04
Dec
09

Repeal Section 44

I will no doubt be accused by some of being hopelessly naive for holding this opinion, but it is the opinion I hold. This latest police-harass-photographer scandal has reminded the world’s media that Britain has introduced some pretty draconian legislation in recent years. The suggestion that the officer involved in harassing a journalist who was taking pics of St. Paul’s Cathedral did not act unlawfully is quite worrying.

All this has happened before. Remember the “sus” laws? I don’t, I’m far too young. These gave the police powers to go around causing misery to people they didn’t like. In the bad old days before the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (PACE), large sections of society felt like they were being treated poorly by the authorities. We all know what the culmination of that was. PACE limited police powers to search people, crucially to situations where the officer has reasonable grounds to suspect that the person might be in possession of certain listed items (e.g. prohibited items, fireworks, etc.). There is an equivalent power for drugs searches.

By and large, the PACE restrictions are A Good Thing because they strike a balance between the power to search (necessary in the battle to maintain peace on the streets) and the knowledge that that power can be challenged if someone feels they have been searched unfairly. This is a very important accountability issue. If you have ever been searched you will have been told why you are being searched and you should have been given one of those “receipts” which should outline the grounds for the search and the power used.

Step forward the Terrorism Act 2000. Section 43 gives a police officer the power to search someone who he “reasonably suspects to be a terrorist to discover whether he has in his possession anything which may constitute evidence that he is a terrorist”. Sounds perfectly reasonable, doesn’t it? Your behaviour or location in an area at a particular time or appearance leads an officer to think you might be planning to blow something up so he has the power to find out whether you are about to blow something up. I can’t argue against that.

Section 44 gives the power to an officer to stop and search a person or vehicle for no other reason than that a senior officer has generally authorised searches in that area. And that is a pretty wide-ranging power. It means that any officer in that area can search any person he pleases without breaking the law.

I have no particular objection to being searched if I have brought attention to myself for some reason. I was once searched by police because I was carrying some record cases and the officer told me that similar ones had been stolen nearby. Fair dues. But when officers start getting uppity with people taking photos of London’s landmarks then you know things have gone wrong. Taking a photo in a public place is not against the law. Taking a photo of a key public building does not make you a terrorist.

I generally give the police the benefit of the doubt when they hit the headlines. I know a few officers socially and they are intelligent professional people not power hungry thugs. But it only takes one officer to do something so brainless as to harass someone who isn’t doing any harm to bring the whole system into disrepute. My Met buddy tells me that they have been told not to go around using S44 powers without good reason. It seems to me that there is never a good reason. If an officer has grounds then he can use S43. If not he should stay well away.

Britain is not a “police state” but bits of egregious legislation like Section 44 (and there are plenty of nasty morsels knocking around) are quite likely to leave a bitter taste in the mouths of the law abiding majority. If the police are going to put people’s backs up by using unnecessary powers unnecessarily then they are just going to alienate the very people who might otherwise help them put real miscreants behind bars.

The next government must have a wholesale review of the spaghetti of police legislation. A new PACE, perhaps?

03
Dec
09

Cool Britannia

I never bought into the whole Cool Britannia thing when it exploded in about 1999. I couldn’t tell the difference in coolness between the preceding and following few years. For me, Britain had always been cool. London has never had a shortage of amazing stuff to do and see. It turned out for example, after my crew from school had been there many times, that a particular club in Hoxton Square* was one of the officially cool places. The followers of fashion soon swamped it and destroyed what had been a good scene.

What I like most about London is the places which aren’t trendy, the places which people go to because they like them rather than because they have been told they should like them. I have rarely decided on a night out from a newspaper article. Cool places aren’t what the journalists says are cool but the places we find that we like. Britain does individuals rather than fashionistas. The only times I have run into serious trouble have been when I have tried to fit in with a particular crowd. These days I realise that people should take each other as they come.

On a hot day in September 1998 my parents had helped me unload my stuff from the car into my dingy, poky room in the ugly 1960s hall of residence and had driven off. All I could think was “what now?”. I started unpacking and setting up the room but what I really needed to do was interact with the other newbies. I wanted to prop my door open so as to be able say hello to people passing by but I could not find anything strong enough to overpower the door closer. I was beginning to worry that the world would be carrying on outside without me when there was a knock at the door. “I’m Richard, would you like a cup of tea?”. We have been firm friends ever since. He doesn’t even like tea.

Richard has now emigrated to Oz, but having read some of my sillier posts recently decided that he better come back to London to buy me lunch and cheer me up. We went to Rules which is, like Richard, effortlessly cool by sticking to its core principles. We ate rabbit, black pudding, half a barely cooked cow and drank some wine. And it was good. Very good. I will leave the expert to write a proper review.

But it’s not the venue, it’s the company. That is true Cool Britannia.

* which was definitely not fashionable when we started going there. Also the only place in the world where anyone has ever asked me “where have you been all my life?”.

02
Dec
09

Yeehaa

Hot on the heels of the return of Mr No Search, I am pleased to announce – exclusively! – that former-PC Michael Pinkstone has returned to the blogging fold. OK so he looks like a bit of a funny one (it’s the eyes that scare me most), but the best thing about blogs is that it doesn’t matter how ugly we authors are, it’s our brains you readers are interested in. I hope.

I have huge respect for Mr Pinkstone. Not only has he written three books and worked two of the hardest jobs around, but he was so desperate to avoid meeting me for a beer* that he quit Britain and moved to Canadia. Anyway, go and send him some good blog vibes so that he doesn’t delete his site again.

* true fact

I will be celebrating by reading his second book.

01
Dec
09

Serenity rocks

On Friday I was having lunch with a few colleagues and one of them was having a seriously bad day. He was in a pickle about several things, all coming under the umbrella of “it’s all f^d” – management and the general state of the country bearing the brunt of his anger. The more he went on, the more he wound himself up. I actually thought he was going to blow a gasket at one point. The thing was that while I completely agreed with what he was saying, I wasn’t at all angry about it. It was a brilliant full-blown rant and I actually had to restrain myself from laughing out loud, not helped by another colleague who kept shooting knowing glances in my direction.

There are plenty of things to be angry about. I have similarly ranted offline and on here about the same things that my colleague was getting worked up about. I could totally understand where he was coming from. I could write a list of things that irritate me about the way “things” are going right now (already have in fact, see archive for details), but I realise that there is very little I can do about them.

At work the most I can do is quietly point out that there might be a better way of doing things. My arguments will probably fall on deaf ears, but I can’t do any more than make suggestions and hope that at some point I might be in a position to organise things more sensibly. On political issues the best I can do is write things down here. I am not a member of any party and even if I was I have no desire to try and pull myself up the greasy pole to a position of influence. It’s not my bag. That means that what I think is of very little consequence to anyone at all. So although I understand there is virtually nothing I can do about the state of “things” I have come to terms with it and am supremely relaxed about it.

What’s the point, after all, about getting worked up about something which you cannot change? Why ruin your day? I prefer to laugh at the absurdity of a situation than get myself into a frenzy about it. I am often found at my desk laughing hysterically at some ridiculous nonsense that has been placed in front of me. When anyone asks what on Earth I am chuckling about I say “you have to either laugh or cry”.

Nothing illustrates pointless anger about the world than the aggression of Tube users during rush hour. Yesterday morning I treated myself to the Underground because it was bucketing down at commute o’clock. It’s amazing to watch how nasty and vindictive commuters can be. They vie for the best spot to launch their incursion into the carriage, they try to outwit their competitors in their desire for a seat or the perfect standing place. They barge, they jostle, they snarl. And I just stand there, serenely, letting people glance off my slow-moving body and laughing to myself at the pointlessness of it all.

30
Nov
09

Did you know..?

…that getting a Met Police password reset (quite a regular occurrence, apparently, given the large number of computer systems in use), costs the taxpayer £100 each time?

A friend of a friend of mine has made a lucrative career out of building expensive and ineffective computer systems for various organs of the state. Remember that when you hear politicians arguing that front-line services will need to be cut.

26
Nov
09

The four panes

In GCSE year (I think) we were compelled once a week to attend a lesson called Personal and Social Education. It was run by the self-styled cool, laid-back, take-no-notice-of-authority female geography teacher. She was so cool that her classroom was tucked away from the rest of the school. She had film noir posters on the walls and everything. Actually she did have this rather good poster which I have not seen since. It had four brains, three of equal size and one significantly smaller. Under the three were written, respectively, European, Asian, African. Under the fourth was written Racist.

In these lessons, which didn’t count towards any grades and therefore were not taken terribly seriously by teacher or pupils, we discussed “issues” relating to our new-found maturity and things we were likely to encounter as adults. We were reminded not to get girls pregnant at seedy house parties (chance would have been a very fine thing given my social circle at that age – there was a very unoriginal joke about the girls at our sister school…), not to do drugs and all the kind of stuff which teenagers are wont to do irrespective of what their cool teacher recommends. I was more interested in my electronics project to be perfectly honest.

One day she drew a “window” on the board and divided it into four shuttered panes. She was telling us about a way of thinking about ourselves which is probably well-known to my highly educated readers but the name escapes me and I’m not in the mood to Google. One pane represents what we tell people about ourselves, another what people perceive about us, the third how we see ourselves and the fourth things which we keep private.

Obviously, all four shutters interact with each other and are not completely under our control. For example how other people see us isn’t necessarily influenced by what we tell people about ourselves. Sometimes our outward appearance or actions give better clues than what we say or don’t say or what we say is construed differently than intended.

The opening and closing of each shutter is not always controllable. Every now and again the panes can get a bit confused. For example the “private” shutter might be open a little bit for artistic effect when a sudden gust grabs it hard and throws it wide open allowing the casual observer a brief glimpse into the heart of our soul before it bangs shut again. One shutter is usually closed so that we are the only person who can’t see through it. We can’t often know what other people genuinely think about us.

When the private shutter gets involuntarily thrown open what lies beneath might well be rancid and unpleasant. Those private thoughts which aren’t supposed to see the light of day can be smelly and ugly. They have probably been festering and multiplying like poisonous mushrooms. Those who are in the right line-of-sight to see into the pit when the shutter opens might have a shock. But equally the gust might also scoop out some of the sludge and release it, allowing the wind to take it away and leave the pit that bit cleaner and tidier. And the reaction of those who do see inside gives us a pretty good view of the usually invisible pane. If we are judged by the company we keep then I can be incredibly proud of myself, because I am kept company by some bloody amazing people.

24
Nov
09

“You’re not sorry”

You are judging me on my suit trousers and recently bought winter jacket. You are making your assessment on the basis that I am carrying a Moss Bros bag which contains my “new” ex-hire morning suit. You don’t like me because I won’t buy your last Big Issue of the day. It’s a shocking evening for me too. You ask me once, I say I’m sorry. You ask me again, I say no thanks. You ask a third time and I keep walking.

“You’re not sorry”

You think I’m being ungenerous because I am not buying a copy of a magazine which I do not want to read. In your mind I’m just an evil Scrooge, a rich bastard keeping my money close and for my own hedonistic enjoyment. But I won’t be made to feel guilty.

I won’t be made to feel guilty about spending a tiny portion of my money on myself. You don’t know me from a bar of soap. You don’t know how much I give to charity. You don’t know how much of my income gets spent on people who do less well than me.

I know that others weren’t blessed with the awesome set of genes that I have. I know that others didn’t get the best possible start in life as I did. That is why I try to help others. That is why I give up the equivalent of ten working weeks a year of my spare time to do voluntary work. I try to be a good person. I work hard and make the best of what I have.

What do you do to help yourself? Is screaming at people in the street the way to improve your lot? I’m sorry that you don’t have the best existence in the world. But you hardly have the worst, either. You look well fed and your clothes look warm. I’m sorry you aren’t as comfortable as I am, but what can I do about it? I can’t help everyone, not even these shoulders are broad enough. I can’t give any more than I am already. There would be nothing left for me.

“I hope you die”

I can’t help wondering which of us would be worse off if I did. You’re welcome.

24
Nov
09

gone roamin’

I need a break. Back soon.

22
Nov
09

Luv-Hat

In one episode of The Simpsons, Sideshow Bob tries to get LOVE and HATE tattooed on his knuckles. It doesn’t work quite as well when you only have three fingers. Ha ha. In one of my customer-facing roles I had to serve someone who really did have the tattoos. The whole of the image that this chap presented was pretty unnerving. He wasn’t a particularly physically imposing bloke, but you got the impression that you would not want to end up in a tangle with him. That job seemed to bring me into contact with some interesting characters. Somehow I vaguely got to know the manager of the Carousel slots emporium* up the road from work. Having met him once, he was suddenly everywhere I went: on the tube platform, in the supermarket, across the street. I doubt it was anything more sinister than that he lived near me and worked near me, but it did cause me a little concern at the time. He was perfectly friendly to my face, but he carried himself and spoke in a way which implied a darker side. He silently proclaimed “DON’T MESS WITH ME”. This was all quite a new experience for a sheltered nineteen year-old.

I am terrible at working out whether people like me or not. I don’t often care one way or the other, so I don’t lose any sleep over it, but for better or worse my brain doesn’t have that function. I could have legions of secret admirers and be entirely unaware of them. There could be enemies around every corner plotting my undoing and I wouldn’t know any better.

One of the people I work for has absolutely shocking people skills. He is genuinely a thoughtful caring person, but because he does not know how to talk to others he gives the impression that he is a arrogant anti-social swine. When he tries to tell anyone anything he inadvertently sounds dismissive and patronising. He doesn’t mean to make everyone feel stupid, but he does. He raises his voice at inappropriate moments, he is abrupt and he even manages to make “never mind” sound like a death sentence. He once made a horrific comment about my shoes. It took me years to work out that he didn’t hate me.

The nice receptionist has started a lottery syndicate at work, inspired by the BT workers who won a share of £45m. There has been much discussion of what would constitute a decent amount to win. A few hundred pounds would be pretty life changing for me at the moment, but I reckon it would take quite a hefty sum to allow me to retire. During a ridiculous conversation between me and the receptionist about how much I would need to win before I handed in my notice, I caught the boss eavesdropping from his desk. He had a look of utter fear on his face.

* the only time I have ever actually been inside one of those places was on a Scout trip to Clacton…

20
Nov
09

Giving up is easy

Old joke: giving up smoking is easy, I’ve done it hundreds of times

The observant of you will have noticed that I have gone for several posts without mentioning any politics. There is a good reason for this: I am not interested. The debate is now so ridiculous that I can’t get my teeth into it. It turns out that the phrase “jumping the shark” was coined in a more innocent era. These days nobody seems to even care how utterly obviously unreal their narrative is. Watching the discussion on Her Majesty’s pre-election re-launch last night confirmed my total lack of engagement. Politics must seem terribly interesting to those inside the echo chamber but to those of us on the outside it just looks bloody ridiculous. Why did not the Queen announce a bill to require motherhood and apple pie while she was at it? I would vote for a party that promised 24/7 ecstatic happiness for all by 2020. I would go out and campaign for the eight-hours-of-sunshine-a-day party. Where’s the party promising two pubs on every corner and three decent sleeps a week?

No, for the time being I am outta it. I reckon I could keep my readership more satisfied with Tales of the Unexpected Bowel Movement than by commenting on the daily load of old politics. But never fear, dear hard-pressed readers, for I am not about to delete myself. Now while I would not normally blog about blogging* I feel compelled to announce the publication 63rd Edition of the Revised Behind Blue Eyes Subject-Matter Policy. But not just yet. Scroll down if you can’t wait until I’ve finished this bit.

* well that’s a lie

You really all come here because you want to peer into my head, frown, point, laugh a bit and then feel better about yourself. I know this because when I write about my personality defects the ratings go off the chart. In the month since I went over to this shiny new setup, the site has been whacked six thousand times. Loser-blogging supplies this site with readers and that keeps me from sitting in the corner at home crying about being a loser. I am no Beck.

So in you look, and what do you see? I do not go out of my way to get to know people. I do not do ice-breaking. I do not network or work the room. I do not sell myself. Why? Because there are not very many people who I like. I find polite conversation for its own sake interminable. Life’s too short. If I had to write a top list of people I want to interact with there would be on it my immediate family at the top. Then there would be a small number of people who I have latched onto over the years who I try to keep close, the people who I pester to meet me in the pub or come around for dinner. Then there would be a lorra lorra blank space.

One of the people on my hypothetical top list (I don’t actually have one scrawled in green ink, covered in scribbled amendments which nudge up against my theory of everything, stuffed in a drawer at home, honest) sent me this message the other day and I hope he won’t mind me reproducing it:

…your more personal posts are head and shoulders above the others… such as politics

The message also included some faff which leads me to think that the author was probably rolling around drunk on a sticky pub floor when he wrote it but hey you take your compliments where you find them. So with enormously over-egged fanfare, I am pleased to announce the 63rd Edition of the Revised Behind Blue Eyes Subject-Matter Policy:

I will write about whatever I damned-well fancy




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