scottish police

We are a few months into a single police service in Scotland and the signs from within are far from good. A leader who informs us, the public from whom he gleans his not too shabby salary, that the days of solving the communities problems are over, the new service is about control.

Is that change of direction based on listening to the communities he serves? I would hardly think so, sounds like the ramblings of a despot.

A couple of weekends ago a substantial town in Scotland's central belt was policed by 50% local officers, supplemented by 50% from a city some thirty miles or so distant. The 'visiting' help had no local knowledge and to make things even more farcical they had electronic notebooks that were not compatible with the local system and could not be used. In effect the local officers had to attend at every call and use their note taking system and take over the situation. The reason for this 'new idea in action' was to save money by bringing in officers who would not incur overtime. The end result was that the local officers then spent the next few days trying to catch up with their increased workload. This was done on duty and they did not appear on the street to support their local communities, leaving skeleton staff to be run ragged. The result being more calls going unanswered and more disgruntled citizens.

I recently witnessed a crime taking place, or is it 'going down', who knows? I was within ten yards of the situation and telephoned the police as I watched. I was answered by the person in the call centre who launched into asking a raft of questions. I attempted to stop her by explaining the culprits could hear me and could she just get officers to attend and sort out the detail later, I promised to wait. I was firmly put in my place and informed that the police would decide if it was a crime and they would prioritise the response. I did comply and waited some 35 minutes. I never saw a police officer and in fact once the young people had finished, to their satisfaction I presume, they sauntered into the night to seek out another locus. I sauntered home wondering why I had bothered. Please note, anyone in the least interested, in future and will continue to saunter.

To control. A friend, three months or so ago, was eating dinner in his home when two police officers called. It seems they had suspicion that he had been driving, having consumed alcohol. He had not and it turns out the 'suspicion' came about because of an anonymous telephone call. No traffic incident or accident was involved. My friend had been home for about 25 minutes and told the officers so. Undaunted they continued with their business and demanded a breath sample. On being asked what would happen if he refused he was told he would be arrested. He again explained that he had not been drinking, to no avail. The subsequent test was not even negative, it was zero. The fact that the officers acted outwith their powers seemed not to matter a jot. I, on his behalf, contacted a well known defence lawyer who agreed the police were well out of order and acting outwith their powers. However he said, that was good as it was that kind of misuse of power that gave him something on which to base a defence. Little comfort to the person lying in a cell however.

A relative was driving home a few weeks ago and was signalled into a police checkpoint, as was all traffic. She was breathalysed. The officers had formed no suspicion as to whether or not she had consumed alcohol and therefore had no idea whether or not she was driving above the drink driving limit, in fact they did not even witness her driving, other than when signalling her to stop. She agreed to be breathalysed, even though she had not been drinking. Obviously she produced a zero result. My relative has no idea of police powers and will be just like the majority of drivers in that respect. This is another example of 'power creep' as we edge even closer to a police state.

Away from traffic issues and onto young people, but still lingering around police powers and their misuse. Recently an order went out all over Scotland that officers on patrol had to stop and search as many young persons they could. They, the police, were instructed to use a little known power, the 'voluntary' search. No suspicion, no evidence, just power. The instruction also was clear, 'don't come back to the office with no searches'. A interesting concept the 'voluntary' search. Not many young people faced by two police officers are likely to have the nerve, the courage, the balls might describe it best, to say, 'no I am not volunteering'. A senior officer explained that based on a directive from the centre, officers have to return at least one stop and search each shift. Having no suspicion is not an excuse. It is another example of stretching powers to control the public. I think we might call it 'power creep'.

There must be a new book on how to gain respect, missed that one.

I can evidence the new policy I have adopted. Since that first incident I came across a reasonably large shoplifting situation. Four people were putting their collection of stolen shirts and blouses together prior to splitting up their spoils. There were some thirty or so garments, still on the shop hangers. A friend with me asked if we should tell someone. We did not.

You see, I explained, the new police are about keeping us in control and they are not about solving our problems. They have enough to do keeping us under control.

I will not continue, other than to say, this is about politics and imposing political dogma. It does not matter if communities suffer.

The service is awash with politically imposed 'targets' and 'indicators'. Political control. I seem to remember reading about the same in the tractor factories of Russia.

What makes it worse is those who should know better, shall we refer to them as people with less than normal courage, do not stand up to be counted and chaos rules.

Who was asked about the changes? Ask about your community and your circle of friends, I doubt you will find anyone who had a say.

Anyway guys, just keep taking the money and remember, 'de omnius dubitandum'.

doping and chris froome

chris froome

It is some months since I last produced a post. Not that there has been a lack of issues. I just could not get motivated. Perhaps I was over motivated and could not trust myself not to go berserk. The lies about Syria, the non condemnation of events in Egypt, the lack of focus on the basket case that is Iraq, where a new world order is struggling to get a foothold and in the process people, children, are being obliterated daily as Sunni and Shiite battle for supremacy. A situation we set up then moved on to fuck up some other country. The jihadist's who were happily set in motion by western powers in Afghanistan when it suited our purpose to harry the Russians and who now spread their activities to challenge the boundaries set in the sand by Imperial Powers a century or so back. I did not respond to any of that, although I no doubt will. No I awoke from my slumbers to say something about Le Tour and Chris Froome.

Last year I sat in wonder as I watched Cavendish explode over the finishing line of several stages, Brive being one of the most exhilarating. This year I have watched in awe as Chris Froome has serenely torn the field asunder. Sunday on the slopes of Mont Ventoux I was transfixed as the frail skelf that is Chris Froome simply powered away from Contador and put an end to any doubt about why he is this year's solid favourite. It was wonderful in its sheer power, savagery and beauty. An unforgettable sporting moment, like the weekend before whilst watching Andy powering to his win at Wimbledon.

His back wheel had hardly crossed the line when the 'pundits' in the Eurosport studio felt obliged to question the magnificence of it and say the drug word. Small minded bastards the lot of them. They justify the mention by suggesting it is not them that doubts but someone else. Cowards to a man, each and everyone of them lacking in normal courage. Have we forgotten a vital cornerstone of a civilised society, assuming that is what we are, innocent first. They are small minded people who seek out scandal like the punters standing around the bar at The Rovers. If they were dope tested one would find that each and every one of them would test positive. Work it out yourself.

Then they bay for Sky to publish it's power statistics for each of it's riders. Who do they think they are? They certainly do not represent me, in fact they represent only their own small minds.

So there it is, I am motivated and will have more to say in the near future.

Watch this space.

grey heron

The Grey Heron, is a wading bird of the heron family Ardeidae. You will see them throughout the United Kingdom, usually with there feet in rivers, ponds, any stretch of water where they are likely to catch a fish. They will also feed on small mammals, frogs and even grubs. They are tall slender birds with extra long legs and have a graceful, slow flight. They generally nest and roost high in trees, where, due to their size and long legs they can look quite ungainly.

I was lucky today, I was able to observe one fishing in the river Allan at Bridge of Allan, totally oblivious to my attentions and the passing traffic. The photographs are taken from the bridge.

After the series of photographs I have added an old Scot's poem about a frog (puddock) in which a grey heron takes a leading role.   (The poem is in old Scot's and may be difficult to read, even for a Scot)

take off

not far

ease back

landing gear down

The Puddock

A puddock sat by the lochan's brim,
An' thocht there wis never a puddock like him.
He sat oan his hurdies, he waggled his legs
an' cockit his heid as he glowered thro' the seggs.
The bigsy wee cratur' wis feeling that prood,
he gapit his mou' an' he croakit oot lood:
Gin ye'd a' like tae see a richt puddock', quo' he,
ye'll never I'll sweer, get a better nor me.
I've fem'lies an' wives an' a weel plenished hame,
wi' drinks fur ma thrapple, an' meat fur me wane.
The lassies aye thocht me a fine strapp'n chiel,
An' I ken I'm a rale boony singer as weel.
I'm nae gaun tae blaw, but th' truth a maun tell,
I believe I'm the verra MacPuddock himsel'.

back on the lookout

A heron was hungry an' needin' tae sup,
sae he nabbit th' puddock an' gollup't him up;
Syne runkled his feathers: 'A peer thing', quo' he,
'but puddocks is nae fat they eesed tae be.' 

J M Caie

victoria pendleton

Victoria Pendleton apologised for 'only' winning a silver medal in what was her last Olympic race.

She is not the only Great Britain and Northern Ireland competitor to have apologised during these Olympics for failing us.

The unrealistic pressure heaped on these athletes by a ruthless media is shocking. While at one level I have enjoyed the actual events, what has spoilt the whole Olympics for me is the unhealthy media circus and jingoism. By ten o'clock every night we are fed our medal soup, then the late news force feeds us the same dish, closely followed by the  round up programme, where, you are ahead of me, it is all plated up and served again.

If I were a cynical soul I would wonder if the whole British Broadcasting coverage is orchestrated to take our minds of the other events going on in the world at present. Little mention of fraudulent bankers, world affairs are relegated to a two minute slot between more flags and the National Anthem. They have also done a grand job in deflecting our minds from the obscene cost of it all.

I have a message for our silver and bronze failures. Stop apologising, certainly not to me. For what it's worth, not a lot probably, being good enough to compete in the Olympics is a success. Getting a medal, any bloody medal is brilliant. Well done each and every one of you. 

You failed nobody.

Back to Victoria Pendleton; I think the judges or is it Commissars, made a terrible decision when they relegated her after the first sprint. A jobsworth decision with no understanding of what actually happened. Victoria was slightly in front, the Australian rider, Anna Mears, bored in on her from slightly behind and above. If any of you experience that you will know and the Commissars should know, the only way to counter it and to actually stay on your bike, is to lean back into the person boring into you. It is instinctive, the only way to keep your balance. The other rider then eases back and with the pressure being released you automatically, still trying to keep your balance, move slightly to the side where the pressure had been applied. It was a terrible decision, an easy decision and one that anyone with no courage would make.

I think that Victoria Pendleton almost lost heart in the second sprint and in effect the Commissars ruined what should have been a classic encounter.

Victoria, you of all people have no need to apologise, you are role model a star. Thank you.

Lastly, there is nothing to debate, Hoy and Redgrave are both great Olympians. There is no best, that is a stupid concept dreamt up by the media. Ignore the media, the journalists, most of whom could not run for a bus. In there jaundiced world all that matters to them is digging up some angle to fill copy or air time. They are not your friend. There are and have been many great Olympians. To get into a debate about who is or was the best is pathetic and does them all a disservice.

true olympians to the fore in cycling events

lizzie armitstead with silver

I watched both the female and the male cycle road races last weekend. I found both absorbing and thrilling. For anyone the least interested in sporting tactics such races are a must.

In terms of the cyclists representing the United Kingdoms of Great Britain and Northern Ireland I was so impressed and although neither race provided a winner, both races provided sheer raw courage, drama and sportsmanship of the highest order. I suppose I was a wee bit disappointed, but not for long. Both in the men's and women's races the GB and NI racers gave all they had. One cannot ask for more.

Lizzie Armitstead was absolutely brilliant and I take my hat off to her. I was standing in front of television shouting my encouragement. The Netherlands rider was just that smidgen better on the day and well done to her.

In the men's race the GB and NI riders, remember they are not a team, were again magnificent. Perhaps in the private of their base they might discuss how their tactics played out, so what? To repeat myself, they were magnificent. Four riders, Wiggins, Froome, Millar and Stannard gave everything they had and drove the main group for the majority of the 255 kilometre race all to get Mark Cavandish into contention in the final kilometre or two, from where he would have blasted all other riders away. But some of the other world class riders were perfectly aware of that and formed an alliance designed to negate the Cavandish threat. As it turned out, a successful alliance. Good for them, because this is a sporting competition with more than one set of tactics available to the players and that is part of the fascination.

mark cavandish

Wiggins, Froome, Millar and Stannard are true Olympians. Last Saturday these four riders gave every thing they had in the pursuit of an Olympic Gold Medal. And so they should. However they did not do it for themselves. They rode the equivalent of Inverness to Stirling, a distance that some people think twice about driving or even travelling in a train to complete, to try and get the medal for another cyclist. This was not a team race, there was to be no team prize, not shared medals, nothing. Yet despite that knowledge these guys willingly and courageously rode themselves to a standstill for someone else.

I cannot praise them highly enough, magnificent is only a word, it does not seem enough.

I think however that the Olympics hierarchy need to rethink these events. If they allow a country to have a maximum number  of riders, then they should consider that to be a team and award medals accordingly. If not, then only allow one person from each country should compete.

Consider football, or soccer to some. A medal winning team may well have a player, or more,  sit in reserve on the bench during the whole competition and not put one foot over the white line, yet still be awarded a medal.

Then we have the Chinese and South Korean Badminton players. What was Olympian about their performance?

the brave die more than once

 

Christa McAuliffe, from Concord, New Hampshire, was one of seven crew members who died when the space craft carrying them and the shuttle Challenger exploded soon after taking off on January 28, 1986. Christa was 37 years of age. In 2004 she was posthumously awarded the Congressional Space Medal of Honour.

Christa was a brave human being who unselfishly gave her life for something she believed in and for a cause designed to help our understanding of our planet.

So why now, why should I put this piece together today? Well, many reasons really. 

It is important to remember brave, unselfish people. Particularly at this time when the world is awash with greed, more than greed; avarice and people who are at the opposite end of the brave spectrum from Christa.

When our world brimming over with blame and people sitting in judgement who have no idea about bravery and risk taking. People who, if things do not change, will shut us down. While these people rule, the chances of putting another foot on the moon is not even a dream.

I had a concern that by allowing the very thought of such people on the same page as Christa would somehow tarnishes her memory. But you know, it won't, she was in a different universe really and those with an ounce of humanity and decency will understand. It can only enhance her memory.

What follows is beautiful, sensitive prose and I think so fitting for what happened that terrible day in 1986 and penned by a person more articulate than most could ever aspire to, well certainly me; Nancy Banks-Smith:

'The President was not watching television. There is, it seems no set in the Oval Office, so he went to his study where there is one.

The parents of Christa McAuliffe weren’t watching television either. Their faces turned blankly to the sky. Her mother’s mouth was working away all the time. Her father’s fell open and, full of teeth, seemed to smile. Then he looked down at the people in front of them in a puzzled, questioning way.

Life and death are less confusing on television. People explain in detail. In slow motion.

I thought the brave died only once, but it isn’t so. Newsnight, among others, worried away at it.

I think they forgot how it hurts.

The picture of that parachute, small as a dandelion seed, keeps drifting through the mind. It meant nothing.

They kept explaining it meant nothing, but it looked like hope.'

Nancy Banks-Smith was and may still be a television critic in the UK, she began writing for the Guardian in 1969. She declined an OBE in 1970.

roger payne

I was shocked and saddened to hear of the death of Roger Payne earlier this week. He was caught in an avalanche on the slopes of Mont Maudit in the Mont Blanc massif.

I first met Roger Payne in 1987 in La Dahu hotel in the village of Argentiere, a small alpine village between Chamonix and the Swiss border. I was with a group of climbers and it was the eve of our departure of what was to be a memorable high altitude crossing of the Alps. Roger dined and took refreshment with us. He was there to assist our guide for the trip, Iain Peters. They were both Alpine guides and obviously very good friends. My memory of Roger that night, apart from a strikingly handsome young man, was of his humour and obvious love of life. Roger and Iain turned our meal into a competition.  We were eating 'Raclette', a local dish of boiled potatoes, cold meat, gherkins all of which were served in separate dishes. The plate was served up with Raclette cheese melted on it. When the cheese was eaten the waitress removed the plate and returned it with another helping of the melted cheese. She would repeat that every time. The rules were easy; see how many times they could get the waitress to take away their plates and return with melted cheese on it. I gave up counting when they had reached fourteen fillings. Next day we set out on our adventure with Iain whilst Roger drove our spare clothing to Zermatt where we would meet him some ten days or so later. We duly met up and enjoyed a good night in the 'highspots' of Zermatt. A night that included getting thrown out of one establishment after getting into a 'heated' debate with a group of German climbers. Roger and I, in the company of another, who I will not identify, became separated from our party then, despite valiant efforts, failed to hijack an electric car to transport ourselves to a disco. We got there despite our lack of mechanical aptitude. We were only borrowing it.
No doubt and rightly, many will recall great mountain achievements and so they should. In recalling these silly wee moments mentioned above it is my intention to evidence that Roger was not only a truly great mountaineer and guide but also a seriously good person who was so much fun to be around.

Roger on right at vallot refuge (I am seated)

I next met Roger in the late August of 1988, again in Argentiere and again in the Dahu. We dined again but did not eat all the cheese. On that trip Roger was to guide three of us up Mont Blanc. We spent a week together when Roger tested us out on steep ground and at height. Two of his 'test' areas being the Petit Aguille Verte and the Merdis Glas, the latter to allow him to watch our ice axe and crampon work on seriously steep bits of ice. Roger was very professional and thorough, although his 'gamp' slung across his rucksack made him look like a city gent heading for the underground. Roger seemed happy with our progress and so next stop was Mont Blanc. Roger took us up by the central route, roughly following the first ascent route of Balmat and Paccard . I hope I can be forgiven at this difficult time from recalling a prophetic phrase Roger used once we were on the summit. He said, 'hurry up and get your photographs then lets get down before the bastard kills us.' I had heard the same phrase uttered by Iain Peter on another Alpine peak some months before. Then we got down and over the next couple of days indulged in some rock climbing and bouldering in the Chamonix area.
My only other involvement with Roger was a few years later when seeking his advice on climbing wall construction. Roger was in the British Mountaineering Council then, if I remember correctly in the position of Technical Officer.
There has been a lot said and written about Roger since his tragic death, by 'real' climbers and friends of Roger. I would love to have been his friend, however I was only a client, never a 'real' climber. I feel it important however to put a clients thoughts on paper. I might only have been a client but it seemed not to matter to Roger one little bit, he had such an enthusiasm for life and an understanding of people that his whole being simply radiated friendship and whilst hardly knowing him, he made me feel special, he made me feel I could be a mountaineer, he made me feel that we were friends and despite our seriously short history together I have always regarded him as a friend.
I cried when I heard of his death. Roger Payne was indestructible, his love of life brimmed over, he was the real deal. He gave so much in a world where most cannot give for taking.
I will never forget you Roger, you will never understand what you did for me.
My thoughts go out to your wife and loved ones, I am saddened by their loss.