Einstein : Not everything that can be counted counts. And not everything that counts can be counted.

Thursday, 31 May 2007

Inspired by the big fella in blue

So its dark, I am cruising quietly and furtively around one of the many trading estates that have sufferred from burglars and petty damagers. I like to do this. Its late as well as dark. Then as I turn a corner I see an glow, I check and again I can confirm, yes its a glow, a glow of a fire. The damagers have returned and set another of the skips alight. We been talking to the beat team who are around during the day. They have visited the units and it seems to be generally accepted. Itis good sense to put the skips inside for the night.

I get closer and see amongst the leaping flames and dark coloured smoke illuminated by the said flames there seems to be a strange form of projection on one side. I continue towards perceived burning skip and as I draw near the transformation in the shape is quite remarkable and at the same time horrifying. The projection turns out to be a leg, other projections appear as parts of arms and up close, real close, there is definately the form of a body, right at the core of the whole thing.

I shout into the radio, there is a definate urgency in my voice, I try to get my poxy little extinguisher out of the 'secure' position it is determined tio remain in. We struggle and I fear I am losing the battle but eventually the grip on the sanctuary of the extinguisher bracket is released and I win this one. The extinguisher, not wanting to make it easy pops off and my vehicle is suddenly full of 'white stuff'. Could this be panic or is everything beginning to get slightly awkward.

I'm out of the vehicle, small metal cannister in hand, move towards to fire. I have remembered to get the vehicle upwind of the smoke. Not by any strategic plan but by luck. That is the way I drove into the estate. If I'd have come the other way I would have surely smelt it well before.

I move in low and fire off the extinguisher at the base of the fire. Bollocks. It doesn't go off. Could it be I have left the contents inside my vehicle ? Squeeze again, this time I am greeted by the sound and feel of this small piece of apparatus that is going to perform a miracle. As the contents squirt I continue to move slightly closer, keeping the spray directed low and in a slight fan type arc and eventually its out, the flames have gone. The smoke is choking and I realise my hands and arms are bloody hot. Hotter than my face anyway.

Then, despite my other emotions, I realise by the condition of what is before me that I was too late. How could this be. I go for the tried and tested measures of locating a pulse etc etc and feel only the heat and listen to a variety of popping, crackling, hissing and get my first whiff of that smell. The kind of smell that you cannot easily explain. No one ever told me about his.

Oh yes, I've smelt death before. From fresh, wet, crumpled and red to old, stale, stiff and musty. But never, ever, quite like this.

I make various checks with comms to ensure that the ambulance and brigade are on their way. I begin to think of all sorts of things connected with death and its companions but only in an effort to distract myself from the real issue.

I try to reassure myself that nothing I could do would have made any difference, what so ever, at all. My mind begins to ask me all sorts of questions. How could anyone in their right mind even consider this ? I look around for something that might shed some light on the matter and answer some of the questions I have.

Then I begin to see the picture. This was not an accident or a crime. The only crime was that this was allowed to happen in the first place.

This could be where 'big fella in blue's' mad lady with the hammer could progress. Needless to say, that blog had inspired and resurrected the memory.

I am knelt on the ground, staring, hoping, my thoughts racing and I begin to look around. I can feel my pulse in my head, in my neck and in my chest, like someone is inside, drumming.

Close by, on the ground, neatly lain out are various personal effects, money all piled up in neat little piles, what remains of the petrol can melted in the heat. Lighters. Remains of those last smoked cigarettes.

Again my mind asks some other questions. How could such a tidy, prepared sort of mind stray from such order to such devastating & catastrophic finality.

The ambulance and brigade turn up, the district Sgt comes to survey the scene, I've got it protected as well as I can until someone else (hopefully) gets to take over that unpleasant chore.

Section Inspector comes to survey so comms can show someone is a responsible position has visited the scene. He thanks me for my help, they are short again and everyone is committed. We are unable to get anyone there to photograph the scene so strike a deal with brigade. They get one of their investigators to do the job for us, I keep my log of events going, just in case and eventually that is it. We can exchange photos later if necessary. The unfortunate remnants of the body are removed, I make my final checks and resume. I need a walk with my companion. To clear my head, my lungs and get my stuff together. I tell him about it, he understands, as he always does on such occasions and then I go off to begin to write about it. But that smell, its still there. At least the drummer has stopped.

I go back to the nick, wash, change my uniform and begin the written part of the task. But that smell, its still there. I see that the hairs have gone from my hands and arms.

Later on, whilst I am writing, I am joined briefly by those that came for a look or have heard and come to offer support. This ranges from genuine to those who cannot bring themselves to be openly sympathetic but resort to the humour that some of us, at times like this, use to cover how we really, and I mean really, feel. But that smell.

I ignore the remarks and continue to write and slowly, but surely, everyone else has pissed off and then I am alone, with my pen, my thoughts, my doubts and that bloody smell.

After several different phone calls with the sector Inspector I am informed that we know who this unfortunate person was and briefly some of the case history. I still have that smell, close and unwelcome. Then, from the corner of my eye I see someone who I hadn't noticed before. Soemone who I had known reasonable well for some years but who seemed to have changed and become temporarily unrecogniseable, camoflaged cleverly with the background in a discreet yet obviously uncomfortable way.

This person approached and spoke, very quietly and softly and thanked me for all I had done.

I was confused. I hadn't done anything, really, nothing that any other frontline officer would not have tried to do if the roles had been reversed.

I must have look confused, or awfully stupid, but couldn't speak. They repeated their thanks again and added that this unfortunate soul was a relation. Then they walked slowly away.

I simply stood there, like some form of crazy fool trying to work it all out. It was not what I had expected. My ability to speak seemed to have gone into stand-by mode.

That smell, it lasted for weeks. In my hair, in my clothes, up my nose and in my memory.

Those few discreet words said in a moment of deep personal despair were all that needed to be said. I felt, at that moment in time, that it was I who should be saying thank you.

Wednesday, 30 May 2007

Wonders of modern technology

Its got an ology on the end so it must be good. So goes the developments in radio communications technology we have experienced since our saviour 'airwave' come to pass.

This is not the chewy stuff that clears your sinus blockage in the event of a bit of a sniffle, but that new wonder communications solution that will make our lives safe, secure and part of the communications family. Itis claimed that it does what it says on the tin, so to speak.

Well how come that mine keeps on beeping as the signal is, yet again, lost ? For no obvious reason ? Even when I am completely still ? One second full strength on the signalometer and suddenly down to zilch and that infernal beep beep.

Why are we told that because we are sat down the signal reception is decreased ? Even when sat down on a chair, on the 6th floor.

Why is it that areas are famously bad for reception quality yet itis supposed to almost 100% total coverage ?

Add to this the times that people get through and either transmit or receive quality is awful.

Some times people are either on transmit or receive but not both at the same time, they like to talk about it but they just simply don't listen.

Plus the times people are told to stand-by because there is only a single operator. This definately does not help you know.

Also the times that the excited assistance call is not registered, "last unit please say again" and the learned ear of someone who has existed out on the streets and become atuned to those half heard garbled calls for help comes up with the location and nature of the call. One does learn to recognise the tone of urgency in the voice and respond accordingly.

We are unable to use this modern wonder-technology whilst driving now.

Lets see...........'Can you attend blah blah, immediate response.'

'OK en route' as long as you are stopped, or stop before you answer.

Begin to drive off, pull over. 'Can you geo-base that for me?'
We used to have maps. Geo-base does sound more exiting than a map.

Wait for instructions and drive off we go again.

'zed victor 2 I have an update, description of offenders'

Pull over, stop and call up for an update before continuing.
Now the real poser. Do you sit and wait or take the chance and drive a little closer to the scene ?

'zed victor 2 I have an update, offenders may have a vehicle'

Pull over, stop and acknowledge this fact, ask for details of the vehicle, not on the log yet.

Continue towards the scene.

'zed victor 2, better description of the offenders and no confirmation of a vehicle'

Pull over & stop, ask for or listen to details of offenders, ask any other relevant questions in the hope that the person taking the call has obtained relevant information. Digest info and drive off again.

There is a pattern emerging here, police officers and radios don't mix. Responding to an incident and stopping every time you wish to get an update or pass information is simply not workable yet we have the ass guarding message that says we were told. Are officers going to follow this instruction ? That is what itis, an instruction. Does this assist in any way ? Are you going to stop the car every time to talk on the radio when the essence is swift response. I think not.

But rest assured that the management have told you and if it all goes wrong itis most definately your ass on the line, not theirs, and you will become the shiny example of all that is bad and yet somehow safe in the knowledge that we are all working together.

Drive, stop, chat. Sounds like a new road safety campaign buzz phrase.

Tuesday, 29 May 2007

How the law works

Well this time its the turn of the Police to get the devil's advocate treatment.


We must be doing something wrong somewhere.

Tough on crime

Someone sent me this and I almost wet my pants.
I don't think its anything to do with age.

Monday, 28 May 2007

Gurka's Rights

Here is a link from rogue gunner worthy of at least a view.


To read about it go here.


Dog dies left in car for 8 hours.

Well this is the headline you normally see in the media but I was absolutely horrified to see a report from Halle, Belgium, of a mother who forgot to drop her baby of 5 months off at the nursery on the way to work, went to work, allegedly for 8 hours, then returned to find that her baby had died of dehydration whilst she has gone.

This is not a dog but a 5 month old baby.
She could still have been at home or have employed a childminder or simply remembered that she had her baby in the car with her.

A stress specialist believes that itis not unusual for people to do silly things in a moment of forgetfulness.

What ???? Like leave a window open or something ????

You wouldn't treat a dog like that, would you ?

Just wait until the summer and it really warms up, someone will.

Police plan to cut bureaucracy creates red tape

I was absolutely amazed to see this article http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2007/05/20/npolice20.xml about reducing red tape etc etc etc.

Not only do we have to keep all sorts of irrelevant and duplicated stats, reproduced on a myriad of invented forms, almost always by 'electronic' submission so we can be monitored, judged and put into tables, we are constantly told what to do and where to do it to justify the existence of the army of officers taken off the streets or formed into intel cells to duplicate the information between themselves and produce instructions on where to patrol and what to patrol for.

What ever happened to our Policing skills ?

What ever happened to our Policing skills ?????

Yes it needs asking twice because the management appear to think that every front line officer is either incompetent or lazy & workshy.

In my experience, officers have access to the relevant information to allow them to do this without being told.

Why else would thet set up all this effort to identify what we do and how we do it.

In our downtime we can direct our patrols towards identified problems.

What the bloody hell is 'downtime' ? I've never seen it, don't what it looks like or tastes like.

The officers are able to work out where the problems are and will be able to direct their patrols accordingly. Trouble is there are so many things that seem to get in the way (form filling not included at the moment).

Perhaps I'll set up a working group to research it, get a couple of people interested in promotion to research it for me, I will then submit my recommendations taking the credit for those who did the research and create an illusion that this is somehow beneficial for the organisation as it re-directs our efforts towards various targets that are linked to strategic aims within the relevant plan for the next review period. Pick one of the topics like reassuring the public, diversity or other 'key' phrases and before you know it there will a member of the SMT spouting how this revolutionary idea is supporting various things and everything is better. Show that we really do care. Then I will sort out a series of meetings to discuss exactly how we care and other strategic issues that may be relevant or otherwise. Wheel reinvented but in a new and radical way.

I've seen it when beats were changed from beat a, b, & c to beats 1, 2, & 3. Now there is real progress for you. I told you, new and radical and different.

If we take away all of the Police canteens we can use the space created for housing extra officers to deal with all of this. Trouble is that where do all these 'extra' officers come from. For the intel units, for the target squads, for vehicle crime, burglary units, tactical units etc etc etc ?

They all come from front line Police resources that are stretched to the max anyway.

Add all this reduced form filling on computers (if you can get on a computer sometimes) and the daily form we keep to enable us to fill out the monthly sheet, the arrest/property or deployment forms, the daily task sheets, including the negative ones, then wonder why we are spending more and more time off the streets. Look for computer that if free, that works, that has a printer assigned to it, that doesn't crash when you use it, that gets slower and slower the farther away you are from the hub of the world, unusally at HQ.

(Heard an interesting story at a regional PSU recently about ASDA. Anyone know what it means. Didn't want to ask and be seen to be a bit of an idiot, especially as some of the combatants pissed themselves when someone else asked because they never knew either).

More and more of our time is spent on accounting ourselves to the time & motion accountants that appear to set out the stall for what do and how we do it. I'm bloody well fed up with it.

I'm not going to be able to change it but I can have a damn good moan about it.

Too many people want to fit into the mould and to do that they have to play by the rules and not question or offer an iota of dissent else they find the door shut in their face. Too much operational and not enough strategic.

Now I'm off to try to find a spare computer. Just like the guinness, I'm not bitter, really.

Sunday, 27 May 2007

The wooden bowl

A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year old grandson.
The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step
faltered. The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.

The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. "We must do
something about father," said the son.

"I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor."
So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.

Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl!
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometime he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.

The four-year-old watched it all in silence. One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor.

He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?"
Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mum to eat your food in when I grow up."

The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.
The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless.
Then tears started to stream down their cheeks.
Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done.

That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table.
For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family.

And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

On a positive note, I've learned that, no matter what happens, how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow.

I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles four things:
a rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.

I've learned that, regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life.

I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as making a "life"
I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance if you are not too blind to see the signs.
I've learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you.

But if you focus on your family, your friends, the needs of others, your work and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you. I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision.

I've learned that I still have a lot to learn.!

Friday, 25 May 2007

Christmas past.

Merry Christmas
Picture the scene. Its 3 days before Christmas. Dave, as I'll call him, their only son has come back on home leave. He's in the Army. He's 18 years old and is looking forward to time with his family after a tour abroad and some beer with his mates.He meets up with his best friend who I will call Steve. They go out for a couple of bevvies, meet up with some more friends and over the night and the talk of foreign places, keep no count of what they drink, why should they ? Steve plans on leaving his motor bike in the pub car-park and walk home with Dave, who will be at his parents nearby.It gets late, too late and somehow the decision is made for the both of them to ride home on the bike. Don't know who made it but too late to change it.

The tree at the roadside, on the bend, never even flinched. The bike ? Well that was left in bits all across the road. Amongst the bits were two dials that held some secrets. They gave the road speed and the engine revs at the time the bike, Dave and Steve met the tree. The people who can work these things out gave about 70 mph. Some of us tried to help them, to help the bendy-toy like bodies and the mess inside the helmets. They still groaned for help but nobody could have helped. Some of us preserved the scene but we were unable to preserve their lives whilst the ambulance crew told us what we already knew. Others busied themselves with directing the passers by out of the way and towards the detours around the scene.

Then someone had to go to visit the homes of these unfortunate lads, just young boys out for a great time. The parents of Dave knew exactly that we brought bad news, even before their doorbell rang. Parents can sense things, read your body language. Just exactly how do you tell someone that their only son was not coming home for christmas ? How on earth do you try to share their dread to try to make it easier for them and easier for yourself.You can't, no training can prepare you for this moment. Are you the parents of Dave ? etc etc etc. You know and they know, but hope that you have made a mistake, that they have not heard you correctly, that this is some sort of a nasty dream. But it is not. Your mouth is dry, you got that funny thing fluttering in your stomach, you try not to stutter or mumble and get your message across clearly, concisely, as humbly and respectfully as possible.

The parents of Steve wondered what trouble he had got himself into this time and couldn't see the signs, too quick defending their son against all comers and thought there had been some form of conspiracy. There had been no conspiracy. Only some terrible, terrible news. Then they were quiet. We leave them to their grief. Here we are necessary trespassers but only for a short time.

Whilst we were left with protecting the scene for a closer examination the following day it dawned on me. At 3 o'clock in early hours of a cold and frosty night a new picture emerged that no-one had seen before. A tyre mark, illuminated by the frost that ran for an awful distance around the bend, that bend, nearer and nearer towards that damned tree. Clear and vivid as though it had been painted onto the road. No-one else had seen it, just me. Closer and closer until it also met the same tree. Again the tree never even flinched. It all came back again, more vivid than before.

People moaned because the road was closed, how inconvenient. But they probably enjoyed their Christmas. I never slept for 3 days, never slept properly for weeks but I did have a Christmas. Like the birth of your child, the laugh of your loved one or the thoughts that make you smile, somethings you never forget, even the darker, helpless moments when you realise just how insignificant you really are. We never found out who was driving or pillion. We only knew that two families would have a miserable Christmas. Lots of friends of the two families would be full of sadness. We just put it down to another life experience that helps us to deal with the next life experience in the hope we make a better job of it next time.

The miracle of fried eggs.

After the miracle of toilet paper we have one for the lads.

A wife was making a breakfast of fried eggs for her husband.

Suddenly, her husband burst into the kitchen. "Careful," he said, "CAREFUL! Put in some more butter! Oh my GOD! You're cooking too many at once. TOO MANY! Turn them! TURN THEM NOW! We need more butter. Oh my GOD! WHERE are we going to get MORE BUTTER?

They're going to STICK! Careful . CAREFUL! I said be CAREFUL! You NEVER listen to me when you're cooking! Never! Turn them! Hurry up! Are you CRAZY? Have you LOST your mind? Don't forget to salt them. You know you always forget to salt them. Use the salt. USE THE SALT! THE SALT!"

The wife stared at him. "What in the world is wrong with you? You think I don't know how to fry a couple of eggs?"

The husband calmly replied, "I just wanted to show you what it feels like when I'm driving."

Thursday, 24 May 2007

The Miracle of Toilet Paper

The miracle of toilet paper, from a female perspective.

Fresh from my shower, I stand in front of the mirror complaining to my husband that my breasts are too small. Instead of characteristically telling me it's not so, he uncharacteristically comes up with a suggestion. "If you want your breasts to grow, then every day take a piece of toilet paper and rub it between them for a few seconds." he said. Willing to try anything, I fetch a piece of toilet paper and stand in front of the mirror, rubbing it between my breasts. "How long will this take?" I asked. "They will grow larger over a period of years," my husband replies. I stopped and asked, "Do you really think rubbing a piece of toiletpaper between my breasts every day will make my breasts larger over the years?" Without missing a beat he says

"Worked for your butt didn't it?"

Yes, he's still alive, and with a great deal of therapy, he may even walk again.....

But it seems he will probably continue to take his meals through a straw for rest of his life...... Stupid, Stupid Man.

Wednesday, 23 May 2007

Getting home.

Having had another perusal at the gadget blog :


and had another case of total recall I drifted off to another of my life experiences on a dark and otherwise dreary night. Whilst responding to a job and getting flagged down to find a van in a ditch, public franticly not knowing what to do and everso, everso glad to see a blue flashing light heading their way, screeching to an emergency stop in an effort (successfully) to avoid further casualties and then to alight (get out) onto the verge to find said van, in ditch, front end into a tree. Driver still in seat, hysterical wife and then it dawns, I have to make a decison here. Radio for help, get public to ring 999 on their phones, check on welfare of driver, try to keep hysterical wife off my back, ask for assistance to comfort hysterical wife. Then it dawns, all of a sudden like. Driver appears serious, no pulse, no breath, must get him out for C.P.R. Try to get him out, seat belt so tight could not even get to release. Round to the nearside, lift driver to release and then back round to driver door to try to get him out onto verge, get him out and slide down bank into ditch. Depsite pleas no-one helps, all dialling 999 apparently. No Doctor on scene, unlike in the films. Get driver up onto verge and check vitals, begin C.P.R. Request further help comforting wife. Continue for 19 minutes (apparently) before arrival of ambulance. Continue with chest compression apart from when zapped (after advice from the zapper) and after another 20 minutes the sad reality dawned. I failed. We failed, we all failed. Yet somehow it seemed worthy of the effort. Not a long time to try one's best, for the sake of a life. And after that remarkably short time I was bloody knackered, a failure. I failed to protect a life even though I had tried my hardest. The blood and whatever else was all over me just didn't seem to matter. All I could think about was the driver's dinner suit and posh shirt. The ambulance crew just ran scissors up a sleeve, down a leg and right up the middle of his shirt. I hope it wasn't on hire, what ever will they say when they get it back ? Even lost a shoe somewhere in the ditch. Funny what you think of at times like this. I never did get to that other job, but at least I did get home, eventually.

Monday, 14 May 2007

An MP's work is never done.

Crime in Britain is far worse than we think. Just how do we know that ? Well you don't sit around on your arse talking about it for a start. You get up off your arse and do something about it. Just like MP for Monmouth, David DAVIES has done. He became a Special Constable for the British Transport Police and is committed to work 2, 8 hour shifts a month. He has fitted this in amongst his busy work schedule. The first thing he learnt was that only the criminals appear to have any rights. Forget the idea that the criminal justice system is victim based. It does not appear to be the case. He admits that things are far worse that people realise and that much of the blame can be laid at the door of politicians like him. He recognises that most officers want to be away from desks and out on the streets.

Whatever your views are, fair play to the bloke for getting off his arse and having a look for himself, irrespective of any other motives anyone else thinks he might have. At least he has been out there to see for himself. See the Mail on Sunday, 13th May P62-63 for the full article
by the man himself.

Tough on crime, eh ?

Crimes by prisoners released early with tags has increases by a massive 400%



Sunday, 13 May 2007

Operational verses Strategic ?

I overheard an interesting conversation the other day. A Sgt was deep in conversation with another Sgt who had failed his board and been through the de-brief processes to discuss where he had gone wrong and how he could improve for the next time he might submit himself (I have assumed he is a male officer) for scrutiny in the promotion stakes.

The reason this Sgt had failed his board, apparantly, was because he had too much Operational experience and needed to widen his Strategic experience. I don't know what the bloody hell all this meant but I would have thought that Operational experience was not only essential but absolutely vital. Was this just some form of management bullshite to fob him off ? Or was it really a major factor in deciding who is allowed into the club ? You decide.

Tuesday, 8 May 2007

An end to targets ?

It seems that someone within the ranks of those who can, has. Someone who can sort stuff, has decided that targets are to be scrapped. Deputy Chief Constable David Warcup from Northumbria Police has decided that the targets and their resulting league table were not an effective way of measuring performance. He also stated "We would absolutely discourage anybody from using their powers simply to meet targets."

For the full article please hit the link.


Let's see, will this stop things down our way ? You might think so, but I couldn't possibly comment. I suspect that we will still have our multitude of duplicated information to submit so the management can assess who, in their opinion, is seen to be lazy & workshy.

Monday, 7 May 2007

The Ultimate Gift.

Yet another officer has been killed in the line of duty, this time our colleage Richard Gray from West Mercia.


Deepest sympathies to Richard's family and condolences to friends and colleagues.

He has given the ultimate gift to the community he served. His gift of life.

Rest in peace.


Sunday, 6 May 2007

Learning or understanding ?

Funny thing death, as some other posts have said. My own death experiences have been rekindled recently and taken my mind back. I remember how stupid my old dad used to appear to me and how much rubbish he used to talk. Then I became aware of how much he had suddenly learnt, about all sorts of stuff. He appeared to have gained an awful lot of knowledge and experience overnight and became almost a pleasure to have a conversation with. How could this have mysteriously happened in such a short space of time. Had he been to nightschool ? No. Could it possibly be anything to do with my sudden burst of maturity and life experience, seeing things and people differently ? Probably so. Funny how you get to a certain age and you actually see things, understand stuff and generally become more aware of so much more of what is going on. I would have loved to have told him, but sadly, it was too late. Lots of things are out there, if we choose to see and understand. Don't miss the opportunity, you might not get another chance.

Friday, 4 May 2007

Chimps without hoods.

I watched an interesting documentary the other day about chimpazees and drew some amazingly close comparisons with some of the modern, misunderstood youth of todays society.

They live in family groups, the chimps that is, some of them quite large. They have a strict heirarchy and appropriate acceptible behaviour levels. Any deviation from this is enforced rigorously and is quite brutal if needed to make the correct point and quell the insurrection. Itis over when itis over and normality returns to the fold. It appears that this is how they sort out the pecking order to sustain a successful group. The adolescents practice this behaviour amongst themselves as a preparation for the big wide world when they are mature enough to see and fit into the bigger picture.

The adolescent chimps appear to prefer to hang around in gangs, terrorising the small, weak or aged when the opportunities allow and appear to get great fun out it. The pester the bloody hell out of them (we call it bullying) and generally make their lives a misery. Getting their kicks I presume. They are unable to settle for any long period of time and appear to get, what I would called bored, for want of a better word. Then they are off looking for their kicks to amuse and stimulate themselves.

The ones they don't mess with are the higher ranking males or females, because that means serious trouble. A bit like being grounded but with longer, sharper teeth. When these more dominant or mature chimps get really pissed off they are not slow in showing their annoyance and put the rowdy adolescents firmly in their place. A bit like the Police and SAS all wrapped into one but without the long drawn out legal proceedures. Needless to say, the adolescents know exactly who not to piss off. There is also no appeals process. The status quo is restored for a while before they start to gang up on the weak, young and old again. The really troublesome adolescents can be driven out of the group if they are a pain and lose the benefit of numbers for companionship, food and protection.

So maybe this disruptive, disrespectful and annoying behaviour of the hooded hordes is an ancient genetic trend or perhaps some of them are closer to chimpazees than we think. And where are the adults (higher ranking males & females) to sort out the troublesome adolescents ?

Tuesday, 1 May 2007

Importance of statistics

I appears that somewhere out there, the perceived decent into mistrust by the management or justification of their position means that we have to submit ever more 'important' statistical information, which is more than probably duplicated from other pieces of paperwork. The reason for this is to justify our existence by wasting time submitting statistical information to allow others to judge our performance against whatever the current 'in' target is, as highlighted by one or other daily/weekly/monthly meetings. Some Forces even have a meetings flow-chart. Some Forces have even made this one of the objectives for officers to achieve in their yearly appraisal system, the accurate and prompt submission of paperwork, including relevant stats of course. The days when officers used their common sense in tandem with Policing skills and gleaned info from crime & intelligence briefing sheets appears top be long gone to allow then to direct/target their patrols have faded off into the ether. They are told what the target is, often after they have already become aware of the problem by using their skills. Who said anything about reducing paperwork to get more on the streets ? Well someone has because they have it splashed over the various forms of media and news. Not one single mention of positive or negative returns here, just saying what everyone knows but is doing nothing about it as usual.

Congratulations to Mr Carrot

Just a quick few words of appreciation to Raw Carrot for my first post replies. There I was thinking I was out there in the darkness all alone, how wrong I was. Many thanks.