement. Just as I was finishing off a call came in reporting a domestic disturbance just around the corner. The report was that the man who lived there had gone bananas and taken his family hostage. I quickly called up for the job, thanked the chap who'd given me the statement and ran off to my car. I could hear that other officers were also calling up for the job too, so I knew I wouldn't be on my own for long.

Within a minute I'd pulled up outside the address and was met by an older woman who came running out of the house to me. She screamed, "he's going mental in there! It's going to take more than one of you!" So I pulled on my body armour and calmly updated the control room saying, "apparantly this chap's quite violent so I'll probably need somebody else to assist."

Unfortunately I was a little too calm. The other officers attending told me later that they thought everything was OK so slowed down. But I didn't know that at this time.

I walked into the house, drawing myself up to my full height of 5' 7" and making my shoulders look as broad and meaty as possible. Not easy. I weigh 9st. But still, it must have looked fairly impressive because the bloke saw me and ran off through the house and into the back garden. I ran after him shouting to his family to run to a neighbour's house.

I got into the back garden just in time to see him dive into the shed. I called out, "'scuse me mate, I think we need to have a chat." He replied by chucking a spade at my head. I tried to remember the input we'd been given at training school on negotiating with people who are trying to decapitate you. As a garden rake narrowly missed my swede I realised that perhaps I should've paid a bit more attention in class. The lawn mower came next, but didn't get anywhere near me. Maybe he was tiring?

"Look, mate. There's no need for all this. Let's just chat."

"Fuck off and leave me alone!" And then he smashed the window of the shed so he'd be able to throw things at me without having to duck in and out through the door. Clearly a man capable of thinking on his feet under pressure.

I heard a noise behind me and gratefully turned round to give my colleagues an update. I was met by two paramedics who'd been called by our control room. I suggested they might want to wait inside. They asked me why just as part of a Black and Decker workbench landed just behind me. "Ah, right. We'll be inside."

I got on the radio to give an update. "The male has run into the back garden, has locked himself in the shed and is now chucking the contents at me." Again, perhaps I should have put a bit more urgency in my voice as the area car responded blithely "yep, noted. Not far away now". Fortunately, the Sergeant was listening in and started organising a shield team to do a forced entry to the shed.

A tray of seedlings richocheed off the wall behind me. I was clearly well out of my depth. And I wasn't thinking straight. Why wasn't I thinking straight? It's because I needed a cigarette. Checking to make sure my Sergeant hadn't arrived, I lit up and took a deep drag, considering what to do next. The bloke wasn't going anywhere, but any minute now he might realise I was only about half his size, do the maths and decide to take his chances with me.

He popped his head up to chuck one of those small trowel/spade things at me and stopped mid-throw, like Fatima Whitbread with a javelin. We stared at each other, like gun slingers at high noon across the battle scarred garden.

"Er, can I have a fag?"

I looked down at the smouldering tobacco in my hand and a little smile sneaked across my face.

"No, you keep chucking things at me."

He dropped the trowel. "Sorry."

"I'm going to have to handcuff you first, before I give you one of these. You know that don't you?"

"Yeah, no worries. I didn't really want to hit you."

I slowly inched towards the shed. Maybe this was a trick? Any minute now he was going to surprise me by launching a tomato plant at my nose. But no, instead he popped his hands out of the shed window in a "it's a fair cop" kind of way and let me cuff him up. I lit up another ciggie and placed it in his hand.

About 30 seconds later the cavalry arrived. They were met by the same screaming reception committee as I had been, this time saying how their colleague was in the garden being bombarded by all sorts of things. They grabbed a couple of shields from the car and ran through the house into the garden. To see me and my new mate stood chatting over a cigarette. The next officer to arrive was the Sergeant, so I quickly lost my ciggie as the bloke was lead away by the area car officers. I asked him why it had taken so long for everyone to turn up. "Well, you sounded like you were OK. So everyone turned their blues off." Right, mental note, next time give updates in a slightly more high pitched voice.

Anyway, the point is, all the way through Zulu, Michael Caine is very composed and the very epitome of stiff upper lip Britishness. But as the Zulu nation descent upon Rourkes Drift at no point does he reach into his pocket and pull out a packet of Bensons. If he had, his story might have had a totally different ending.

More Than Just "Stupid"

2007-05-07T00:05:00.000+01:00

I dealt with a job on Saturday where two young (13 year old) girls were on a footbridge above a dual carriageway. They each had a drink and were spitting it out at passing cars before throwing the cups at them as well.

With an accuracy sadly missing with most England sporting sides the girls managed to hit several of the cars speeding below them at 70mph plus. And obviously several people phoned the Police. Long story short, we turned up, found them hiding interviewed them and they're going to receive a Final Warning.

But we've had loads of problems with this carriageway. There's 2 footbridges and the Council's caged one and put CCTV on the other. But still kids continue to chuck stuff at the traffic. Normally it's food or stones but the other night it was a couple of Tesco shopping trolleys. Bloody big lumps of metal that they dropped onto a passing van.

I can understand why some (definately not all) kids do daft things sometimes. Because I did most of them too when I was their age. Knocking on doors then running off, playing football next to cars, painting cricket wickets onto walls. I even once got told off for being nasty to a cat.

But dropping a shopping trolley onto a vehicle moving at 70mph? How fu**ing stupid can they be? In fact, at what point does their stupidity become so.....stupid that words fail us all and we lock ourselves in cupboards just so that we don't have to face up to their breathtaking idiocy?

Children (generally) aren't as good as adults (generally) at understanding things like consequences. People in their early teens tend to think about "now" rather than "what if?". I understand that. I can live with that. But some things are so glaringly obvious they might as well have a neon sign on them saying "I'm glaringly obvious".

There's no real point to this post. Just wanted to spout off.

And actually, on a totally unrelated topic, I was chatting to a bloke who worked at Tesco the other day. He looked out of his bedroom window in the morning and saw that some fool had painted the word "c*nt" across his neighbours garage. Nice.

If we find out who did it, they'll be quickly rounded up to receive their slap on the wrist. I wonder how much more effective it would be if we got hold of some sort of semi-permanent marker (the sort that lasts on skin for about a month) and wrote "c*nt" across his forehead?

I. Have. Got. Better. Things. To. Do.

2007-05-06T22:38:00.000+01:00

I'm halfway through a set of early shifts and, for some reason, am feeling a bit arsed off with some of the stuff we've been to in the last couple of weeks. So, for the reference and use of anybody who's hand is hovering over the phone just about to dial 999 I thought I'd compile a quick list of things I'd rather not have to waste my time with.

1) "My son's been assaulted" when what you mean is "my son and his mate have had a falling out at school over who's the best Spice Girl." We both know that by the time I knock on your door they'll both be upstairs playing on his Xbox together. But now I have to spend time investigating this "crime".

2) "I'm being harrassed". No, you're not. I know you've heard of the Harrassment Act, but that was brought in to protect vulnerable people from nutters stalking them. It's not there to help you get one over on your ex- for sending you a shitty text message.

3) "I've been assaulted by a bouncer". Can I suggest that you might not be telling the full story here? Come on, be honest, you were drunk and perhaps just a little bit nasty about his taste in leather jackets. So he chucked you out of the pub. Which he's allowed to do.

4) "My neighbour is harrassing me". Seriously. You're both (almost) fully functioning adults. If the run off from his hosepipe creeps onto your half of the driveway when he washes his car then just follow this advice - find a quiet room, close the door behind you, sit down comfortably, close your eyes and repeat to yourself "it's only a bit of fu**ing water!!!!!!!" Grow up!

5) "My daughter won't go to school". Look, I know we're here to help but when we said that we meant with, well, Policey type stuff. You know, catching burglars. That sort of thing. I don't want to sound uncaring. Really I don't. BUT YOU'RE THE BLOODY PARENT! YOU SORT IT OUT!

6) "I've just been assaulted and it was totally unprovoked". Now, are you sure there's nothing more you want to tell me? Because you and I both know that when I check the CCTV you're going to be on there, front and centre, trying to pick a fight with anyone who'll give you the time of day.

7) "There's some blockage in the road". Well, I mean, thanks for letting us know. Because that's a road safety issue. And we like them. But in the time it's taken you to make this call you could have moved the bloody thing out of the way.

8) "My neighbour keeps staring at me". Playing Devil's advokate here, surely you must have been staring at them to notice them staring at you? Do you see where we're going here? Six of one......

9) "My husband is refusing to leave the house". That's because it's their house too. They live here. Look, there's his toothbrush next to the sink. I'm not allowed to chuck somebody out onto the street because they're in your bad books.

10) "I'm going to kill myself". I've been to lots of suicides. All of them tragic and all of them having left an imprint on me. Each of them was different but one thing they all had in common was that none of the people involved telephoned me first to let me know what they were going to do. However, now that you've said you're going to kill yourself the Police, courtesy of the tax payer, is going to spend thousands and thousands of pounds helping to give you some badly needed attention. If you need help, or just someone to talk to, then just ask for it. But whilst we're running around helping your feelings of self-worth we're not helping other people in genuine need.

Don't get me wrong. The main reason I joined the Police was, and still is, to help people. I like helping people. It makes me feel useful in a way that DIY just can't match.

And finally, if you do actually, genuinely, need us please don't liberally scatter the word "knife" around during your call to us just because you think we'll get there quicker. All that means is that the copper who does turn up will be suitably arsed off with you and you might not get the caring attitude you were hoping for.

That'll Be My Fault, Then?

2007-05-03T14:38:00.000+01:00

Have you ever tried to make a complaint about your electricity company? Or maybe about your bank or the service you've received at a shop? You know the thing.
1)You're not happy.
2)You phone them up.
3)They give you the run around.
4)You get angry and write a letter.
5)They lose the letter.
6)You phone them back and ask what happened to the letter.
7)You listen to "greensleeves" for 2 hours whilst queueing.
8)You get passed between 7 different departments before speaking to the right person.
9)They pretend you don't exist.
10)You prove you exist.
11)They pretend they don't exist.
12)You scream a lot.
13)They put the phone down on you for being rude.

And so it goes. Now, compare this to making a complaint against a Police officer.

1)You're not happy.
2)You phone them up.
3)Before you know it, Inspectors and Professional Standards Departments are elbowing each other out of the way to be the first to offer you the chance to put everything in writing so that a full investigation can take place.
4)A sack full of leaflets lands on your doorstep "advising" you how to have the matter referred to the Independant Police Complaints Commission.
5)They then start phoning you up to check you're OK.
6)You start to receive letters from Superintendants saying how sorry they are.
7)You start to feel harrassed.
8)An investigator from Professional Standards turns up at your house to take a statement.
9)A solicitor friend of a friend of yours suggests sueing the Police for your trauma.
10)The solicitor writes to the Chief Constable demanding compensation.
11)The Chief Constable writes to you apologising, enclosing a big cheque.
12)You tell your friends who realise they can pay for a new conservatory if they do the same thing.

Then compare that to the experience of the Police officer involved.

1)You stop somebody for driving without their seatbelt.
2)They get quite rude asking why you haven't got anything better to do.
3)You point out that you keep having to stop to deal with people who don't wear their seatbelts.
4)You issue them with a ticket.
5)The person points out that "I know the Chief Constable".
6)You give them a big smile and ask that they pass on your regards.
7)Five days later you get dragged into the Inspectors office and served with a notice that you're the subject of a complaint.
8)The complaint states that you were rude, abusive, overbearing, misusing your powers and acting unlawfully.
9)You point out to the Inspector that this isn't actually true.
10)The Inspector points out to you that you're on administrative duties until it's all sorted out.
11)An elderly lady gets burgled and there aren't any Police officers to provide an immediate response.
12)As the lady phoned the Police, you were busy counting paper clips to keep the public safe from you.

To be honest, some of the above is a bit extreme. But not that much. If we do something wrong then that should be addressed. But there's no regard given to the fact that we have to make split second decisions, often under immese pressure.

I've long since lost count of the times that somebody's told me, "I'm going to make a complaint!" In fact, my initial reaction now is, "yeah, you probably will".

The first complaint I ever received as a brand new shiney probationer was from somebody I'd arrested for shoplifting and possessing drugs. His complaint read, "the officer approached me and told me he was going to search me. I didn't want to be searched because I had drugs in my pocket. So I resisted. During the arrest I received a bruise to my arm and the zip on my coat was broken". I actually thought it was a joke until I remembered the Inspector giving me the notice didn't have a sense of humour. And it took nearly six months to resolve.

It does occur to me though, as Summer's approaching and I can't afford to go anywhere really nice, I wonder if I'm rude to myself and make a complaint about myself can I get the Chief Constable to pay for my ticket?

What's That Flashing Blue Thing???

2007-05-01T14:00:00.000+01:00

So, carrying on as if I'd never been away, I was on lates yesterday and it was a busy old shift. Probably the nice weather. Nothing too exciting, but enough jobs to keep me out of mischief.

As a Sergeant I'm supposed to stay in my office and monitor the jobs coming in and take an overview of what's happening. Unfortunately, I've got a really low boredom threshold so I normally last for about an hour or so before I've got to go out and get some fresh air. Besides, I think it's important for the officers on my team to know that I'm pitching in and it's important for me to supervise them at incidents, not just whilst they're filling out endless forms.

So anyway, yesterday. I'd popped out to a neighbour dispute on the patch next to ours because they didn't have anyone to go. All very routine. Two people, grown adults no less, who can't go more than ten minutes without arguing with each other and getting us involved. After I'd been there for about 20 minutes, giving everybody big hugs and cuddles, a job came in on our patch.

A woman had taken an overdose of medication and sliced both her wrists, then wandered off. She telephoned her boyfriend (who was about 300 miles away) to tell him what she'd done. He then phoned the Police and we were left trying to find her using the clues she'd given to him. Something about being near a bridge and some toilets. I'll probably go into the specific job more another time. (it involves me kneeling down in a lady's public toilet looking under the cubicle doors. I'm going to have to give it some decent thought to make sure I don't make myself sound like a little bit of a pervert).

Anyway, this job was obviously a higher priority than the one I was at. (I mean, honestly, he was cutting his hedge and some of the clippings fell into your garden. Get over it. Life's too short). So I let the control room know that I was attending to co-ordinate the search for her. But because I'd drifted over to the other patch I was now eight and a half miles away. With a town centre full of rush hour traffic between me and her last known position. Splendid!

You see, it's not really the done thing to admit to enjoying blue light runs. I'm supposed to be very reserved and say things like, "Well, it's part of the job. But not the sort of thing I like to talk about." Well sod that! Confession time, I love blue light runs. I didn't join the Police just to drive on blue lights, but now I'm here I don't mind admitting that I rather enjoy it. It's probably not supposed to be exciting, but I'm afraid that it is.

And one of the things that makes it exciting (and the reason you have to concentrate so hard) is the way that other drivers are so unpredictable. In this one blue light run yesterday, I had people swerving up onto footpaths to get out of my way; drivers slamming their brakes on and leaving their cars sitting across two lanes; old dears who happily pottered on at 20 miles per hour not realising that there's a shiney white car behind them with blue strobe lights, flashing headlights and making a weird "nee naw" sound. I had at least two cars who helpfully decided to turn right as I approached from behind them and another who didn't realise I was behind him for about 400 yards, even with every oncoming car flashing him like mad. I sometimes wonder how much the UK economy would save if car manufacturers didn't bother paying to put mirrors on cars. I mean, from what I've seen it's a complete waste of time and money.

I set off two speed cameras and a red light camera, so I can look forward to receiving a Notice of Intended Prosecution through the internal mail in a few weeks and having to spend an hour or so putting the reports together for them all as to why I shouldn't be prosecuted.

I had two of our local numpties shout "wanker" at me as I passed them (which reminds me, I've got to go and see them when I go to work later and give them an £80 ticket each) and loads of little kiddies waving at me. In fact, whenever I've got a passenger their main job is waving back at small children. Cos we're nice like that.

And in the end, between my team, some of the community bobbies, a dog handler, the force helicoptor and a rather marvellous lady who phoned us when she saw the woman with the sliced wrists, we found her and got her to hospital before she was too seriously ill.

It was my first proper day back at work for over a fortnight (been on a course and at Crown Court) and it was all rather wonderful. Looking forward to today's shift actually. Which, unfortunately, starts in half an hour. And I'm sitting writing this wearing only a towel. Best be off then...

Death Message

2007-04-07T14:51:00.000+01:00

A "death message" is what we call having to visit somebody's house, often at night, and tell them that a family member has died. When you write it down like that it seems quite simple really. Turn up, give them the news, go to your next job... Simple enough.

But, as ever, the reality can be a bit different. Whether the message is being passed on behalf of a Police Force at the other end of the country, or if you've been to the incident yourself, you need as much information as possible before you go to pass the message. The family will often have loads of questions regarding how the deceased person actually died and you want to keep the amount of "sorry, I don't know" answers to a minimum. And because of this it's really important to have a proper point of contact to give to the family for any questions that might occur to them afterwards.

When you're on your way round to the house you can't help but try and predict what the reaction will be like. I told one bloke that his brother had died in another part of the country. He actually seemed a bit put out, like I'd caught him at a bad time. Given that he was holding some sort of drill thing (I'm not much of a DIY-er!) I think he was in the middle of putting up some shelves. He just thanked me and asked if there was anything he needed to do, offered me a cup of tea and got back to his shelves. Turns out they hadn't spoken in years.

I've passed a death message to a whole family before and got different reactions from everybody present. Their adult son had been killed whilst riding his motor bike, again in another part of the country, and I got the job of telling them. Mum was shocked, and burst into tears. Between breathless sobs she was asking for details about her son's death. It was really hard to understand her and I didn't want to keep asking her to repeat herself. I wasn't helped by the son's sister who was also in floods of tears, but just sat by herself on another seat staring at my boots. Fortunately for me, Dad decided to do the stoic, stiff upper lip thing. I could see that his eyes were glazed with pinpricks of tears, and clearly he was going to be having a good cry at some point, but he'd taken it upon himself to assume the role of steadying rock for his family.

I made them a cup of tea each, all of which went cold and untouched, and answered as many questions as I could before leaving them to their grief. By the time I left I just felt like I was intruding on such a personal, devestating moment for them. Whenever I think back to this job, the one detail I remember the clearest is the cold cups of tea. I wonder if the detail the sister remembers clearest is my boots?

As I walk up the path to the house and reach for the door bell I'm normally quite nervous. But you have to keep up appearances so I put my "game face" on. When the person answers the door you first, before anything else, have to make sure that you're speaking to the right person. I mean, can you imagine saying to a woman who answers, "I'm afraid I have to tell you that your husband has died". She collapses onto the ground at your feet wailing, "But he's in bed! I only took him up a cup of tea five minutes ago!" "er, this is number 15 isn't it?"

So, try and avoid that... Once I know I'm speaking to Mrs Smith (and the right Mrs Smith at that) I'm normally quite forward with delivering the news. Something like, "I'm truely sorry to have to tell you that your husband died this morning in a road traffic accident" I've never been on the other side of the fence, but we did some training and apparantly most people want us to just come out with it rather than beating about the bush and drawing the whole experience out for them.

And then you get this strange feeling. If you do this part of the job right then you can be an enormous comfort to the family, at least in the first few minutes. But you can't help feeling like a wrecking ball smashing your way through their lives. And then, ten minutes after leaving their house you can be taking a report of a burglary or restraining a violent shop lifter and you have to act just as calmly and professionally as if it was the first call of the day.

Ask A Stupid Question...

2007-04-07T14:32:00.000+01:00

One of the first things you notice when you wear a Police uniform in public is that people expect you to know everything. And I don't mean "everything" in a general, have quite a lot of knowledge way. I mean, literally, everything.

On my first day on foot patrol, I was approached by a member of public with a question. I didn't notice him at first because I was busy looking at my reflection in a shop window. But once he'd caught my attention he wanted to know what the traffic was going to be like in central London the next day, due to some event that was on.

Now, in itself, this isn't too daft a question. If you want to know if there's going to be any traffic restrictions then ask the Police. However...we were stood roughly 200 miles away from London at the time. I bumbled my way through some advice about phoning the Met Police up (what with them actually being in London) and he seemed happy enough.

But, to be fair, I don't mind questions like this. They're rather endearing and I like the interaction with people who are, generally, quite nice. People who know you do it too, and it's quite nice. You can be out walking through the park talking to a friend and the Police helicoptor will go overhead. You can guarantee they'll ask "what are they up there for?"

You think "Er, dunno. Because I'm down here. And they're up there." But instead I'll mumble something about "Well, they're probably looking for somebody. Maybe a criminal who's on the run..." and my friend will accept this quite happily, like they've been let in on a bit secret. I'll be honest, I'm not sure what it does when I'm on duty most of the time so if you catch me holding an ice cream and wearing sandals then you're going to be disappointed with the answer.

Then there's the question that people ask, not because they don't know the answer, but because somehow having it confirmed by a Police officer makes them more comfortable. I've been stood on a cordon before, with a bit of road or footpath taped off with Police tape and I've been approached by a member of public. I'm normally wearing something yellow and shiney and holding a rather serious looking clip board.

"So, this path's closed off is it?" I look around slowly to make sure I haven't missed anything. Twelve year olds think it's an absolutely marvellous game sneaking in behind me! Nope, all is as it should be. So I reply, "Erm, yes, I'm afraid it is." "Ah, thought so" comes the reply before the person thanks me and walks off.

Or you attend a Road Traffic Collision. Broken cars everywhere. Glass in the road. Police cars, Ambulances and Fire engines everywhere, blue strobe lights lighting up the street. Perhaps somebody is sat on the curb, crying and being attended to by the paramedics. The street is being closed with cones and "Police Accident" signs. People are running around doing their jobs, looking very serious and saying things like, "Two vehicle RTC, slight injury, road closed" into their radios.

And sombody walks up and asks "has there been an accident?" The temptation to reply "well, apparently but I can't seem to find it" is enough to make me curl up into a ball.

An Englishman's Home....

2007-04-03T20:25:00.000+01:00

If the gas works or factory containing explosive material next door to me was on fire, I'd probably be quite grateful to whoever knocked on my door and told me. And if they suggested I'd be safer somewhere a bit further away then I'd like to think I'd agree, grab my coat and make big steps down the road.

It's really interesting (and sometimes frustrating) to see the reaction you get when you try to evacuate somebody because of a suspect device, fire or gas leak etc. To be fair, most people do thank you for making the effort and leave as quickly as possible.

However, not everybody is quite so cooperative.

You get the person who just hates the Police, opens the door, sees the uniform, mumbles "Piss off" then slams it shut and gets back to watching the football. Oblivious to their impending death. In the interests of decency you have to knock again to try an explain. But if they answer the door a second time with "I thought I told you to piss off! What do you want?" then you'll have to forgive me if it crosses my mind to say, "Er, nothing. Just thought I'd say hi. I'll be off then".

Or the really stubborn person who says, "I know you mean well, but Jerry couldn't budge me so some little fire's not going to be able to. Now, would you like a cup of tea?" "Er, no thanks. Your house is on fire. And your Yorkshire Terrier appears to be suffering from smoke inhilation."

Actually, they're not as frustrating as the person who agrees that they need to get moving but who just has to grab "a few bits" before they come. And then they start loading up the car like a refugee fleeing a war zone. You have to say to them, "Look, could we hurry this up please? That building over there could blow up at any time and I'm not even on overtime".

And then you get the daft (but somehow really endearing) questions. But I'll save them for another time...

Appropriate Adults.

2007-04-03T20:06:00.000+01:00

Whenever a juvenile is spoken to by Police in an official capacity, whether as a witness, victim or suspect, they will have an appropriate adult present. This will normally be their parent. I say "normally" because the parent isn't always the most appropriate person.

We have a lad who lives on our patch who has just turned ten years old. This is important because he is now able, legally, to break the law. Somebody under the age of ten can't break the law because they're not old enough to know the difference. They can be naughty, but there's not a lot we can do about it.

This particular chap has been causing all sorts of problems for his neighbours over the last couple of years, culminating in him actually killing one of their cats. Unfortunately, his mum can't see that he's a little so-and-so and chooses to believe that the neighbours, the Police and the Council are all picking on him. Because of this, she overlooks all his bad behaviour and so, obviously, he knows he can get away with pretty much anything. (Until the next time we catch him that is. He's got a shock coming when that cell door closes on him).

One of the officers on my team had to go round to his house about six months about something that he'd done. Mum answered the door, TV blaring in the background and dirty dressing gown barely managing to keep her covered. The officer explained that she needed to speak to her and the boy about the incident. He shouted from upstairs, "I ain't done nuffin! She's lying!"

Mum decided to play Devil's advokate and keep an open mind. By turning to the officer and saying, "You heard him. Now fuck off!" before slamming the door in the bobby's face.

Now, I'm no child psychologist, but I really don't think she's setting the best possible example for her spawn. Maybe by telling a Police Officer to "Foxtrot Oscar" in front of the kiddie she's condoning this sort of behaviour? Just an opinion.

Anyway, I've started to get a bit cheesed off with parents who refuse to take responsability for their kid's actions. With the times we phone a parent and tell them Little Johnny's been nicked again, so would they mind awfully popping down to the station to act as his Appropriate Adult. And for me to be told, "You can fu**ing keep him! I've had enough!" and then to have the phone slammed down on me.

I honestly think that the only time some of them would notice that their kids weren't there any more would be when the child benefit stopped. Then I'm damn sure they'd remember the little bundle of joy they brought into the world.

Maybe the answer is to make parents who can be shown to not be taking an active part in their child's upbringing liable to paying fines and compensation for what their children have done.

The next time we have to speak to the ten year old, if he ends up in Court and the victim is awarded £100 compensation and Mum has to pay this I'm sure she'll be a bit more careful about what he gets up to in future.

Concern for welfare...

2007-04-01T22:09:00.000+01:00

Like I said in my last blog, I'm a big wuss when it comes to dealing with "sudden deaths". I don't know why. I mean, a fifteen stone drunk with attitude is much more likely to cause me some harm. I just get the feeling that it's bad karma to be there, getting all involved.

Still, it's part of the job so...

What normally happens is a concerned neighbour, friend or family member phones the Police to report that they haven't seen a particular person for a while, and perhaps they've been round to their house and all the curtains are drawn, there's 18 bottles of milk on the doorstep and no answer at the door.

We then turn up and our main aim is to ensure the welfare of the person concerned. We'll knock on the doors and windows, and try to see through any gaps in the curtains in case we can see the person. We'll speak to the neighbours and check with the local hospitals to make sure the person hasn't been admitted.

However, if all our enquiries draw a blank then we'll force an entry to the property and search it for the person. This normally involves using the "big, red door key" (a heavy piece of metal called an Enforcer and which is used as a battering ram) to force open the door. Sometimes though we'll break a window or someone small (so that'll be me, then) crawls through an already open window.

Once inside, this is probably my worst part of the incident. Imagine walking through a house which is often pitch black expecting to come across a dead body at any moment. You're heart's racing and your imagination's working overtime. Maybe you've left your torch in the car and you're having to feel your way around the walls, praying you don't trip over the body. (I know an absolutely hideous story about this. Another time maybe...)

You're working your way slowly down the hallway and, every time you come to a door, you take the handle in your hand that's starting to get all clammy and slowly open it. You take a deep breath, close your eyes and pop your head around into the room. You un-scrunch your eyes, one at a time for some reason, as if it'll help. And as they begin to focus........it's the kitchen and it's empty. So you carry on down the hallway to the next door and do it all again. Not too bad in a one bedroom flat but some houses have got bloody dozens of rooms! By the end of it I'm normally a gibbering wreck!

Sometimes you know before you enter the property that there's a really, really good chance that the person inside has died. If they've been dead for a little while the smell's quite distinctive so when you open the letter box halfway through shouting out, "Hello, Police" you get a lung full and at that point I tend to start calling in favours from my colleagues.

Eventually, as you open one eye, your gaze falls across the person you're looking for. You can see that they look pretty dead, but you still have to check for vital signs. Maybe they're just really deep sleepers. (Experience has taught me that it's always worth asking paramedics to attend so that they can do this bit). Assuming that they are dead, I'll look for any obvious signs of trauma to the body such as bruising or cuts. If there's a possibility of a suicide then I'll be looking for a suicide note. Even if the death isn't suspicous, there will still be an investigation by the Coroner if the death is unexpected, so I still have to maintain enough composure to gather evidence about their physical and mental state prior to death. I'll gather together any medicines or presciptions and put them to one side.

I'll also look for any details which may assist in finding a next of kin, because they will need to be visited and told the news. The undertakers will attend and take the body to the morgue, and a Police officer will have to follow them down to book them into the mortuary. And then, after the paperwork (obviously) gets completed and faxed off it's done. We move on to the next job, normally after some good natured joking about with any other officers who were there.

Actually, this would seem really insensitive if anyone saw us but it's actually a really important way for us to unwind from what is a really stressful and sometimes emotional incident to deal with. And it's normally the various different shades of yellow and green that I turn that's the butt of the jokes.

Even less nice...

2007-04-01T21:32:00.000+01:00

I went to a suicide yesterday. I'll do a blog about "sudden deaths" in general another time, but I always find suicides specifically really sad.

It doesn't help that I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to dealing with bodies. It doesn't matter that I've come across so many since I joined the Police. I'm still waiting for it to get easier (as I've been promised on so many occasions). But suicides are especially sad.

Very briefly, and without too much detail, this lad had hung himself using electrical flex. His friends hadn't seen or heard from him for over ten days and they had called us. When we got there, I lifted up the letter box and was fairly certain, even as I called his name out, that he was in there and that he had died.

We forced an entry to his flat and found him there. And so we went through our procedures (again, I'll go into them another time). Looking around the flat, I got a taste of the desperation he must have felt in the days and weeks leading up to his death. His flat was dirty and untidy, as if he'd long since stopped caring about himself. His suicide note mentioned an apology to his daughter and I wondered what was going through his mind as he wrote it. There was very little in the flat to suggest much interraction with other people, and I wondered if he just felt desperately lonely. That, perhaps, if for whatever reason he hadn't felt so alone then he'd still be here now.

I also wondered how the child's mother was going to explain to her that her dad was dead. And how the rest of his family would feel; would they be angry with him or feel guilty at themselves. Apparently I'm not very good as staying emotionally detached sometimes...

He was a heavy heroin user and had become depressed about the way he saw his life spiralling out of his control. This is actually the third suicide of a heroin user that I've had direct involvement with and each of them had chosen the same method to kill themselves. I've also attended suicides from overdoses, shotgun blasts, jumping from high buildings and one guy who even doused his car in petrol and set fire to it with him inside.

No matter how they did it and for whatever reason, each of them shared a deep, black desperation; a feeling that no matter what they tried they were always going to feel their pain, be it grief, physical pain, shame, guilt or desperation. And each person decided that there was no way to make things better, to be happy again. So, they decided to stop their pain for good.

A lot of people describe suicides as a selfish act, one where the people left behind are left to deal with the grief and guilt etc. And to an extent I agree. Our squad, some years ago, dealt with an incident where a male threw himself in front of a train. And I swear, that will haunt the driver of the train for the rest of his life.

But maybe committing suicide also takes some courage as well. Physical courage if nothing else. Taking that one final step over the edge of the roof or placing a shotgun in your mouth and slowly pressing the trigger.....

To be honest, the truth is that everybody involved adversely affected to some extent. I just hope that fate and my radio give me a nice break before the next one I have to deal with.

Insufficient Evidence

2007-03-30T09:43:00.000+01:00

The Police have to present evidence from an investigation to the Crown Prosecution Service. We receive a report of a crime, we attend and investigate the circumstances leading up to and subsequent to the crime being committed. Due to our superior investigative skills, well resourced and staffed Police stations, excellent co-operation with other departments and management who leave us alone to do our jobs (no, honestly, it really is just like The Bill. Well, perhaps not...) anyway, however we get there, we have a suspect for this crime.

We gather evidence from the scene, be it CCTV, witness statements or forensic evidence. We look at the wider aspects of the crime and think of possible defences that our suspect might have. We then try and either prove or disprove these defences, perhaps by interviewing other people or maybe by trying to trace the suspect's movements.

Our suspect will be interviewed and asked for an account of their whereabouts and possible involvement with this crime. If they give such an account, then that too will be investigated. We're not necessarily interviewing the person to prove their guilt. We're just gathering more evidence. And, once we've done all the above, we submit a file to the CPS and they decide whether or not to pursue the investigation through to a prosecution.

A fairly simple, managable and accountable method of bringing justice to victims of crime? Not always...

I investigated a report of the theft of a car, a green Vauxhall. The owner had driven to the local leisure centre and was using the gym. His car keys were in his tracksuit pocket, and his tracksuit was in the gym with him, but lying in the corner near the water fountain. Only one other person was in the gym, and this person left within five minutes of the car owner entering. The owner described this person only as being male, in his late teens and with fair hair. I took the man's statement.

I spoke to the member of staff on duty at the desk. He remembered seeing a local bad 'un enter the leisure centre, but without paying any money at the desk. He knew the male by name, as they had gone to school together. Before he had the chance to go and check what he was up to, the member of staff saw this same male leave the leisure centre, go to the car park, enter a green car and drive away. He was only in the leisure centre for 10 to 15 minutes. I took his statement and, as well as naming the male, I took a description. The suspect was described as being in his late teens and with fair hair. I then viewed the CCTV, which showed a person matching the description entering the leisure centre and leaving shortly afterwards, walking to the green car and driving away. Unfortunately, the quality wasn't good enough to show the persons' identity, but it did corroborate what the two witnesses had told me.

Right, I had my suspect. Now, to arrest him... I went to his house and, before knocking on his door, did a little drive around the area just on the very remote possibility that he had driven the stolen car home, some five or so miles from the leisure centre. Less than 300 yards from his house was parked..... the stolen green Vauxhall.

I had the vehicle recovered for examination by forensic experts. The suspect wasn't at home though (no doubt doing some of that charity work I spoke about in my last blog) so I didn't get the chance to arrest him for a couple of days. When he was arrested, I searched his room and found some clothing matching that which I had seen in the CCTV. So I seized that too. All good evidence.

The forensic examination was to show no physical evidence in the car, but a partial handprint on the frame of the car close to the driver's door. This matched my suspect.

In interview, the suspect completely denied the offence. His story was:
- the victim of the theft must have left his keys somewhere else.
- the witness who worked at the leisure centre had a grudge against him and so was lying.
- the CCTV didn't identify him and lots of his friends had the same or similar clothing.
- it was a coincidence that the car was found so close to his house. But he had heard that there were some car theives who lived near him. No names though, obviously.
- he did remember looking into a green car which he didn't recognise. As a bit of a car enthusiast he does this often, but never steals from the cars. This must be where the handprint came from.
- he gave no further information regarding where he was during the time the theft was committed.

So, with quiet confidence, I completed a file for the CPS and submitted it for review, fully expecting the male suspect to be charge.

The decision came back to NFA (No Further Action) the file due to there being no probable likelihood of a successful prosecution. And for a few seconds I looked around me expecting a mate to slap me on the back, say "only joking" and pass me the real decision. But it wasn't a joke. And I was the lucky chap who got to inform the victim that he wouldn't be getting justice after all.

It makes me wonder sometimes what level of proof the CPS really need. I mean, I know that the Court can only convict on "beyond reasonable doubt" but perhaps we take this too far sometimes. Do we actually have to catch people in the act with eighteen independant witnesses and a TV camera crew on hand? I've had simple shop-lifting jobs NFA'd by the CPS due to lack of CCTV evidence. But what does that mean for the small businessman who can't afford CCTV? Don't bother reporting any thefts until you've forked out a couple of grand for cameras...

I don't know, it's for people more intelligent than me to decide. All I know is that my suspect left the station with the biggest, smuggest grin on his face.

Your Country Needs You (for a few hours a week)

2007-03-30T09:31:00.000+01:00

I'm always being asked (normally by somebody who's not very happy with life) "What are you doing about...." and they add their current biggest annoyance.

The stock answer, and as it happens normally the true answer, is that we're doing what we can. But that we're limited to what we can do. Not because of our powers. Due to the current Government's knack for writing legislation I've got more power now than I know what to do with. But we are limited by resources. I can totally understand the person's frustrations at what they perceive as lack of action, but in their anger they can forget that there are lots of other people making reports of their own. And everybody expects an immediate and effective response from the Police.

So, here's a radical idea. Instead of merely complaining about how bad their communities are, can I suggest that these people do something about them. As far as the Police are concerned, they could join the Specials or become a volunteer at their local station. They could become a volunteer with Victim Support. In fact, for some of those with the more "minor" complaints, this would give a valuable insight into just how well off they are.

But it doesn't stop there. Volunteer to help at your kid's school or youth club. Help out with running the local scouts or guides groups. Coach kids football. Do a few hours a week helping out at the local charity shop, particularly if they directly help your community.

You could even go the whole hog and run for election onto the local council.

There's so many ways that we can all have a positive effect on our communities. And as my old mum once said, you have to help yourself before people will help you...

The Youth Of Today...

2007-03-24T21:16:00.000Z

I should start this post by pointing out that I don't believe that everybody under the age of twenty is a thug, yob or (God forbid) hoodie. I know that most of the young people I meet aren't actively trying to destroy everything that they can get their hands on or steal everything that isn't nailed down.
It's for this reason that when I respond to a report of "Nuisance Youths" I'm open-minded and speak to them, trying to point out that although they don't mean to be, they are being a bit noisey and so would they mind keeping it down? Most of the time, if you approach them on this level, with a bit of respect, they react well and do as they're asked.
Whenever I attend this sort of job, and it goes this way, I quite enjoy it. We had one such job where a school caretaker had phoned us to say that there were half a dozen kids on the school grounds (this was in the evening. Not during school time. Though sometimes having half a dozen kids in class is a bit of a novelty too!) The caretaker said that these youths had thrown something in the school pond and that they were generally making a mess.
I attended, spoke to them and they were good-natured and attentive. I organised them into a line and we did a litter pick around the school grounds and retrieved a tractor tyre from the pond. I got on quite well with them and they actually worked really well as a team. I'd like to think that having them spend half an hour picking up empty crisp packets was more effective than shouting at them. Time will tell I suppose, but none of them have caused any problems there since.
However, there's another sort of youth who is much more difficult to deal with. This is the youth who has been told by their parents all about their "rights" and that the Police, their teachers and other adults in the community have no right to tell them to stop breaking the law.
This is the youth who, when told to move away from an area where they've been causing problems replies, "You can't make me. My mum'll sue you and then you'll get sacked".
The fourteen year old girl who's been drinking cheap cider and who doesn't want to listen to the fact that this makes her much more likely to be raped. And when you take the little angel home Mum, assuming she's in the house and sober, actually gets really angry with me. Because now she's going to have to exercise some parental responsability and look after her child.
There's loads of reasons for the amount of anti-social behaviour today. But can I suggest it doesn't help that some parents can't be bothered to accept the responsability for being a parent and that over the last decade or so it's become effectively impossible for schools and the Police to properly deal with bad behaviour. Can we really blame some of the kids for running wild when there's not really any reason for them not to?
And finally, a note to those people who've forgotten what it's like to be a child - playing football on a football pitch next to a leisure centre does not constitute anti-social behaviour. That's actually children spending time doing something healthy rather than sitting infront of a computer.
That said, given that I'm writing a blog, perhaps I should be running around chasing a football? Don't want to upset anybody though...

Mispers

2007-03-24T20:47:00.000Z

Mispers. This is a Police term for Missing Persons and, as the name suggests, refers to a person who has disappeared, normally unexpectedly, and has been reported to the Police as such.
It then becomes our responsabilty to find them. They are graded as to the level of risk attached to them going missing.
We recently had a report of a three year old girl missing from her home where her grandmother had been looking after her. This immediately received the highest possible grading. Within a couple of minutes of the call there were more than a dozen Police officers, plus the Force helicoptor and a dog handler involved in helping to find her. Officers were conducting house to house enquiries to establish whether any neighbours had seen her wander off or whether, more worryingly, anybody unknown to them had been seen near her house. This is vital in the first minutes because if the child has been abducted we need to know if any vehicles have been seen leaving the area. Other officers were searching the surrounding streets, gardens etc in case the girl had just decided to widen her horizons and go exploring. Again, this happens a lot and doesn't necessarily mean that the adult looking after them is at fault. I've learned from experience that small children can make themselves disappear in a way that Houdini could only have dreamed of.
Another officer went to speak to the grandmother to get details of what the girl was wearing, where she might have gone to (favour park etc) and to help search the house again.
The officer, who clearly had been to this sort of job before, went straight to the girls bedroom, pulled back the duvet which was completely flat and found the girl sound asleep in the space between the bed and the wall, totally oblivous to all the comotion outside.
The grandmother and the girls' parents were so relieved and completely apologetic about wasting our time. All those officers, all that money spent on finding their girl who hadn't been missing all along.
And we didn't care about all that. Because they needed our help, they called us and we did what was asked of us. Every single officer was bouncing along happily after the good news. Not one grumble about having our time wasted. (Though there were a few jokes about whether toddlers should wear little bells so they're easier to find).
This job was the reason that we joined the Police and the look of relief and gratitude on the faces of the girls family was priceless.
Now compare this to the fourteen or fifteen year old who is, for whatever reason, rebelling against their parents or carers. We have a number on our patch who habitually "go missing" to the extent that they have their own files so it's easier to find their paperwork the next time we get the phone call.
We had one such report a few weeks ago. The mother of this chap had phoned us up to say her son (14 years old) had gone missing. The circumstances were that he didn't want to get into his taxi to go to school, had punched the car window and then run off down the street. I phoned her up to get a better idea of what was going on. Whilst talking to her, I asked if she was going to go and look for him. Her reply was, "no, I've had it up to here with him. I can't be bothered any more". It took real restraint not to point out that it was her son that was missing, not the car keys, and that perhaps she might drag herself away from the telly for ten minutes to help us find her flesh and blood. Instead, rather than get into a counter-productive arguement, I made some sort of non-commital grunt and made my excuses. This was the latest of more than a dozen such reports from his mother since the start of the year.
Reaching for his file I saw that he was likely to turn up at one of a few different places. Because of his age (and hence his vulnerability) we had to actively search for him so I sent a car out to look for him. Thanks to his file, he was found quite quickly and returned to the loving embrace of his mum. Job done.
Until about half an hour later. Mrs X phones the Control Room to report her son missing. Apparently he still didn't want to go to school! Considering the lack of staff at the moment, I wanted to phone her back and report a load of coppers missing, and would she mind awfully helping me to find them? Instead I just reached for the file...

I'm a Trained Observer

2007-03-24T20:25:00.000Z

A few years ago, during a weekend late shift which runs from 5pm to 3am, I was part of a van crew of about half a dozen officers.
We were called to a "disturbance" at a house which was only about two hundred yards from the Police station. Now "disturbance" can mean anything, from full blown fight involving several people, perhaps with weapons, to a couple arguing over who lost the remote control. Whilst you're on your way to such a job you've got no idea what you're going to be facing when you get there. And, I have to be honest, this is part of the attraction of the job.
So, we volunteer to attend and arrive there from the town centre where we'd been watching drunk people falling over within a couple of minutes.
We pulled up outside the house and I could see, straight away, about five or six people at the front door shouting and screaming at each other. You get a feel for this sort of job fairly quickly and automatically learn to look for things like injured people, whether it looks like a fight or an arguement etc. This job looked very much like half a dozen people trying to out-shout and out-point each other. Nothing too exciting but it needed splitting up before it got too out of hand.
We all ran from the van, up the garden path and started pulling people away from each other, standing in between them and trying to calm them down. In the minute or so that this took I was vaguely aware that there was another person stood in the garden, about five yards away. This person, a bloke roughly in his fourties, wasn't doing anything other than watch what was going on. Clearly no threat to me or my colleagues I basically ignored him and concentrated on the job at hand. I thought he was a bit rude him staring like that maybe, but hey, it's better than most of the stuff on TV. Turns out he was also from the house but apparently didn't want to get involved in the sillyness outside.
We got the warring parties inside the house and tried to work out what had caused the disturbance. After a few minutes, one of my colleagues said to the Sergeant "I'm sure that bloke was holding something outside".
He went back out to the garden and with his torch started to look around where the man had been stood. He later told us how he peered over the hedge where the man was and saw, lying on the ground, a loaded, sawn-off double-barrelled shot gun. He quickly pointed this out to the Sergeant and the man was searched. In his pockets were a load of other shot gun shells.
He was arrested and the rest of the house was searched by a van crew of Police officers who were suddenly a lot less complacent about what they were doing. We ended up finding more handguns and face masks.
Turns out we'd interrupted a domestic between armed robbers and their wives.
After we'd finished we were all sat down in the canteen having a brew, alternating between nervous laughter and stunned silence about the job where we all ran past a dangerous armed criminal completely oblivious to the shot gun in his hands.
Like I said, Trained Observer...

S.S.D.D.

2007-03-14T22:28:00.000Z

Today was a weekday early. Which meant there would be plenty of RTC's to keep those budding traffic officers busy. I knew this in advance because there are always plenty of RTC's on weekday mornings. Some people will do anything to get the day off work!

I popped along to lend a hand at two today.

The first was called in by ambulance. They'd been on standby round the corner when somebody told them about a crash on a nearby roundabout. They raced along, calling us to assist whilst en route. By the time I got there (less than 5 mins after the call) there was only one (badly damaged) car at scene and the paramedics scratching their heads. Apparently the driver of this vehicle had got into the other car involved and both parties had driven off together.

As we considered the possibilites (kidnapping, stock car enthusiasts, practical jokers) the other vehicle involved returned. Basically the first driver was being driven around by the other party involved trying to arrange recovery of his vehicle. Even though the car was a total write-off and the collision could have caused really serious injury they were getting along famously, helping each other out. Restored my faith in human nature. I felt like hugging them both for giving me such a pleasant start to the day. (Didn't though. Still cynical enough that I didn't want to be accused of making any whiplash worse!)

The second one was a single vehicle RTC on a really fast and busy dual carriageway. An elderly gent driving a huge 4x4 had managed to leave the road, drive into a ditch, come half out of it again as he drove along the ditch taking a load of small trees and hedges with him before coming to a stop teetering on the edge of the ditch. (too many uses of the word "ditch"?)

He was another really nice fella who kept saying that he'd been driving since 1947 and that this was his first crash. Unfortunately he kept asking us to allow him to try and drive out of the ditch, thereby not needing a recovery truck. No matter how many times we pointed out that he could end up turning his car onto it's roof he wouldn't have it. Had to take the keys off him in the end. But that's the sort of single-minded "never say die" attitude that got us through the Blitz, so fair play to him.

The recovery truck came and dragged him out and I gave him a lift to their depot. Had the chance to sit and chat with him (mostly involved me screaming loudly into his left ear as he was "a trifle deaf") about his wife and their 50 year marriage.

So, lots of nice people and it was lovely and sunny. Cracking day at work.

Not nice...

2007-03-14T22:06:00.000Z

Got into work this morning to see that the late shift yesterday had to deal with the death of a 2 year old baby who had drowned in a garden pond. I'm not going to talk about the job specifically because a) i wasn't there and b) it's not fair on the family.

It highlights though some of the things that we (and paramedics) go through.

About 2 months or so ago I dealt with a P.P.O. This is a Police Protection Order whereby a Police Officer can remove a child to a place of safety if (s)he believes the child to be in immediate danger, whether physical, emotional, sexual etc.

This one was pre-planned with Social Services who had sent a social worker to our nick. As the duty Sgt I liased with her and she had to convince me that the P.P.O. was necessary. This didn't take too long. A couple of hours earlier the mother of the children had disclosed to Social Services long term abuse of her and the children by their father. The abuse (physical in this case) was serious enough that it was felt necessary to remove the children and place them into temporary foster care immediately.

There were four children in all and both parents had what are called "social problems" nowadays. Basically they had drug and alcohol addictions and their children came a long way down their list of priorities. I knew that the father was violent and that his brother in law, who lived two doors away, was even more so. This, with the number of children involved, meant that I arranged for five other officers to come with me with more nearby if required.

Straight away, from knocking on the door, I knew that this job was going to be difficult (not that you ever expect otherwise with a P.P.O.). The mother refused to let us in and straight away started screaming that her partner was a good father. She then ran off to fetch the brother in law.

We entered the house and the father had to be restrained almost immediately as he became violent towards us. He was arrested to prevent a Breach of the Peace (a minor offence) and handcuffed. Meanwhile, other officers started to take the children upstairs whilst the standby officers kept the brother in law at bay.

One officer was carrying the eldest child (still only 5 years old) upstairs and I stopped to make sure she was as well as could be expected. The little girl, asked me, "are you going to take my daddy?". Not wanting to upset her further I replied, "No, he's going to be staying here". (This was the truth. Unless he did something completely stupid he was to be dearrested once the children were removed.)

She then asked me "are you going to take me away?" I gave what I thought would be the right answer, "I'm not sure at the moment, but try not to worry". To this the girl, a five year old who surely should be full of fun, dreams and barbies, replied, "Please take me away, I don't like it here".

I was just stopped in my tracks. For a few seconds I couldn't move or speak. A five year old child asking to be taken away from their parents. How bad must this child's life be? As my eyes filled up I just said, "well if that's what you want then we can do that for you" and she gave me a beaming smile.

To cut the story short, the children were removed without too much further incident. The mother screaming in the street distressed them though. Can't help thinking that the screaming was for mum's benefit rather than the childrens. Ten minutes later they were sipping orange juice and watching cartoons at the nick. And making fun of my hair do!

The reason I mention the story is to illustrate some of the absolutely heart-rendering things we deal with, in order that the general public don't have to. We even felt some sympathy for the parents, strange though it seems. There were parents amongst the coppers there who could, at least to an extent, empathise with having your child taken away. Afterwards there was a really weird atmosphere. We all felt really crappy, knowing that we'd done our job well and to the best of our ability.

Stop Search

2007-03-13T22:29:00.000Z

I was looking back through the threads on a Police forum I'm into and saw one about stop searches in the Met. Apparently, in a trial area, those searched will have the opportunity to makr the officer(s) out of 5 and text the result in. Got me thinking about one search a mate and I did some time back...

We were in plain clothes in the town centre and came off the High Street to a car park behind some shops. Looking over to our right, about 50 yards away, we saw two lads in the car park. One was on foot, the other on a bike, and both were looking into the cars as they passed them, faces pressed right up against the windows. Now it occurred to my buddy and I that these two lads (roughly aged 16) probably didn't own every single car that they were looking into. In fact, and I know this sounds cynical, they might have been looking for things to steal. So we decided to search them.

As we approached to within about 10 yards the lad on the bike clocked us and rode off the other way. With no chance of catching him we turned our attention to the other lad. Even though we knew him, and were pretty sure he knew us (given that we'd arrested him enough times before) we produced our warrant cards and identified ourselves as Police.

He made some comment along the lines of "fuck off, you're not searching me" and continued to walk off. I took his arm and immediately he began to get aggressive with me. So the other bobby took his other arm. We tried talking him into calming down but he was getting more and more violent so we had to take him to the floor and handcuff him in order that we could safely conduct the search without causing anybody injury.

This couldn't have been entirely pleasant for him, because he started to scream about Police brutality and harassment. As we held him still and went through his pockets and coat etc (a process that took a lot longer than it should have given that he kept trying to spit and kick at us) a random member of public walked past us.

The little cherub saw this and decided to gather public support by screaming out "help, the Police are beating me up!"

Without missing a beat, the chap looked down at him, then at us and with a look on his face that suggested he'd had enough of people committing crime in the area said, "I didn't see nothing" and walked off.

This actually deflated our guy a bit so the rest of the search went a lot quicker. And we found...er, nothing actually. So we picked him up, dusted him off and offered him a copy of the search record (reply: shove it up your arse!).

Can't help thinking what my marks out of five would've been. He wasn't exactly a satisfied customer.

Use of Force

2007-03-12T16:50:00.000Z

I'm sure most people have seen the recent reports of the Police Officer in South Yorks striking the woman he'd arrested five times in order to subdue and handcuff her. And I've read loads of different opinions on other blogs and websites. Whenever a Police officer uses force it's such an emotive issue that's bound to raise heated debate.

Just thought I'd scribble down some of the thought processes that go through your mind when you find yourself in the same position as that officer.

I've been there more times than I care to remember, normally reacting to a call from a member of public or CCTV operator or doorstaff. When I'm on my way to jobs like this I'm trying to think about my safety, that of my colleagues and members of public who may be present. I'm trying to take in (sometimes conflicting) information about numbers of persons involved, descriptions, any weapons that have been seen, information about any named persons involved etc. And I normally have only a few minutes to digest all this whilst trying to make my way there safely.

On arrival, if there is a fight or other violent incident taking place then at least one of those involved in invariably under the influence of alcohol. I know from bitter experience that this will make them generally more difficult to reason with, more likely to make snap decisions and lash out and more difficult to overcome and arrest.

I'm weighing up their apparent demeanour and frame of mind as I approach them. Are their fists clenched? Are they staring right at me? What's their stance like? Are they standing with their feet slightly apart as if ready to throw a punch? Are their hands in their pockets? If so, do they have a knife in that pocket? How are they speaking? Do they seem angry, reasonable, drunk, drugged? Am I alone? If so, how far away is the nearest officer if I ask for urgent assistance? If I am not alone, is my colleague OK? Where is my colleague?

I'm normally approached by numerous people all wishing to scream at me various different versions of the same story. I have to try and seperate them, but I can't turn my back on anybody if I can help it because this leaves me open to attack from behind. If I do manage to seperate them, I can only speak to one person at a time. But invariably the other person starts screaming that I'm taking the other party's side and again I end up having to try and calm and seperate people.

What about if the fight is still ongoing when I attend? I have to try and prevent people from being assaulted. But if I'm alone then whilst I'm trying to stop any assault then I'm again open to attack from people behind me. (This happens all too often. Look on youtube.com)

Perhaps I have to arrest a person who is clearly drunk and acting aggressively. I know that, as I approach them, this is a potentially really dangerous situation for me. I know that drunk people can be almost impervious to pain, so if they attack me then my baton may not be of use. I know that something like 33% of people do not react to CS spray, more so if they are under the influence of drink or drugs. So this is probably not an option open to me.

If I can't contain the person until further officers attend by speaking to them then I have no option but to go "hand to hand" with them. Now at this point I should mention that I'm 5' 7" tall and weigh just over 9 stone, so I'm not exactly likely to have strength on my side. This is particularly the case with a non-compliant drunk person who really, really doesn't want to be arrested.

Suddenly, either because they've lunged at me or tried to run away, I've had to grab hold of them. Out of nowhere I'm involved in a struggle to stop myself from being injured without injuring the other person. The person is strong, screaming in my face, throwing punches at my head. I try to take them to the floor using an arm or wrist lock but they manage to wriggle out of it and we tumble to the ground. We're rolling around and they're screaming "I'll fucking kill you! I'll fucking have you!"

I can't get to my radio to update on the urgency of the situation. It's basically just me and the person trying to hurt me. So I use force against them. I strike their arms and legs, trying to deaden them so they can't be used against me. I apply pressure to the arms and elbow joints to try and restrain them on the ground, and even though I know this really hurts them and may cause injury, I have no choice because this person will really hurt me given half a chance.

Eventually, other officers arrive and we safely handcuff the person and they are taken away to the custody suite. And what happens as soon as we get there? The person who minutes ago was trying their best to, in their words, "kill me", complains that I punched him in the arm, and he's got a bit of a bruise. And from that point I know that I'm going to be facing an investigation for improper use of force, a criminal allegation that could end in my losing my job and being imprisoned. For doing my job.

The public have a decision to make. Either they want the Police to support them in making the streets safer, in which case they have support the Police. Or instead they can support the violent criminals and yobs when they make spurious complaints against those officers.

I get paid to deal with some truely horrible people. To wade through blood, spit, vomit and tears on a daily basis. I knew this before I joined and I'm happy to do so because I think I can genuinely make a difference. That said, I won't put myself at such risk if the general public, who have asked for our help, then turn on us. If that continues to happen then I'll probably find myself a nice, safe desk job at headquarters where the pay is just the same, the pension's just as secure but I don't have to worry about losing my job and going to prison quite so often.

I'm back...

2007-03-12T16:37:00.000Z

I've been working away for a few weeks so haven't had proper chance to write anything. But I'm back at my station now so...

Last night we attended a report of a woman who'd alleged she'd been beaten by her husband. We met the paramedic there who had asked for our backup and went and spoke to her.

There was no evidence of any injury to her and she stated that she'd made up the allegation about her husband. You have to keep an open mind (in case she's just saying that) but she was obviously suffering from severe psychosis. She was rocking backwards and forwards, yelling that everyone hated her. She'd written a suicide note and had self harmed on her wrists. She was repeatedly asking for our help.

The paramedic (and my colleagues and I) were really concerned about her so we called out a doctor to attend and carry out an assessment on her with a view to admitting her to a psychiatric hospital. Unfortunately, the doctor decided (after keeping us waiting for over an hour) that the hospital probably wouldn't admit her so he wouldn't be attending. We put our heads together and decided that he really shouldn't be making this decision from however many miles away so we'd try another route.

Basically, we waited until she went outside and then detained her under the Mental Health Act and took her to the hospital ourselves. (This was technically a bit naughty). We then had to fight with the staff there to get her admitted and eventually, more than four hours after we arrived at her house, she was given a bed. I had to argue her case with four seperate members of staff until they finally relented.

On the one hand, we got enormous satisfaction out of helping this lady and her family who were at their wits end. But it was so difficult for this person, who clearly needed help and was trying to get that help, to find someone willing to take the time to give her the support she needed.

Point is, with all the concerns about care in the community and those with mental health problems injuring themselves and others, I can't believe that we're still struggling to have sufferers admitted to hospital. And this woman was lucky that the paramedic who attended was switched on and caring enough to want to go the extra mile for her. Had the family simply followed advice (wait for an appointment with your G.P.) then she could well have gone through with the suicide and now a seven year old boy would have to grow up without his mum.

It's about time the professionals in mental health care supported their "colleagues" in the ambulance service and Police a little bit more, and remembered why they're there in the first place.

D'oh!

2007-02-10T23:02:00.000Z

Looking back over the last few posts I think there's been a bit too much whinging and not enough of the stuff that makes us crease up with laughter.

So, in an attempt to redress the balance......

The other night we were called to an address by a mother whose son was smashing the place up. We got there within a few minutes but the little blighter had already run off. So we took a statement for the damage and went on our way asking mum to give us a ring if and when he came back.

She phoned us about an hour later to say he'd returned, so our little van popped along. I went round the back with a PCSO and two of the bobbies on my team went round the front. I heard talking from inside so I thought my colleagues had already gone in, so I went in through the back door.

Mum was alone inside in the lounge pointing upstairs, so I thought that perhaps this was where my colleagues had gone, so up I trooped.

When I got to the top of the stairs I could see into the lad's bedroom. He was there with his brother and a mate and he was obviously aware that we were here to nick him, though he hadn't seen me yet. He was running around like a headless chicken, the poor love, trying to find somewhere to hide. From just outside his room, in my best high-pitched voice, I whispered "quick, in the wardrobe!"

You could see the cogs turning as he stopped, thought about it, then dived into the wardrobe. I then squeeked, "quick, shut the door, shut the door!"

Again, grateful for the advice, he shut the door behind him.

I then went into the room and stood outside the wardrobe saying "shh, they'll hear you" to his brother and mate's amusement.

It all went quiet until, after a few minutes, a muffled voice came from inside "have they gone yet?"

I opened the door and said, "sorry mate, no, we haven't".

As I pointed out to him later in custody, everybody hides in the wardrobe. You've got more chance of not getting caught if you stand in the corner of the room with a lampshade on your head!

New Month, New Tea Fund

2007-02-02T00:55:00.000Z

This caused all Hell on parade today. It's been suggested that if people pay their tea fund a year in advance they can have a £4 discount and then the Sgt who runs it doesn't have to chase them every month. This lead to the obvious "but what about if I'm posted away for 3 months" and "what if I leave the station before the end of the year" discussion.

In the end it was decided that, as it's only £20 this probably isn't worth getting too stressed about.

Once that was out of the way we cracked on with fighting crime. Quite a few of us in today (a Sgt and 4 PC's) so things started well. Unfortunately, one of the PC's had to deal with two prisoners left over from the early shift and another PC had an appointment pre-booked. Still, crack on.

It was the usual disputes and arguments between neighbours and friends. A burglary where a buggy was stolen from a porch.

One of the bobbies is dealing with a criminal damage where the master criminal has signed his own name with his "tag" all over the side of a sports centre. We looked on the internet to see if he's got a personal website and he has, with the same tag on it. So hopefully he'll squirm a bit when he's interviewed tomorrow.

I mean, I'm glad we're not facing an army of criminal geniuses because that would clearly make our job harder. But seriously, if some of them were characters in Cluedo they'd be called "Captain Potatohead" and "Lady Buffoon".

We also got a phone call from a grandfather reporting that his 14 year old granddaughter is having a sexual relationship with her 17 year old boyfriend. This is always a bit tricky to deal with. Firstly, it's going to be really difficult to progress unless the girl admits that she's been sleeping with him, which she's unlikely to do because "I love him and he loves me!"

It's also unlikely that the lad's going to be too quick to admit anything because he knows she's under the age of consent.

There's also sometimes a moral question, as in "should we really be getting involved?" I once dealt with something similar (15 year old girl, 16 year old boy) who both came from supportive, loving homes and had been together for over a year. The girl's father (estranged from the mother) phoned us to make the report, and it was more to get at his ex-wife than any concern for his daughter, who was clearly not in any danger. They (the boy and girl) used contraception and were really careful and obviously had very strong, real feelings for each other. I felt like I was trampling my size 9's somewhere they were neither needed nor wanted because of the allegation made out of malice.

In the end, the case was never pursued as it was deemed "not in the public interest". Sometimes you feel that doing the right thing is a lot more complicated than just following the letter of the law.

My Computer's Fixed!

2007-01-31T22:14:00.000Z

It's been a few weeks since me last post, but now my computer's fixed and I don't have to time share my mate's clapped out old lap top. So, quick update.

We installed a covert camera at Nana Moon's house. This took ages to get authorised because, even though we were putting it in a private residential address with the owner's permission I had to justify it in case we infringed somebody's right to privacy. Still, it was worth it because a couple of weeks later the scum bag came back and we got a cracking photo of him going into her house.

The next day we went and locked him up and he was good enough to get dressed in the same clothes and do his hair exactly the same way as in the photo. Now, how's that for the public cooperating with the Police? Partnership in action! Unfortunately CID were slightly less cooperative, but eventually they huffed and puffed their way into interview with him and now we're just waiting to hear what CPS have got to say about charging him.

I still have no staff to help lock up the other criminals though, and we've just been plodding along from one shift to the next doing our best. I've been told that I'll be getting some more staff at the end of March, but I won't hold my breath...

That said, everyone's still really chirpy around the nick. I'm lucky to work with a great bunch of people who genuinely care about what they do, even if there is the odd moan and gripe about some of the things people report to us.

Back To Work

2007-01-06T07:30:00.000Z

So, couple of days off after New Years Eve then back on earlies.

I'm a skipper (sergeant) on a squad of six or seven officers which, if everyone was at work, would be just enough to Police our area relatively effectively. Unfortunately I've had one officer transferred to a Safer Neighbourhood Team (more about them some other time), one on an interviewing course, one on a secondment to a prisoner handling unit, one on leave and one off sick.

Which left me and two PC's to try and Police our patch. Except for Thursday. When one of those I had left was taken to another part of the county to assist with the arrest of a potentially violent and armed man.

So, two Police officers to Police almost 500 square miles of a mainly urban part of the county (with some rather pleasant green bits thrown in for good measure).

I had a bit of a rant for ten minutes and then we just got on with it. And it was actually quite refreshing. Normally I have to have a bit of a stress about getting through all the jobs waiting to be allocated. But this week I knew I didn't have the staff so we just dealt with one job at a time and it was all rather nice. (particularly as I could leave the station and go and have fun without getting told off!)

Only one real job of note. Our divisional analysts decided that the peak time for burglaries in a specific part of our division was between 12pm and 2pm on Thursdays. So one of them with a plain clothes Police officer had decided to have a drive around that area. Blow me, a burglary in progress gets reported and the whole world goes to it. All the officers from the bigger station down the road, traffic, dog section, armed response, helicoptor and me and my buddy. We got containment on the area and everyone was having a good search round. After about 20 minutes a few of the officers had started to leave to go back to what they were doing before the job came in so there was only about four cars left looking for the burglar.

The same burglar who broke cover and sprinted off down the road straight into the arms of the plain clothes officer! (you have to understand, this never happens. It's like having all your Christmas' and birthdays at once).

How did we know it was him? Well, his car was parked next to the attacked premises. He roughly matched the description from the witness and was sprinting away from the attacked premises. Oh, and the witness also stated that the offender wore socks on his hands (to hide fingerprints. Obviously watches The Bill). When the chap was stopped we lifted up the bottoms of his jeans and he had no socks on. Now, I'm no Inspector Morse but.......

Unfortunately we also dealt with a 92 year old lady (the sweetest person you've ever met. Like Nanna Moon off Eastenders but nicer) who had been taken for hundreds of pounds by a guy who'd tricked her into thinking she needed building work done. It was really good, though, to see how the Police Service reacted with her getting help from all different sides. We've still not caught him but there's a couple of things in place to help; I'll post if we get him. And for anyone who thinks the Police don't care, I lost count of how many times the word "scum" got used when people were talking about this job.

So, all in all a good set of shifts. After the bonkers New Years Eve I needed something like this to remind me why I love my job so much.