tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34344175949748261362024-03-12T23:17:32.625+00:00Hog Day AfternoonStories and anecdotes from part of my life in 2 British police forces, years in saddles of motorcycles - and other places I've blundered into ©Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.comBlogger434125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-46144969744120949882023-12-04T17:18:00.021+00:002023-12-04T17:25:43.794+00:00Metropolitan Police Cadet Corps - 1969<p>What you are about to read about bears no resemblance to the ‘Police Cadets’ you might find in certain areas of the UK today. Today it is all voluntary and they are of a much younger age, so it’s more akin to the scouts or the army, navy or RAF cadets. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">I was typical of the youth of the day, two months short of my 17th birthday and busting to get out into the world on my own. I’d passed a home interview and background checks that included my parents and my sister (who was 22 years older than me, married with three children). I had also passed the recruitment tests and medical examinations that were undertaken in London at the Met Police Recruiting Centre, Borough High Street. My parents drove me from our home in Lancashire, to the Hendon Cadet Centre one sunny Sunday in April 1969.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Once checked in at reception, I grabbed my suitcase and was led off by a senior cadet, failing to appreciate that my parents were stood watching me disappear and although there was not a shred of animosity between us, I don’t believe I actually said goodbye. On reflection I could have made a much better job of this significant moment, certainly as far as Mum was concerned but not so sure about my dad. I could not have been an easy deal for him, after all he was sixty-three and I was sixteen! I always suspected he felt more relief than sadness at my transition. We were starting to butt heads over my motorcycle. Dad hated them, yet he had bought me a brand new one to learn on. He then he financed my trade-up to a very exciting Honda CB250 SS once I’d passed my test. I didn’t tell him it could top 100 mph. His one condition was that I was to have training from his friend Paddy. Paddy was our local village bobby and a former Liverpool City Police traffic motorcyclist. My Dad was a lovely man, but things were getting a little tense between us, though I eventually came to realise that he did his very best for me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">My slightly shameful farewell was exacerbated less than an hour later. I’d had a whistle stop tour en route to my dormitory; gymnasium here, assault course there, reveille at 07:00. As I was unpacking my bag, I glanced up to see a group of parents, including Mum and Dad, walk past the window on <i>their</i> tour of the establishment, which was led by the fearsome, ex Grenadier Guardsman, Sergeant “Bill” Bailey, with whom us recruits would soon become acquainted - we would call him ‘Sergeant’, he would call us whatever took his fancy. Mum waved at me and dabbed away a tear. I don’t know if Dad spotted me, but my selfish teenaged conscience wasn’t even scratched, let alone pricked. One day I would be a parent and would learn exactly how it feels when the child you love flies the nest. I like to think Mum knew there was no malice on my part; that it was ‘par for the course’ of a teenaged son and that I would make it up to her. Seven years later, aged sixty-eight, she would have the pleasure of a third granddaughter and enjoy precious, happy times with her, including a week’s cruise on the river Thames. Mum died a few weeks before her seventy first birthday.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">My two years training as a Metropolitan Police Cadet would turn out to be the most transformative period in my life. There is no exact equivalent in today’s police, and I doubt we shall see <a name="_Int_6SfaFa6V">its</a> like again. Today there is the volunteer police cadets, but it takes kids from 13 years of <a name="_Int_8isobJfW">age</a> and I bet they don’t have to do ‘milling’ (I’ll explain later), which makes it sound a bit more like the scouts although it does look like a whole load of fun and can be nothing but good for adventure-starved teenagers of today. Even today’s military cadet forces have doubtless undergone changes that renders them unrecognisable to those who I often competed against on the sports fields. The Met Police Cadet Corps regime that transformed me was established around 1960 by Colonel Andrew Croft. If you consider the background of this man, it will give you a clue as to why I consider it to have been one of the most outstanding organisations of its time for the positive development of teenaged males. Females would not be joining the cadets until 1975, by which time the Sex Discrimination Act had been passed and even the specialist ‘Policewomen’s Department’ would cease to exist, its members absorbed into the main force along with a levelling up of their pay.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">While I’m on the subject of demographics, in my eighty-strong cadet intake of April 1969, there was just one non white recruit a strapping chap of African-Caribbean heritage named Mick Jackman. I never had the opportunity to really get to know him, other than brief chats at mealtimes, because he wasn’t in my House - we were divided into four separate ‘houses’ as per the school’s system of that era. Mick was just a nice chap going through the same mill-grinding as the rest of us. Being in a visible minority of one would have brought with it many additional challenges for the guy, challenges that I couldn’t possibly have understood at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">The Commandant, Colonel Andrew Noel Cotton Croft DSO, OBE was an inspiration. Actually, that is an understatement. His Wikipedia entry alone could form the basis of a feature film. The below is taken from the website of the Andrew Croft Memorial Fund, created after his death in 1998.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background: repeat rgb(223, 230, 233); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Colonel Andrew Croft DSO, OBE, Polar Medal</span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background: repeat rgb(223, 230, 233); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Andrew Croft had a diverse and distinguished career as Arctic explorer, SOE agent behind the German lines during World War II and latterly as reforming Commandant both of the Plymouth-based Infantry Boys’ Battalion and thereafter the Army Apprentices School at Harrogate. Colonel Croft was invited by then Commissioner, Sir Joseph Simpson, to (re-) create a Cadet Corps for the Metropolitan Police.</span></i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background: repeat rgb(223, 230, 233); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">He arrived in 1960 and retired in 1971 shortly before his 65th birthday. During his time as Commandant, the system of training underwent complete overhaul. Andrew Croft was not, however, a man to sit behind a desk. He participated in every activity, outdoor and indoor; it was his example that converted new recruits into some of the best policemen of their time.</span></i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background: repeat rgb(223, 230, 233); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">For Croft, every young man had talent and could be trained to bring out the best in himself and, in due course, pass on the skills he had learned. Croft knew each man’s history; he shared their triumphs and disasters; with sympathy and insight, he imbued them with his own exemplary integrity and leadership skills.</span></i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background: repeat rgb(223, 230, 233); font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Croft was awarded the DSO for his achievements in North Africa, Corsica and France during 1943-44 and was appointed OBE in 1970. His participation in the Oxford University Arctic Expedition of 1935-36 earned him the Polar Medal.</span></i><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;"> </span></p>Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-20230312003880948812022-02-14T15:44:00.004+00:002022-02-14T15:46:06.878+00:00Goodbye Cressida. Keep your chin up.<p>History has an annoying habit of repeating itself, leaving a lingering and not always pleasant taste, along with that annoying mantra, ‘I told you so’. As I write this the British police continues to be dragged through what I consider to be one of the most traumatic periods of sustained criticism since the formation of the Metropolitan Police in 1829. </p><p>There have always been criticisms of the police; a local Labour politician once proudly announced, after the Broadwater Farm riot in 1985, that the police got a ‘bloody good hiding’, presumably referring to the murder and virtual decapitation of PC Keith Blakelock who was going to the assistance of firefighters who had come under attack from the mob. A woman standing next to him cheering his words ended up as the shadow Home Secretary! </p><p>That quote caused quite a stir in the press at the time but it seems to have died the death over the last 36 years and its certainly missing from the pages of the “Black History Month” site, so at least someone seems to be letting that bygone be a bygone. In 1829 half of Parliament never wanted ‘Peel’s Police’ and it wasn’t that long ago that I read of a motion at a debate during a Labour Party annual conference in the 80’s where there was a vote on ‘law and order’ - apparently a majority voted in favour of it; but maybe that was some journalistic joke that I took as gospel?</p><p>Politicians from all parties have their fingerprints all over this crisis, but they are the masters of smoke, mirrors and the deflection of blame. Have a long and happy retirement Ms Dick. You’ve earned it.</p>Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-44320848657278781952019-10-17T10:10:00.002+01:002019-10-17T10:10:26.629+01:00Are We There Yet?I'm really only posting this to remind myself of how to do it.<br />
Much has happened. Good people and old comrades have died.<br />
<br />
I became a volunteer with the regional Air Ambulance. Mrs HD and I became international dog sitters over two years ago. I am studying drama. I am still riding my beloved motorcycle. It's dark... and I'm wearing sunglasses........<br />
<br />
......and our mighty Government still hasn't managed to conclude Brexit. I'm betting there'll be a `Jocksit` before it's sorted.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZBeRY0q5Cxfm-yQGRW9F1S-4RmFKcErHnhKeD5UfEwap1jlhUQtlDxiIpSLhcgDoDzgp_2FwNT0lpqwJCMitDsGVYut_uh0iDw2nrzgUMbZEzgpfhUVIhPssM1y3tMo_serSEoG_4dlL/s1600/15622280_1194163177285537_5921000944410918228_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZBeRY0q5Cxfm-yQGRW9F1S-4RmFKcErHnhKeD5UfEwap1jlhUQtlDxiIpSLhcgDoDzgp_2FwNT0lpqwJCMitDsGVYut_uh0iDw2nrzgUMbZEzgpfhUVIhPssM1y3tMo_serSEoG_4dlL/s320/15622280_1194163177285537_5921000944410918228_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPtyN5XQHXRtbBg3bv7aPKy4HtFsE4RBH0x4RvxDJi34O0ex9XnCzuY53Bu_znAfArP9AgQ399QLse2bSnjsdOrnzikpwOhs1d7abXR9qW1fEs6KS_SrTyGz7tdz8dToZTxJvZpwi989Li/s1600/_95297180_pc1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="624" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPtyN5XQHXRtbBg3bv7aPKy4HtFsE4RBH0x4RvxDJi34O0ex9XnCzuY53Bu_znAfArP9AgQ399QLse2bSnjsdOrnzikpwOhs1d7abXR9qW1fEs6KS_SrTyGz7tdz8dToZTxJvZpwi989Li/s320/_95297180_pc1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVcPUHMpSvwExYI4E4Tv9j-vGWCOhN9nJ0eZ5rYczmOajEr_e_CUH8mk1GHWDBHDoOSNzpoUABw4URWZeJeI5tRNSnj65TZbZ83Ga4bKQwiSyEzmysfTtbwGmVfM502Sktdku3ftIoXpL/s1600/0_Police-officer-killed-in-Sulhamstead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVcPUHMpSvwExYI4E4Tv9j-vGWCOhN9nJ0eZ5rYczmOajEr_e_CUH8mk1GHWDBHDoOSNzpoUABw4URWZeJeI5tRNSnj65TZbZ83Ga4bKQwiSyEzmysfTtbwGmVfM502Sktdku3ftIoXpL/s320/0_Police-officer-killed-in-Sulhamstead.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-4915980214875753132018-09-12T20:33:00.002+01:002018-09-12T21:07:06.567+01:00Where Did That Come From?Bad dream last night. It came from out of the old filing system.<br />
I half re-lived the time I came within a gnats whisker of shooting a young chap who, as things planned out, was unarmed. We both dodged a bullet that morning.<br />
<br />
I wrote it up under the title<a href="http://hogday-afternoon.blogspot.com/2009/09/judas-kiss-in-gardenthe-bliss-of-malice.html"> “The Judas Kiss in the Garden.....”</a><br />
<br />
Wonder what rattled that file? Perhaps I shouldn’t have watched “Bodyguard’ on the iPlayer? That’ll teach me.Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-31635700563209709962017-12-01T12:11:00.001+00:002017-12-01T12:13:11.758+00:00Chatham House Rules - plus The New Royal EngagementI was up the smoke last week to the annual reunion of the survivors of my old Metropolitan Police station, Cannon Row, closed down in the 80's. It used to stand within the complex on the Victoria Embankment known as "New Scotland Yard" which was the HQ of the Metropolitan Police. That place then moved to Broadway, off Victoria Street in the late 60's to a brand new building they called....."New Scotland Yard".<br />
<br />
Well the new New Scotland Yard got crumbly and crusty (like some of its occupants) and basically wore itself out (like some of its occupants) so they created a new home for London's police headquarters. It's now called, "New Scotland Yard" which by pure coincidence is right next door to the former home of the Met, "New Scotland Yard" - and my old nick. In my 32 years I served at numerous police stations and departments in
both London and the Home Counties, but the only reunion I've ever gone to, so far, is this
one. It's special to me.<br />
<br />
Over lunch, I was sat amongst officers who formed part of the team who looked after Her Maj' when `at home` which could be any of the Royal Households, including Buckingham Palace, Clarence House, Sandringham House in Norfolk or Balmoral in Scotland. I was chatting with old chums including the Queen's former personal protection officers and some who looked after her children for decades. We all knew about the latest `engagement` and that the announcement would be coming when it did. Nobody said a word of this insider information outside of our meeting place. Not one word. <br />
<br />
Some may call that a true reflection of the code of honour and oath of office we all took, and still hold ourselves accountable to, despite being well and truly retired. Some may say it was because by the time we tottered out of the club, full of bon homie and alcohol, into the chilly streets of London, we'd completely forgotten.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdQ7x8HDvIsmhdtWalrGFt26q304fhSn6pmhMsFwAtqczmZTc4sA_zz0ob0uxwxn1nhMuViFWUadD-xnqpZdnmsP1dOh0S2ZfHyalgwEkLIJokRTcvz6IfX5Zm1vzn1NETHo6rKqYFGz4/s1600/AD2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="174" data-original-width="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdQ7x8HDvIsmhdtWalrGFt26q304fhSn6pmhMsFwAtqczmZTc4sA_zz0ob0uxwxn1nhMuViFWUadD-xnqpZdnmsP1dOh0S2ZfHyalgwEkLIJokRTcvz6IfX5Zm1vzn1NETHo6rKqYFGz4/s1600/AD2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPccSubWl-VzYW-H0G1s3jfyVgf9_eK1MXumQg_R3rIqCm6hqdE50OaEhcixeXNQQvShMh4z1lUKW_9hAKJPELTJ0ZR4KhjUJh3a7SN3NuqPRmV3eCpj8bhFCOwXcJ3R9Zo6ozDZcDR0Bl/s1600/AD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="165" data-original-width="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPccSubWl-VzYW-H0G1s3jfyVgf9_eK1MXumQg_R3rIqCm6hqdE50OaEhcixeXNQQvShMh4z1lUKW_9hAKJPELTJ0ZR4KhjUJh3a7SN3NuqPRmV3eCpj8bhFCOwXcJ3R9Zo6ozDZcDR0Bl/s1600/AD.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB5oOaok2NSfLTvE0AQLUkvo_W_1_MPwI9pMTG3MNllp7JGa9FC3X_uawl7g5FNeZOk9ZFY77GHatvrjwheME7bW8O2nOw2Iesz2BHmhnUKAW9oGoemTpRxn0ac5MrAvOEeaBkC2L62wJf/s1600/NSY1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB5oOaok2NSfLTvE0AQLUkvo_W_1_MPwI9pMTG3MNllp7JGa9FC3X_uawl7g5FNeZOk9ZFY77GHatvrjwheME7bW8O2nOw2Iesz2BHmhnUKAW9oGoemTpRxn0ac5MrAvOEeaBkC2L62wJf/s1600/NSY1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxFwHO5fgigxYwVLGRahk40Ugc85xfdQ8sMdL6Cuuv-MfeQspwGY-yFSdDduF1C2XF28k-pAxXXjECOMBa9eHIcDQT2jKHb2fnmViJQwLIq9-rVQyVj714DvBj6tkyehCniHZbhAfHJ0G/s1600/NSY2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxFwHO5fgigxYwVLGRahk40Ugc85xfdQ8sMdL6Cuuv-MfeQspwGY-yFSdDduF1C2XF28k-pAxXXjECOMBa9eHIcDQT2jKHb2fnmViJQwLIq9-rVQyVj714DvBj6tkyehCniHZbhAfHJ0G/s1600/NSY2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-60977406118169171652017-09-06T10:09:00.000+01:002017-09-06T10:09:34.965+01:00Empires<a href="http://news.sky.com/story/boy-aged-14-dies-after-being-shot-in-newham-east-london-11022654">http://news.sky.com/story/boy-aged-14-dies-after-being-shot-in-newham-east-london-11022654</a><br />
<br />
My grandmother used to live in Forest Gate. When I was nine years old I
rode my little bike the two miles from my home to visit her. Mum was
cross as it was a spur of the moment thing and I hadn't asked her permission. She would probably have allowed me. Mums did that sort of thing in those days.<br />
<br />
This shooting was just past Wanstead Park tube station. We'll be passing
through there on the tube tomorrow - both ways. Luckily we're not
fourteen years old<span class="_5mfr _47e3"></span><span class="_5mfr _47e3">.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_5mfr _47e3"> </span><span><span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>`Johnny used to work after school</span><br /><span>at the cinema show.</span><br /><span>Gotta hustle if he wants an education</span><br /><span>Yeah he's got a long way to go.</span><br /><span>Now he's out on the streets all day</span><br /><span>selling Crack to the people who pay.</span><br /><span>Got an AK-47 for his best friend</span><br /><span>business the American way.</span><br /><br /><span>Eastside meets Westside downtown.</span><br /><span>No
time, the walls fall down
Black man, trapped again. Holds his
chain in his hand.</span><br /><span>Brother killing brother for the profit of another,</span><br /><span>Game point, nobody wins`.*</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="UFICommentBody"><span>(*Lyrics from "Empire", a rock album by Queensryche, penned twenty seven years ago) </span></span></span></span></span> Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-44748091481656285022017-04-28T13:20:00.001+01:002017-04-28T13:21:11.239+01:00Fake News, Fake Drama"`Guerrilla` on Sky Atlantic is a serious contender for best TV drama of 2017" ...so says a headline on `Digital Spy`.<br />
Really? <br />
<br />
I've just sat through the first episode and have to say, as one who was
a police officer living and working at the time and in the areas
portrayed, I recognised very little, apart from a few Triumph Heralds
and Ford Cortina's. <br />
<br />
Actors portraying uniformed police officers were wearing helmets that would have been more suited to the London Fire Br<span class="text_exposed_show">igade,
with chinstraps* worn horribly wrong (*nothing new there) and on demo
duty they were issued with baseball bats - oh really? Where was that?
Portraying officers indecently assaulting a lead female character during
a search on the street, after first having punched her in the face for
swearing at him, but then walking off? Such casual police violence I
never did see. Maybe this happened to someone who heard it from someone
who was told it happened to someone else.</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<br />
I am aware of the phenomenon known as looking through rose-tinted
glasses and I did encounter officers, during my 32 years service, who
clearly had anger management problems, had a tendency to bully, who
liked to invade the personal space of females (which workplace doesn't
have such people?) and some who used excessive force but, from my
perspective, widespread this most definitely was not; quite the
opposite, it was rare. It must also be borne in mind that a past viewed
through black tinted lenses can be equally distorted and in the case of
this drama and probably for dramatic effect, deliberately so. <br />
<br />
I
was disappointed to see lead actors, whose talents I have great respect
for, going along with this. But I suppose a job's a job. I've seen
enough.</div>
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-79516670419266475162016-01-14T12:17:00.003+00:002016-01-14T12:20:17.334+00:00"It's a very expensive option" (but it's not about cost, surely?)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtU623j-_j9c5C7Bo07vNppk3xv7f_0PH9m6_xDP4iD7r2F6YL5mjevIW8k1Mf0MnC87YyTgzUwhUqrgcXzcm1moQZrfFcPUgSclTgF-TWpDB-4trLNzRgirSwYv6Rl5cVn_wwt0NKslt/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjtU623j-_j9c5C7Bo07vNppk3xv7f_0PH9m6_xDP4iD7r2F6YL5mjevIW8k1Mf0MnC87YyTgzUwhUqrgcXzcm1moQZrfFcPUgSclTgF-TWpDB-4trLNzRgirSwYv6Rl5cVn_wwt0NKslt/s400/index.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-35308467">......and to put this into some sort of perspective, 600 officers represents about half the entire police establishment of the Dyfed-Powys police force.</a>Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-31663759547578622002015-07-03T16:38:00.002+01:002015-07-03T16:38:12.166+01:00Ordeal by duty - Trial by Jury<span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0.0"> BBC online News:<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<h1 class="story-body__h1">
Met Police officer Anthony Long cleared of Azelle Rodney murder</h1>
<br />
<span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0.0"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-33386224">I think this calls for The Bard:</a> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<i><b><span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0.0"><span style="font-size: small;">"But soft, what glint through yonder carboot breaks?
It is the east, and firearm is in the sun.
Arise, fair sidearm, and kill the envious perp,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That I, Met Pol, art far more skilled than he."</span></span></span></b></i><br />
<br />
<span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0.0"><span style="font-size: small;">(Hat tipped to my friend, David Kenneth Ellis, for the Shakespearean form)</span></span></span><i><span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0.0"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><b><span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".1z.$mid=11435936470558=20749d934a41431cc30.2:0.0.0.0.0.0"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></b></i>Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-26407037186509692062015-07-02T07:33:00.002+01:002015-07-02T08:47:28.143+01:00Killing Sprees at home and abroad<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjks_T9mqdzkLgOel4b0dTCHL2kC6QBriJHVtucgtJqt87GORv0ihQXd0tb4xRFVmoDA9HM2q0ZOEAK4Q9aX7y4KEa0AUA9g8kNe6rohAthaBb__GK2VgQwKueNqqOOgrKi2j7yRGTULyDr/s1600/met+ex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjks_T9mqdzkLgOel4b0dTCHL2kC6QBriJHVtucgtJqt87GORv0ihQXd0tb4xRFVmoDA9HM2q0ZOEAK4Q9aX7y4KEa0AUA9g8kNe6rohAthaBb__GK2VgQwKueNqqOOgrKi2j7yRGTULyDr/s400/met+ex.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
The Met's ct exercise appeared to go well. They picked a lovely day for it. Always good to do, these exercises.<br />
<br />
Outside London it's worth remembering previous experiences. Eg. Michael
Ryan (Hungerford), killed 16 people and injured a further 15 at random in under an hour,
including the first police officer on scene. With that rifle, if he
could see you he could hit you. A neighbour just asked me about police
response times to such incidents and if there were sufficient officers. I
said a force has, on average, less than 5% trained for firearms duties.
She replied, "but we never see any police patrols anyway".<br />
<br />
I told her not to worry.
Rule 1, reassure the patient. :-/<br />
<br />
<span data-reactid=".2v.1:4:1:$comment936882693040655_938211582907766:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2v.1:4:1:$comment936882693040655_938211582907766:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2v.1:4:1:$comment936882693040655_938211582907766:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2v.1:4:1:$comment936882693040655_938211582907766:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.$end:0:$text0:0"><span class="highlightNode">As for the Tunisia atrocity, that country</span>
was not on my list of desirable holiday destinations yet it
doesn't surprise me when tourists flock to these places as I suspect
many/most never consider the political and other tensions in a potential
destination like I do. But I blame myself for this, as my entire
working life was, in some way, touched pretty much weekly by risk assessments and planned ops to
counter the threat of terrorist activities, so it has become part of my
make up. I'm not paranoid but I am thoughtful about such things. I'm
sure that some people will give the risk some thought (particularly now)
but may well still conclude that in the bigger scheme of things, the
risks are probably very low....probably.</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-reactid=".2v.1:4:1:$comment936882693040655_938211582907766:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2v.1:4:1:$comment936882693040655_938211582907766:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2v.1:4:1:$comment936882693040655_938211582907766:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2v.1:4:1:$comment936882693040655_938211582907766:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1.$comment-body.0.$end:0:$text0:0">But there's always the `six
degrees of separation` theory to consider. E.g. One of the injured of
the <span class="highlightNode">Tunisia</span> killings works for the
Norfolk (UK) police. The ex wife of my friend, former neighbour and colleague of
mine now works for the Norfolk police.
So does their daughter. I have known them all since 1980. They both know
the man who was injured in the attack. So it transpires that I know
someone who knows a victim of last weeks terrorist attack where 30 of my
fellow citizens were murdered. And now you are connected too, because
you know me, albeit through this irregular blog. What are the chances of that happening, eh?</span></span></span></span></div>
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-90629210764556309432015-06-17T07:52:00.002+01:002015-06-17T07:52:57.321+01:00Waterloo, June 1815<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlE3uL4zY8GfhX4r-5kGzztixB2QzsuLyPHil-RDUy-a_2qZgPdMu1M3LNDyZe0EbrRDo6efezrZkV-Ic3MO1Pvhd_Ku18xtP3Vc2L5fJtWzNutj1-0HCrh-widkohS-XqIXfFVL0sYt6/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPlE3uL4zY8GfhX4r-5kGzztixB2QzsuLyPHil-RDUy-a_2qZgPdMu1M3LNDyZe0EbrRDo6efezrZkV-Ic3MO1Pvhd_Ku18xtP3Vc2L5fJtWzNutj1-0HCrh-widkohS-XqIXfFVL0sYt6/s400/index.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
"The nearest run thing". Waterloo, June 1815<br />
<br />
"....I should not
do justice to my own feelings, or to Marshal Blucher and the Prussian
Army, if I did not attribute the successful result of this arduous day
to the cordial and timely assistance I received from them...." (<i>from
Wellington's campaign dispatch</i>).<br />
<br />
"....You'll see the account of
our desperate battle and victory over Boney!! It was the most desperate
business I was ever in; I never took so much trouble over any battle; a<span class="text_exposed_show">nd
never was so near being beat. Our loss is immense, particularly in that
best of all instruments, British Infantry. I never saw the infantry
behave so well. I am going immediately. Can we be reinforced in Cavalry
or Infantry or both? We must have Lord Combermere as Lord Uxbridge has
lost his leg...." (<i>from Wellington's letter to his elder brother and
father-in-law to his military secretary)</i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
and then in 1824, Parliament passed The Vagrancy Act, making begging
and the `exposing of wounds to gather alms or pity` a criminal offence,
due to the huge numbers of maimed veterans from the conclusion of the
Napoleonic Wars.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ixLjK72CVNENf1uSZfNnutiOWfDqDvqFwu2VY8MzP4VmA_Fxp84fXM7FpqD3Bojqdxzi-yJa9alHVmRIQ3oDC74swjrEtaZ7iHwTsm-0jyYWFoleI2R58kM_rcJpQAlpcaWYBQCcPoNL/s1600/Infantry+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ixLjK72CVNENf1uSZfNnutiOWfDqDvqFwu2VY8MzP4VmA_Fxp84fXM7FpqD3Bojqdxzi-yJa9alHVmRIQ3oDC74swjrEtaZ7iHwTsm-0jyYWFoleI2R58kM_rcJpQAlpcaWYBQCcPoNL/s1600/Infantry+3.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HM0ztC93AyXYyLZV9ciljNsVl4yLBUYbDAevGweG4fF_IihFPG5S8w2mxQeu8iP5grZXjdFKoBBBv1r7QazkB3g80gM7SG4Z071Ajwwd1M1OPmEnCkl0lV0JA7HwAWb0MDstfGGTJP0A/s1600/infantry+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HM0ztC93AyXYyLZV9ciljNsVl4yLBUYbDAevGweG4fF_IihFPG5S8w2mxQeu8iP5grZXjdFKoBBBv1r7QazkB3g80gM7SG4Z071Ajwwd1M1OPmEnCkl0lV0JA7HwAWb0MDstfGGTJP0A/s1600/infantry+4.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJdKmEBrgpfg6Kgp7DZdeuq4yowpijxjEdyOtAkEd7zeqpd-Moyd_h-kJchMe3Y5o8SeTWtbKgSVyMm2omVzDPGTUfvsDld8INv4tmVh2e5iaZdStogtogXDRpGWqDhRos-w-VLiRJuk9/s1600/infantry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJdKmEBrgpfg6Kgp7DZdeuq4yowpijxjEdyOtAkEd7zeqpd-Moyd_h-kJchMe3Y5o8SeTWtbKgSVyMm2omVzDPGTUfvsDld8INv4tmVh2e5iaZdStogtogXDRpGWqDhRos-w-VLiRJuk9/s1600/infantry.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Support The <a class="profileLink" data-gt="{"entity_id":"190910350986500","entity_path":"WebSaveContentEditController"}" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=190910350986500" href="https://www.facebook.com/OfficialPoppyLegion" id="js_1s">Royal British Legion</a></div>
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-26893133206900546522015-06-11T15:47:00.001+01:002015-06-11T16:02:32.616+01:00A Biker's Tale - a `Police` biker's taleReproduced courtesy of an old pal: <br />
<br />
Hampshire motorcycle traffic policeman Nick Barman was rushing to the scene of an accident when he was knocked off his bike at more than 100mph. He was thrown an incredible 300ft across two carriageways and was left crumpled in a heap, fighting for his life. Paramedics stopped working on the biker they were at the scene for and immediately attended to Barman, a traffic officer with nine years’ experience, in a desperate bid to save his life. Here, in his own words, he tells JAMES BAGGOTT the incredible story for the first time<br />
<br />
As the paramedic walked up to me I was still conscious and I could see the look on his face. It was a wild stare, one of despair – his eyes were like saucers.
He was carrying a silver blanket and was about to cover me up. He thought I was dead. He couldn’t believe I had survived the accident, let alone was awake and able to talk to him.<br />
I remember patches before that. I was on the early shift that day – February 4, 2013 – patrolling on my BMW RT1200 when I received the call to attend a motorcycle collision on the A31 between Alton and Four Marks in Hampshire.<br />
All I knew was a motorcyclist had come off and was unconscious so it was my job to get there as fast I could. I set off with blues and twos at about 130mph in the outside lane. <br />
As I approached the accident on the other side of the road, a yellow Audi pulled out on me and smacked the side of my bike. He was looking at the accident on the other side of the road and just hadn’t seen me.<br />
<br />
Witnesses later said the Audi had made a violent swerve, but I blanked out for a moment and can’t really remember. The next thing I recall was flying through the air and thinking ‘I’m off the bike’. <br />
I was staring at the sky – I was airborne.<br />
I later found out my bike’s rear wheel had snapped. I was fighting to control it as I crashed into a storm drain, the force of the compression as I came down on the bike bent a metal bar beneath the seat and catapulted me off like from a springboard. <br />
Telematics later showed I parted company with the bike at 114mph.<br />
I landed 300ft away. Luckily a Volvo driver had left a 100ft gap between him and the lorry in front and I landed in that gap. <br />
<br />
I flew over the lorry and the ambulance treating the biker I was there to attend.<br />
I don’t remember landing but I do remember scraping along my back with all the gravel and rubbish flying over my helmet and hitting the front of his car with my head and shoulder. <br />
At that point I was still travelling at about 50mph.<br />
I sat there thinking ‘I’m awake, I got away with that’ and I tried to sit up. <br />
All I could think about was my police bike lying on its side – I wanted to move it because I thought it looked bad for the public to see it like that. <br />
I tried to catch my breath, but I felt winded. <br />
What I didn’t realise was that my left lung had collapsed and all my ribs down that side were broken.<br />
I asked the paramedic to help me up, but he refused. He wouldn’t tell me how bad a state I was in. <br />
I kept thinking “he’s going to cut off my leathers” – they’re £3,000 a set – and I knew I’d be out of action for months if he did. <br />
I told him I’d take them off. <br />
Little did I know that wasn’t possible…<br />
I could feel something digging into my back. I kept asking the paramedic to move me, but he wouldn’t. What I didn’t know was it was my right foot digging into my right shoulder blade, the wrong way around.<br />
<br />
My pelvis had broken so my bottom half of my body was detached from my top half, and both my legs were bent behind me. All but the spinal cord was in place. <br />
I was drifting in and out of consciousness and the next thing I remember was lying in the middle of the road naked and hearing them say ‘pneumothorax’. <br />
Now, I’ve been to enough collisions to know what that means – it’s a big problem with your lung and I didn’t fancy the massive needle that they shove in your chest to deal with it.<br />
I told the paramedic I didn’t want it, but he asked me to lift my arm up and did it anyway. <br />
I saw the jet of blood spurt out of my chest on to the road and at that point I thought I might actually be injured.<br />
But I wasn’t in any pain, I was uncomfortable, but I remember there was no pain. <br />
I remember feeling twisted, I wanted them to straighten me up but again they wouldn’t. <br />
The worrying thing was the look of panic on everybody’s faces. <br />
The paramedics were panicking, dropping things and I thought ‘actually this might be worse than I’m thinking’.<br />
<br />
I woke up in intensive care at Southampton General and my girlfriend was there. <br />
I had been airlifted from the scene. <br />
Alice and I had been working in the same department in the police force, but no one knew we were together. <br />
We didn’t fancy the mickey taking. <br />
That morning my gaffer had outright asked me if we were an item and I’d denied it. <br />
Luckily he hadn’t believed me and she was the first person he called after the accident.<br />
No-one thought I was going to make it through the night. <br />
And they knew my son had been killed in a bike accident six years to the day of my crash so they knew it would be a delicate subject. <br />
You just couldn’t make it up, could you?<br />
In hospital the extent of my injuries became clear. <br />
Starting at the bottom I’d broken my toe, my foot, my ankle, both knees, pelvis, my back, my lung, my shoulder and had a massive deceleration injury to my stomach. <br />
Apparently when you hit 12G that sort of thing happens!<br />
They wanted to amputate my legs. But they didn’t because the doctors simply couldn’t see the point. <br />
They thought I was going to die. <br />
They put me in the MRI scanner and didn’t think I’d come out alive. <br />
I even had a slight brain injury to top things off.<br />
But I kept on fighting. <br />
<br />
I lost four-and-a-half stone in 12 days. <br />
My body went into recovery mode and needed 6,000 calories a day just to maintain itself. <br />
That’s as much as an Olympic swimmer.<br />
After four days in intensive care I was strong enough to come out, after four weeks I was back home. Alice had set up my front room just like a hospital. All I wanted was to start walking again. <br />
I had four operations on my legs and at every stage there was the possibility of amputation. <br />
I remember different doctors coming in and running pens down my legs to see if I had feeling – and not believing me when I said I did. <br />
They’d then do the same thing with a blindfold on me, but I could still feel it. <br />
They would walk off shaking their heads – to them it was impossible and bizarre.<br />
I learnt to walk again 10 weeks after the accident thanks to a brilliant physiotherapist. <br />
I had to learn the whole process over again, how to shift my weight, how to move my body – you forget walking requires your whole body’s movement. <br />
Those were tough days. Being a police biker is a macho thing and having to have my girlfriend carry me, help me bathe, well, that was tough. But I was determined. I could see no reason why I wouldn’t walk again and put the effort in every day to make it happen.<br />
The force was brilliant. They supported me through it all. All I wanted to do was get back out on patrol. I wanted to get on a police bike again – to still be a traffic officer.<br />
After six months I was back on office duties, but I was still on crutches and desperate to get out on patrol. <br />
<br />
My aim was to be back on the bike by Christmas. I didn’t quite make that. <br />
I retook the advanced driving test and managed to get back out on patrol in the police cars – four hours at a time – but I soon realised my limitations. <br />
It was uncomfortable in the car, I couldn’t stand for more than 20 minutes, and I still can’t sit in one position for long because of my lower back. When I’m sitting still my joints start to tighten. It changes with the weather too – I find I can predict the weather just from the feeling in my joints these days.<br />
<br />
Eventually the force decided I should take medical retirement. I was gutted.<br />
I’m glad I went back and completed some of my goals – that way it didn’t feel like it was taken from me completely.<br />
The Audi driver eventually went to court and was prosecuted for careless driving. <br />
He was fined £830 and got nine points. I hold no grudges against him, though – it was a lapse in concentration and just shows what can happen when you don’t pay attention.<br />
I haven’t decided what I’m going to do now. <br />
I’ve still got a motorbike, but don’t ride it much. I just like to know I still own one and can use it if I want to. The problem these days is convincing my girlfriend to let me go out on it. She says I’m lucky to be alive. She’s sort of got a point.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFyj02FQzh6zVUjFXj6bx0i9juyCfqHX5cVUm-0_6v-AP2lwwA0d2hjHi9mCby61pqdnW2TV0l84psTqkQ0_eZMehLSDBDQ5-BoQJoWq2Wr8nkrw-0cdX8zWA6yXfBAN1Mze0gMFChlkxV/s1600/police+bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFyj02FQzh6zVUjFXj6bx0i9juyCfqHX5cVUm-0_6v-AP2lwwA0d2hjHi9mCby61pqdnW2TV0l84psTqkQ0_eZMehLSDBDQ5-BoQJoWq2Wr8nkrw-0cdX8zWA6yXfBAN1Mze0gMFChlkxV/s400/police+bike.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihu5XbUWzsg1mYHTo3ybHhBMuL9I-uN8lgsG9DcwubWA9gxcZmCQMZ0IK7CV4t8SLU26fkxaEW7HNVtdRNSdQ5hQ392JWFNAfx_cCXk2nK0gKZsCYm6JClj-PukvWqb5sLH9VqTijYXyrk/s1600/police+bike+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihu5XbUWzsg1mYHTo3ybHhBMuL9I-uN8lgsG9DcwubWA9gxcZmCQMZ0IK7CV4t8SLU26fkxaEW7HNVtdRNSdQ5hQ392JWFNAfx_cCXk2nK0gKZsCYm6JClj-PukvWqb5sLH9VqTijYXyrk/s320/police+bike+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick is 2nd from the right</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-30108287342371479832015-06-11T09:55:00.003+01:002015-06-11T10:10:35.928+01:00First post on `policing` in agesI haven't put fingers to keypad for a long time. I guess it was a mix of apathy and distractions in other forms of social media that took me away. I don't know if I'll take up regular posts over here again or not, but a friend of mine posted a link to this yesterday and I felt it worthy of re-posting here. It is by someone who is a `Borough commander` in the Met., which probably makes him a superintendent.<br />
<br />
It's not often you see an officer of this rank blogging. I haven't checked him out but what he's written is so familiar that I suspect he is legit - one can usually always tell. I have been told that these days a person with the required credentials (not sure who exactly it is who has set these `credentials`) can join the Metropolitan Police at the rank of superintendent and start managing issues at that rank, without having to pass `GO` on the cruel streets. If that is so, then those that do will spare themselves the experiences that I had during my twenty year climb to the rank that could be described as a `deputy Borough commander`, although I had transferred out of the Met many years before my first promotion. I think this author has been privileged to see life in the Met on all levels and appears, thankfully, to have the heart and soul of a constable, my kind of guy.<br />
<br />
Over the last couple of years I have watched as the current Home Secretary presided over the systematic dismantling of the job I once knew intimately. Some things needed dismantling and rebuilding, but what I have witnessed was more akin to a `wrecking ball`. A week spent at a police rehabilitation centre last year revealed to me young officers suffering some terrible injuries, but by far the biggest shock was their severely damaged morale. I left after my five days of excellent physiotherapy feeling anger, dismay and desperately sorry for those officers who were way to young to be feeling like they did.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://policecommander.wordpress.com/2015/06/10/good-grief/">Read the article here</a>Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-91640934269422063232015-02-24T15:29:00.002+00:002015-02-24T15:29:51.797+00:00Motorcycle Awareness - <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_b3T7u4ZJ1Y" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-43490477385503050742015-01-23T10:36:00.002+00:002015-01-23T10:36:36.404+00:00Buy Britisch MotorradI've often felt that I should get another Triumph. I owned one
briefly in the late 60's, a Thunderbird, and I once looked after a
friends Tiger Cub. Both were fun and left the traditional oil puddle,
something of a trade mark for British bikes of that vintage.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Hl834hnp3IW0_WzOjX9sq2B8-LHkrHXXcNq4cw7hyphenhyphenhINUvZY8mngxNn-XeP4skmsB6FZYHOK2VOVA-o2OFMTpp25dfp0GzCirdCDAC5FyMufxAOGrmvz2u4AR1DwVNrGW8lfdLs-ov7S/s1600/2014-10-27+12.48.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Hl834hnp3IW0_WzOjX9sq2B8-LHkrHXXcNq4cw7hyphenhyphenhINUvZY8mngxNn-XeP4skmsB6FZYHOK2VOVA-o2OFMTpp25dfp0GzCirdCDAC5FyMufxAOGrmvz2u4AR1DwVNrGW8lfdLs-ov7S/s1600/2014-10-27+12.48.12.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
These days I'm on a BMW R1200R but having made an interesting discovery I
don't feel quite so guilty. I hadn't been aware until very recently
that the Triumph company was actually started in the 1880s in Coventry,
by Si<span class="text_exposed_show">egfried Bettmann, a German Jewish
chap from Nuremberg. He started a high-quality bicycle company (the
Triumph Cycle Co.), which, at the very beginning of the 20th century,
started making motor-bicycles (after a very short time using proprietary
engines but then one designed and built in-house).</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> Bettmann was
joined by a fellow countryman, Mauritz Johann Schulte, sometime in the
1890s, and the two maintained an active, if sometimes rather
acrimonious, business partnership until Schulte left the company in
1919. Interestingly Bettmann became so respected a local figure he was
elected Mayor of Coventry in 1913, but sadly the effects of anti-German
feeling meant that he had to relinquish that position soon after the
outbreak of war (although he avoided being interned). <br /> It intrigued
me that the manufacturers of the Triumph Model H motorcycle which was
the primary British Dispatch Rider bike of WWI was built by a company
founded by two Germans.<br /> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuQlQbegfB0xNWAZwEJb2-YEse2zZnWBC0c_MVaR0bkwjunC0RBqAXlAEWxj-rvdQ9o_n4YI4MLayl9XoeN-SByIqCd72sZwTKGS1Q9wpIDsmMRWmcrTvvTmhMrtOCE42ytwiJGvogGbV/s1600/trumpet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwuQlQbegfB0xNWAZwEJb2-YEse2zZnWBC0c_MVaR0bkwjunC0RBqAXlAEWxj-rvdQ9o_n4YI4MLayl9XoeN-SByIqCd72sZwTKGS1Q9wpIDsmMRWmcrTvvTmhMrtOCE42ytwiJGvogGbV/s1600/trumpet.jpg" /></a></div>
<span class="text_exposed_show">Und zo, it zeems zat I vill heff to shpeak viz ein Cherman eccent veneffer I em reiding ein Triumph. Wunderbar!<br /> Auf widersehen</span><br />
.Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-45373165200005174022015-01-16T10:47:00.002+00:002015-01-16T10:47:25.259+00:00Paris, Belgium........Recent atrocities in France and the police operations in Belgium the other day prompted me to think <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Killings_of_Nick_Spanos_and_Stephen_Melrose">of this: </a><br /><br />
In the dark days of Irish republican terrorism I found myself on a
professional study week, in The Netherlands, in a white transit
personnel carrier, with several other of my then work colleagues. A
double murder by automatic weapons in nearby Roermond was reported to
our hosts and we were told that we should up our vigilance as we were in
a British registered vehicle and being as we all looked like police
officers (because we were), or military personnel, we might be at a
slightly enhanced risk. We pointed out to our hosts that we had been at a
`slightly enhanced risk` in our own country for our entire service. <br /><br />
The perpetrators drove across the various borders with ease, impunity
and their weapons. The `Shengen Agreement` helped considerably. In the
light of recent events I suspect that it still does. <br /> Our Prime
Minister at the time the agreement was proceeding through the Eu
Parliament was Margaret Thatcher. She did not like it one bit. To this
day the UK remains outside the `Shengen Group`.<br /><br />
We are in a
different place today than we were then, but if you read the attached,
particularly the final paragraph, you will see that it still resonates. <br /><br />
Names and faces simply turn into statistics after the tears dry up.Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-28233030499051779712015-01-11T10:11:00.002+00:002015-01-14T18:36:38.095+00:00Oh Captain, MY Captain?The Sunday Times, 11/01/15: <br />
" Whitehall sources say more than 30
Isis fighters in the UK have been placed under surveillance by MI5
because they are considered a serious threat.<br />
Now a further 120 who
retain “extremist” views but have escaped detailed scrutiny will be
reassessed amid fears that they have the firearms training to commit a
copycat attack."<br />
<br />
<br />
It's at times like these I turn to people like....er.....<a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/crime/10344705/Anger-after-inspector-of-police-dons-uniform-at-memorial.html">the former Rail Regulator and International Rail Regulator, the ec</a><span class="text_exposed_show"><a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/crime/10344705/Anger-after-inspector-of-police-dons-uniform-at-memorial.html">onomic regulatory authority for the railways in Great Britain......???</a> </span><br />
<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"> (personal thoughts: `how dare you besmirch that uniform...how dare you
wear it....how very dare you`)</span>Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-24165102882910052572014-11-13T16:27:00.003+00:002014-11-13T16:27:33.916+00:00The day after the day after Armistice Day.....<div class="entry entry-content">
<div class="_5pbx userContent">
It’s the day after the day after Armistice Day.<br />
<br />
However, on the 11th, just before 1100hrs, my
faithful Jack Russell, Monty, and I stood at our village war memorial
alongside a few other local residents and a dozen schoolchildren,
approximately half of our tiny primary school. The fourth stanza of
Binyon’s poem, <a href="http://www.greatwar.co.uk/poems/laurence-binyon-for-the-fallen.htm">For the fallen</a> was spoken. As the church clock struck eleven, we observed a two minute silence. Then we left.<br />
<br />
When I got back home I read the final paragraph and then the epilogue
of the book I have been reading these past few months, purely
co-incidental that I finished it on this day. It was about the British
Redcoat in the era of sword and musketry. The final paragraph came as a
footnote to the Battle of Waterloo, June 18th 1815. I shall share it:<br />
<em> </em><br />
<em>“Thomas Pococke of the 71st did not care. Having survived the
Peninsular and Waterloo, his only concern was to to be given a discharge
and return home. He got his wish in the winter in 1815…….`I left my
comrades with regret`, recalled Pococke, `but the service with joy. I
came down to the coast to embark, with light steps and a joyful heart,
singing, “When the wild war’s deadly blast was blawn”. I was poor as
poor could be; but I had hope before me, and pleasing dreams of home`.</em><br />
<em> Arriving in Edinburgh by ship, he went straight to his parents’
home. They no longer lived there, nor did the new occupant know their
address. Fortunately the landlord remembered Tom and took him to his
mother for a tearful reunion, the first in nine years. Pococke spent the
next two years completing an account of his time in the army and sent
it to a friend in the hope that it might be published. It was in 1819.
But by then his mother was dead and he, unable to find work even as a
labourer, had disappeared. Having left the army sound of body and
without the requisite twenty years’ service, Pococke was not eligible
for a pension. He was last heard of working as a road mender `with a
number of other poor labourers thrown out of general employment`. Thus
did Britain reward `that best of all instruments…British Infantry`.</em><br />
<br />
In the epilogue, the last words were fittingly a quote from a soldier
whose Prussian (later German) Army would dominate Europe’s battlefields
from the mid-nineteenth to mid-twentieth centuries in much the same way
the British Army had for the century and a half before that. `For
battle`, wrote Baron von Müffling, Wellington’s former Prussian liaison
officer, in 1816, `there is not perhaps in Europe an army equal to the
British, that is to say, none whose tuition, discipline, and whole
military tendency, is so purely and exclusively calculated for giving
battle.` He added:<br />
`The British soldier is vigorous, well fed, by nature highly brave and
intrepid, trained to the most vigorous discipline, and admirably well
armed. The infantry resist attacks of cavalry with great confidence, and
when taken in the flank or rear, British troops are less disconcerted
than any other European army. These circumstances in their favour will
explain how this army, since the Duke of Wellington conducted it, has
never yet been defeated in the open field`.<br />
<br />
That is why I support the <a href="http://www.britishlegion.org.uk/">Royal British Legion.</a><br />
</div>
</div>
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-15512058533294656362014-10-08T14:26:00.002+01:002014-10-08T14:28:47.293+01:00Fair wear and tear....<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
Had
a faithful old tooth removed yesterday. It had served me well for
almost 50 years. Needed a root canal jobby a few years back but apart
from that it was doing great. My Portuguese dentist has told me I have
great teeth and healthy gums... with one exception, the aforementioned
LR5 (who I shall call "Mo"). Pure bad luck caused an infection to set
in, post aforementioned root canal, which in itself was a great piece of
work, but hey, sh1t happens and Mo had to be retired.<br />
Plan `A`
was to remove Mo and screw a Titanium implant into his place to take a
ceramic in a few months but the X ray showed that Mo's foundation was no
longer rock, but sand - a bone graft would be needed. But quick
thinking dentist coolly announced that next to Mo there was a long-time
gap where LR6 once lived and this will be ideal for the implant, so it
was `job-on` after all. Can't remember how I lost LR6, but what with the
space he'd long ago left behind suddenly coming in so unexpectedly
handy, nay perfect for the tactical option (and me being a bit of an
aviation enthusiast) I'm re-naming LR6 "A.10"! (I thought about "Spad",
but this is the 21st century and after all we are talking Titanium). <br />
So I'm all numbed up and the Op begins. A couple of taps, the insertion
of a small explosive charge, a dull crunch and out comes Mo. The
infected section of jawbone is cleaned, grafted and we move on to prep
area A.10 for the titanium screw. A two, three and four mm drill bit do
their thing - well not quite, as the 3mil seizes solid in the healthy,
rock-solid bone, the drill suddenly stops and my dentist is flung
sideways with the torque reaction.Another hi tech piece of specialist
dentistry has to be deployed. I think I heard him call it an `Apertado
Pequeno Bastardo`, which judging from the sound and feel of things
through the numbness is probably Portuguese for, `Mole Grips` (probably
titanium as well, although I swore I could smell WD40).<br />
Space
`A10` was completed in record time (about 8 tracks from the `Adele CD`
playing in the background - just as well because I think he told me
there were `21`).<br />
I aimed some antiseptic fluid in the general
direction of my mouth, rinsed out the bone and gore in an action
resembling a lawn sprinkler, and then let my dentist give me a facial
makeover with a sterile wipe. I sat up and looked at the lovely nurse
who had, for the last 90 minutes, been kneeling on my chest forcing my
mouth open with steel instruments pressed hard on the bits of my lips
and mouth that still had working nerves. Trying to smile I said, "Ice
pack please". She then slapped me across the un-anaesthetised part of my
face and stormed out. I was bemused. The dentist ran after her and she
returned a short while later full of apologies. It was a simple
mis-undertanding caused by my anaesthetised tongue, what I said being
encrypted by the novocaine and coming out as "Nice rack Miss" *.<br />
I'm
feeling a bit better this morning, despite the stitches in my gum, and
looking forward to getting the full A.10 by the end of the year. Until
then, you can call me `Gappy`, although you can't see it until I laugh
real hard.<br />
<br />
* Surely I must be joking by now? Of course.</div>
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-88272702416405058132014-10-03T09:58:00.001+01:002014-10-03T09:58:40.419+01:00"Eheu Fugaces, Postume Postume"Met a bloke I hadn't seen for bloody years very recently. He'd got
himself into a shedload of trouble and currently awaits a sentence. He
didn't say anything to start with as he assumed I'd heard about his big
mistake, which I hadn't, despite it making the press. I felt sorry for
him, more so for his innocent family. He wasn't a child molester/sexual
deviant, a thief or a breaker of bones. He'd let a chain of events get
out of hand and had made a huge error of judgement that <span class="text_exposed_show">could
cost him a loss of liberty by way of an exemplary punishment. I told
him he'd be lucky if he got it suspended but his admission, clean sheet
and conduct prior-to would be a sway in his favour. `The thing is`, I
told him, ` we all make genuine mistakes and get things wrong through
occasional bad judgement which, in itself, is caused by many factors but
mainly inexperience. If we could go back in time to do things better,
most of us would, so we shouldn't judge the less experienced soul we
once were, based on the experience we have today`. I don't know if that
helped.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
It also got me
thinking about people I've encountered throughout my working life, who I
may have either misjudged, let down or disappointed in some way. If I
got it wrong, I wasn't wrong deliberately. If I got it right but they
didn't like the outcome, well, maybe I could have gone about it in a
different way, but I couldn't see it because, at the time that was all I
had. I have given evidence in court as a character witness for a
defendant. I have also declined to give prosecution evidence when a
former colleague was being prosecuted because it just seemed like a
witch hunt. For me, it is all about the ethics and if he was guilty
beyond reasonable doubt then they wouldn't need me to over-egg the
pudding of justice. Sometimes the prosecution looks like its using a
sledgehammer and to me that is distasteful.<br />
<br />
I never turned away
from doing something I believed needed doing. I could never ignore
something bad because turning a `blind eye`, is to condone and if you
are paid to get things done properly and don't, then you are a fraud and
not earning your keep. I never set out to do harm. I'm sorry if I did,
but my intentions were always to do what I believed was the right thing,
however personally damaging it was for me to do so. By the same token, I
don't bear any malice or ill will. It's done and forgotten. Life is way
too short. So if you are out there and you see me, do say hello. The
slate is clean.</div>
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-33170031466607998342014-10-01T08:28:00.001+01:002014-10-01T08:28:31.970+01:00Home Sec socks it to `em<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0yzc3e8EM5BkO8IPDMZs3E60bJS8JxACvZVu2HiS7IyjAOjeVYgniVGL_K3kWqEeM8aY9_azhyphenhyphenCiQB8SSuOIPXlPoWZLq6AueA_0C7SAEBf9Z8N5WKCFzxBo_dpsit38R7vfDUclxJ2z/s1600/10481151_10203025176695213_4673043886372413691_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0yzc3e8EM5BkO8IPDMZs3E60bJS8JxACvZVu2HiS7IyjAOjeVYgniVGL_K3kWqEeM8aY9_azhyphenhyphenCiQB8SSuOIPXlPoWZLq6AueA_0C7SAEBf9Z8N5WKCFzxBo_dpsit38R7vfDUclxJ2z/s1600/10481151_10203025176695213_4673043886372413691_n.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
This image is a simple illustration of what we old farts called `reasonable
suspicion`. It took years of training to detect it - some officers
never managed it. Some, however, did manage to grasp the basics. Some I
knew could even find their own arse with one hand (given a few clues).
But in the late 20th and early 21st Century, due to the need for
progress and enlightenment, `reasonable suspicion` was removed from the
statute books and replaced with......er.......oh yes, "alarm and
distress"<a href="https://www.liberty-human-rights.org.uk/news/press-releases/conservative-party-conference-liberty-responds-home-secretarys-speech"> (and an investigation team of internet hackers).</a><br />
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-91349874330165707402014-09-30T10:54:00.002+01:002014-09-30T11:04:27.956+01:00Do you suffer from memory loss? (I can't remember)"Training", is about providing hooks to which you can hang facts,
figures, words and deeds. This is because we tend to think in images not
letters. You make a learning point by associating it with an image, an
action, a funny story, an interesting anecdote, the more outrageous the
better. Making it memorable is the job of the trainer.<br />
I know this
works because someone asked a now senior police officer if they ever
knew me. The chap said, "Hmm, 1983, I was a probationary
officer on a regular training week at the police training school. Motor Vehicle
Construction and Use regulations practical. He was our instructor. He
appeared around the corner riding a motorcycle, no hands, with his crash
helmet on back to front. Yes, I remember him". That made oi larrf<br />
(Funny thing is, <b><i>I</i></b> can't remember it!)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div id="fb-root">
</div>
<script>(function(d, s, id) { var js, fjs = d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0]; if (d.getElementById(id)) return; js = d.createElement(s); js.id = id; js.src = "//connect.facebook.net/en_GB/all.js#xfbml=1"; fjs.parentNode.insertBefore(js, fjs); }(document, 'script', 'facebook-jssdk'));</script><br />
<div class="fb-post" data-href="https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=399677056847094" data-width="466">
<div class="fb-xfbml-parse-ignore">
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=399677056847094">Post</a> by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Piston-Addictz/156207517860717">Piston-Addictz</a>.</div>
</div>
<br />Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-11625067657886050272014-09-19T08:43:00.000+01:002014-09-19T08:44:28.420+01:00Scotland the Brave<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:0"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">I
support the Union and I congratulate Scotland, even those who said
they'd sooner vote for the Taliban than The Union - I forgive the Scot that
I actually heard say that - for he knew not what he was really saying (and was possibly thinking `rugby`). As
for that pugnacious tosser Salmond, I have nothing to say and will keep
my personal thoughts of him to myself.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">Thank you, Scotland. I will always respect you. </span></span></span></div>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"></span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".d.1:3:1:$comment10152823807159341_10152823816119341:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span class="emoticon emoticon_wink" title=";)"></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtpke06FOZDIDwwJf5o2t2C-Uhz5Qc4-z2ApWFzijXZP_BGDzOBKNJhCGoROqOBT_RDijU4vscRYMBXwLbrouK06dN13jZftVkoxn7dfEzEID0gNpksOe9aada-Iw4U54rWR4VxVRWDoC/s1600/scotland.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihtpke06FOZDIDwwJf5o2t2C-Uhz5Qc4-z2ApWFzijXZP_BGDzOBKNJhCGoROqOBT_RDijU4vscRYMBXwLbrouK06dN13jZftVkoxn7dfEzEID0gNpksOe9aada-Iw4U54rWR4VxVRWDoC/s1600/scotland.png" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjWtPlu7mlkdQtRwLICptdvp0XTJi7-75ORj9AGkcqZ2KX4dkXFtBMkL70ZTlk9wTqrO-Zm1A2LH_9052HR0QI85ULY4lpthA82fU14Agyn4HxfF9Qhl6Vd4n_Zv-VoQt_E3lcqOnyZ_x/s1600/wales.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjWtPlu7mlkdQtRwLICptdvp0XTJi7-75ORj9AGkcqZ2KX4dkXFtBMkL70ZTlk9wTqrO-Zm1A2LH_9052HR0QI85ULY4lpthA82fU14Agyn4HxfF9Qhl6Vd4n_Zv-VoQt_E3lcqOnyZ_x/s1600/wales.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHj5x9q8jnpIO0nCPr5KP9qdHb1aDVFQ45UD9UgW4H_eslK4zP2hVNavQNDPCYOk0b5AHTkJ7F5Wps6E3qJviRJdl9wgLRrqtFKCBmbwuBvEWtE-MP8Oh28WlIzomg07QWDXgqaqjS7r1X/s1600/england.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHj5x9q8jnpIO0nCPr5KP9qdHb1aDVFQ45UD9UgW4H_eslK4zP2hVNavQNDPCYOk0b5AHTkJ7F5Wps6E3qJviRJdl9wgLRrqtFKCBmbwuBvEWtE-MP8Oh28WlIzomg07QWDXgqaqjS7r1X/s1600/england.jpg" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijk8ZL0S2BrH6QXcnYw7DC2ByCyXK8q8Dh0oQnCoGeErUMRrPClxE5yG_D3ZK8s8v4ugOzdjx0eIyLzIZrk6tj923rSWy075spgPKzdhS5ucZK13mTqlLCjd6BrYYf0pVM3nBgLC2N9hRF/s1600/ulster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijk8ZL0S2BrH6QXcnYw7DC2ByCyXK8q8Dh0oQnCoGeErUMRrPClxE5yG_D3ZK8s8v4ugOzdjx0eIyLzIZrk6tj923rSWy075spgPKzdhS5ucZK13mTqlLCjd6BrYYf0pVM3nBgLC2N9hRF/s1600/ulster.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsK6iiHKaHJSuDyohLfLPRKsrGrXaSCNO7hMkHJvwZq_zgG9-HH6BEdtOGGBDA_lby_YckGbXaUwCpE0-7DRx_3t_8QsJBnfhf6gqZSEmG4hIW3WGEtYHhxynAgZ0xCK4qIZdw83zg6nIq/s1600/union.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsK6iiHKaHJSuDyohLfLPRKsrGrXaSCNO7hMkHJvwZq_zgG9-HH6BEdtOGGBDA_lby_YckGbXaUwCpE0-7DRx_3t_8QsJBnfhf6gqZSEmG4hIW3WGEtYHhxynAgZ0xCK4qIZdw83zg6nIq/s1600/union.jpg" height="252" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="userContent">Friend? If you see these flags you are among friends.</span><br /><span class="userContent"></span><span class="userContent"> Enemy? Best you keep moving.</span></div>
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-35347813640479913202014-09-18T15:46:00.000+01:002014-09-18T15:48:30.612+01:00! "IT WASN'T MY F A U L T" !<div>
Chatting to a biker a while back, my old riding buddy Jim was on his Paris
Dakar 1000GS re-fuelling when a sport bike pulled up behind him at the fuel
pumps. </div>
<div>
Race-rep-man says’ “They’re good those old Beemers with all the metal
luggage and stuff. Whats it go like?”</div>
<div>
Jim says, “It gets me from here to Morocco and back no bother, but it can
be a bit tricky when loaded up”. </div>
<div>
Race man says, “Have you dropped it?” </div>
<div>
Jim says, “Only when stationary, getting it off the centre stand, but then
I’ve dropped every bike I’ve ever owned at some time or other, usually when
loaded”. </div>
<div>
Race man; “Why couldn’t you hold it up”? </div>
<div>
Jim, “Have you ever held a fully loaded bike, with 7 gallons of fuel in it, and have your foot slip on diesel or gravel”?
</div>
<div>
Race rep, “No, but I dropped my last bike a couple of weeks ago. This is a
spare while i wait for the insurance. I was having a really good progressive
ride but as I came off the motorway I hit a very uneven patch of road surface
which caused me to lose it and the bike slammed into a Volvo estate at the top
of the slip. Bloody road maintenance”.</div>
<div>
Jim, “What speed were you doing when you got the wobble”?</div>
<div>
Race rep, “Well I left the motorway at about 140 but I was just below 100
when I hit the ruts. Anyway, I might get a GS when I’m an old geezer”.</div>
<div>
Jim, “I doubt you will”.</div>
<div>
Race rep, “No, seriously, I like GS’s”</div>
<div>
Jim, “No, I meant you won’t ever be an old geezer”.<br />
<br />
Cheery wave and off Jim
went.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I wonder if the Race replica man got it? </div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQI8TLLAMJCWgGx6SaS79VjQzUvxBgvJdwq5HPw1bGNqeivfDKG5orFkOE5YZA-oRTFpiXwv47RsGylZwXTFecFsY2fvqPJs2aAuMFt3ou52cC8ilpiN713VlGw4FkTU89GdX9lYYt6LST/s1600/dakar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQI8TLLAMJCWgGx6SaS79VjQzUvxBgvJdwq5HPw1bGNqeivfDKG5orFkOE5YZA-oRTFpiXwv47RsGylZwXTFecFsY2fvqPJs2aAuMFt3ou52cC8ilpiN713VlGw4FkTU89GdX9lYYt6LST/s1600/dakar.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3434417594974826136.post-65094611860746273392014-09-17T12:45:00.003+01:002014-09-17T12:46:08.186+01:00My Kingdom for a horse (or an MRI)I had a great week at the <a class="profileLink" data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/page.php?id=427137520754385" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Police-Rehabilitation-Centre/427137520754385">Police Rehabilitation Centre</a>.
Many of the physiotherapists were former NHS employees and they were
brilliant (as I'm sure they were when they were with the NHS). All the
health care professionals I saw during the last 10 months were also
truly impressive, but I got my physio treatment as quickly as I did
because I paid into the police welfare fund for 32 years and as a
retiree I am still entitled to apply for treatment.<br />
<br />
Now, take
Richard the Third, beaten to death at the battle of Bosworth, 1485, the
location of his remains undiscovered until 2012. After extensive
scientific forensic examinations including X-Rays, CT and MRI scans, <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leicestershire-29222775">the news re King Richard III has just been released.</a><br />
<br />
Taking
into account the lack of health care in 1485, but factoring in his
position in society (he was `King` after all), the population increase
over the following 500 years and the added complication that his remains
were unknown and I roughly calculate that, all things considered, he
still got his MRI before I did Hogdayafternoonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06188146617570775741noreply@blogger.com2