Today is Yesterday's Tomorrow

I was drinking with a good friend and colleague of mine recently, and ended up thinking back to my college days. My first kiss was from a girl a couple of years older than me, called Denise.
Her Dad ran the local scrapyard.
The song "Stuck on You" by Lionel Richie was playing and I was frankly terrified.
And slightly bemused, if I'm completely honest.

Anyway, shortly afterwards she broke up with me and went out with my mate Dale. Dale was shorter than most people of our age, but a great footballer. Fair's fair.

Fast forward a year or two (ok, maybe quite a lot more) and I've had my fair share of break ups and break downs.

The interesting thing is that I've managed to break up with and be broken up with, and on each occasion I've managed to do it without involving the Police.
Yet, I often feel I'm in a minority there. As any Police Officer knows, no matter how ridiculous you may think your 'issues' are, our informants from our calls can always beat them.

There is almost nothing that will not be sent down to a patrol unit to deal with. Unfortunately, if a call is a "type 29" - ie a domestic, then a unit will have to attend. Regardless of whether a crime has been committed or even alleged. In fact, regardless if a crime is even possible.
A domestic type call is anything that refers to a call between a husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, exes of any description, siblings, parents, family members and any sexual partners past and present.

In the incestuous estates we inhabit on our day to day patrols, these are most of our suspects, victims and witnesses.

As soon as the domestic tag is applied to a call, then everything that follows is out of our hands. If we attend and there is no allegation at all, no injuries, no hint of violence, then we only have to do the following: Full statement from each party involved; A statement from the officer on scene; A twenty six page domestic violence book; A Full 'non-crime' Crime report on the computer (taking between forty five minutes and an hour and half dependant on typing skills); A seperate computer report on any children or vulnerable people in the premises or involved in any way. So you result the call, justifying your actions. Then complete all the above, justifying your actions. Then you bring all the above to your Sergeant, so he or she can then justify your actions.

Keep in mind that these are for NON crimes. When there has been a crime or an allegation made, then obviously you arrest and all the above is used as evidence.

Amongst the many, many calls I have been to needing all the above for a non-crime domestic are a psychic wife who had had visions that something bad was going to happen to her husband, a woman who had called police because her boyfriend wouldn't get off the computer (relatively common, that), a woman who had called police as her boyfriend had cheated on her and wanted him arrested for it, and many, many "threats" by text. Of the "u slag u shaged tracy an shes got hiv i hop u get cancr" type.

Examples from other officers are always welcome.

I'm in a stable relationship at the moment, but even in my worst relationships I have never felt the need to call my colleagues down to join in. In fact, I've always wanted to keep my private life... well, private.

Am I alone in this?

PC Bill Barker - RIP

RIP PC Bill Barker.


I'm sure that his colleagues at the moment are grief stricken, and equally sure that they are still out at work helping in the flooded areas in Cumbria.


At the same time, I read about Wootten Bassett turning out again, this time for the 100th repatriation.

My admiration for that town, turning out repeatedly to honour returning fallen troops, is boundless.

Keep Cool

That was the good news, as provided by an anonymous commenter. Thank you.


Now, go look HERE at Gadget's blog.
Most of the time I avoid any type of political comment on the Police. Gadget, Copperfield, Nightjack and many others have that covered in a more eloquent way than I could ever hope to do. In fact, you'll be pleased to know that due in part to my dimness, and also in part to my being knackered, it took me three attempts to spell "eloquent" just then.

However, Gadget's post above just infuriates me. A particularly brave officer is injured and the Chief Constable unable to comment as he is a serving officer.
As a serving Police Officer myself, there's obviously no way I'd suggest that people should email into the Police Force mentioned and take the Chief to task for what I see as pretty appalling behaviour on his part.

It's just what I'd do if I wasn't in the job.
But I am.
So I won't.

Watch the video again, it'll make you feel better.

Introducing The Hardline

Shortly before my enforced absence from both the blogging and Policing world I got an email from a Police Officer with perhaps the funniest signature I’ve read in a work communication.

It was so funny that I had to ask the officer concerned whether he actually used it – he told me that not only did he use it, but that almost no one had noticed.



This was either a joke that I didn't get, or an elaborate lie in order to test my credulity.


Alternatively, my Inspector is more observant than his.

My numerous attempts at creating signatures were quickly thwarted. My first three were trialed in emails to my whole team. I knew when my Inspector had read the first by two methods. First, my outlook folder has the "read" reports turned on. Secondly, after fifteen seconds there was a bellow of "AREA!" from the office.

After the first three, I simply sent the next ones directly to the Inspector for him to proof read. I'm relatively sure that he may have found at least one amusing, and also just as sure that he doesn't even have a computer at home - let alone the will and ability to waste his evenings off reading Police blogs.

So, any suggestions at an email signature are welcome. I will actually use the best of them- but acting on my Inspector's orders, I am not allowed any reference to: obesity, teenage obesity, any type of warfare, Dog the Bounty Hunter, or CAMRA.

Nor any mention of fishing, hypnosis, or ripped jeans.

The Least We Can Do

Notting Hill 2

Yes, this was slightly delayed.
For once, there are real reasons for it. Unfortunately, I have suffered from complete computer failure. This was catastrophic, but relatively easily fixed.

However, this was followed by an assault and injury on duty, leading to a brief stay in hospital and as a direct result a move away from my normal job in the Police.

If anyone is still reading - let alone worried - I am almost fully recovered and in fact have now got to the point where I'll be missing the prescription drugs I've kindly been supplied...

These are all that survived my appalling day at Notting Hill:













Outside the operational feeding centre. Yummy...















My pillow for my 'eye resting' time.
Not as comfy as you might think.














A blue light blat through the car-nee-val. Just before we got an interesting and so far unidentified substance liberally thrown over the windscreen.

Notting Hill - Day 1

It's not all fighting in the streets and eating jerk chicken you know.

Neither is it all getting deafened by the floats and sound systems, being crushed by the crowd, or being asked for directions to the tube station for the three thousand, four hundred and sixty second time.

No, in between patrolling and dealing with incidents, we have to keep up with a gruelling and punishing fitness regime:



It's not easy being a Policemanofficer you know. Level II public order suits do not lend themselves naturally to any kind of physical activity.

There will be more photos tomorrow from Monday's fun. In the meantime, if you're not sure what I'm talking about check out the Police Slang post. Then look under "Not Carnival Related."

Feeder

Over the past few days I've not been sleeping, and trying to work out why. As an actual, real life diagnosed insomniac with the meds to prove it, this isn't in itself unusual. It's something that happens regularly. However I've found that trying to work out what might be bothering me or keeping me awake can help.

Like exploring a cavity in a painful tooth, this isn't always pleasant and can throw up surprises you didn't want and weren't expecting.

One of the things I ended up thinking about was a call I took a few years ago.
It had been a long summer and even fans of the heat like me were looking forward to shorter days, cooler temperatures, and longer tempers. At forty minutes to going home time, a call came out for a child being assaulted by their parent.

This by itself is not an unusual call - most of them turn out to be not an assault at all, but in fact a parent (rightfully) chastising a misbehaving child.

Not this one though.
As we made our way towards the call, sighing inwardly at how we thought it would turn out, the control room called up with more info. A second call had come in from a member of public that the child was bleeding and being thrown about. Our controller paused, then said "Area, this looks like a bad one."

A detailed description of the adult was given, and sure enough as we TOA'd (Time Of Arrival) at the scene, a male grabbed a young toddler some distance away and started waddling away. Me and my partner, Dan, stepped out and broke out into a jog to catch up. As we did, the male started running - with a two year old in his hands, he wasn't going anywhere.

Other units were already running at this point, but I called up and updated on the male making off. As we ran across the car park, sweating already in the humid heat, two more marked Police vehicles arrived on blues and stopped, doors slamming as the officers moved to head off the male.
All this whilst being watched with blank expressions by groups of people - at least, the ones that weren't out and out eye fucking us.

The male ran into a block of flats, one of many on our sink estates with no security or key fob to get into the communal areas. As he ran in, he dumped the toddler on the ground - why not, he was only being slowed down carrying the child.

We didn't see this, not until we ran into the building. We were still some distance off, but not far enough to not notice the reaction of the local residents.
Seeing us running, and seeing now where we were going, groups of our local gang members and druggies were drifting into the building and melting away at speed.

As me and Dan hit the door and went into the building, we were in time to see the last four or five melt away into the shadows of the stairwell. I'd estimate perhaps twenty five people had headed away from us. They'd seen the Old Bill were here, and decided that perhaps their outstanding warrants/pocket full of drugs/illegal weapons/house full of counterfeit goods should remain theirs for the day and so had made their exit sharpish.

Every one of them, without hesitation - and every one of them passing the crumpled form of a beaten, bleeding, bloodied body of a two year old boy dumped unceremoniously on the stained concrete floor. Lit by the yellowed but still working strip lights, it was impossible to miss the child lying there. Left in the middle of the corridor, the residents had obviously stepped over him in their rush to keep their gear secure.

I knelt by the child, and sent Dan forwards: "Go. Go, get the fucker!" As more coppers filtered past, I checked for signs of life. Breathing, movement, and open eyes filled with tears and terror. And blood everywhere.

Yes, we caught the suspect. He tried to hide and on being approached by Police Officers used street furniture as missiles before being very definitely arrested.
I wasn't involved in any of that; instead I had abandoned any pretence of professionalism or duty and had insisted on riding in the ambulance, had insisted on cradling the child all the way there and holding on until the nurses at the A&E managed to convince me to let go.

The only thing that really stayed with me from this call was the response of the people on the estate. Not one of them stopped to check the child, and instead chose to cut and run. After suffering an assault from his stepfather, the child had had to endure a lesson in London Estate politics, and lay broken and bloodied on the floor, watching as adult after adult abandoned him and left him to his private pain.

I only post this now, as two of the other officers involved have left the job for good, and the other main participant doesn't even own an internets, let alone use one.

Incidentally, I worked out what was keeping me awake. I reckon it could well have been the beer I'd been drinking during the day after all...

PR Procedure

Here in Metland.com, we used to have a control room per division.
It was only two years ago that the Met "upgraded" and got rid of all the local control rooms. Now we have a set of call centres where people, often with no local knowledge and no background to the area they are working on, try and despatch calls and keep a lid on the officers on the ground.
Most importantly, they're the ones that get help to me when I call for it.

As you can imagine, most of us hate the new system and long for the days of the CAD (Computer Aided Despatch) room back, so you could pop in at 0300hours and share a doughnut and a chat.
The advantages were huge - the local CAD room knew each officer, knew who was hard working and who needed a prod, who needed to be referred to the Sergeants and who could deal with what call well. They knew when someone was taking the mick, and also knew when to give an officer space - eg not sending an officer with a recent bereavement to report a sudden death.

They also had local knowledge, and so when a call came out even before any intel checks were done, often the controller would pipe up "Units running to this call, that's Danny Banksies address, be aware that last time we had to get the short shields out as he had a knife." Things that are done through intel checks now, but often too late. And intel checks can never replace the indepth personal knowledge most of our control room staff had.

However, what I miss most is something else completely. Before our transition away from local CAD rooms to our centralised 'Metcall,' our radio channels were not routinely recorded.
Add this to the many varied relationships that sprung up in the team, often between coppers and civvy staff in the control room.

That would mean you could sigh with joy at exchanges like the following near the end of a shift:
BX: "Any unit free to deal with an I grade call, a type 29 at Johnson Square House, male assaulting female now with sounds of disturbance?"
BX21: "Bravo X-ray, show Bravo X-ray two one to your last call."
BX: "Received."
Pause.
BX: "Bravo X-ray two one receiving Bravo X-ray?"
BX21: "Go ahead."
BX: "Steve, if you're home late then you can drive yourself to the bloody pub tonight. Bravo X-ray out."

Domestic harmony on the way to a domestic. Bliss.
Sorely missed in my opinion.