Whatever happened to SOCA?

A couple of years ago the UK Government launcehd SOCA (Seroius and Organised Crime Agency) to tackle drug dealers, people trafficers, etc, an organisation to rival the FBI of America. So far as I know the organisation still exists. But what he hell is it doing? Why are we not hearing of the results of this Organisation? As an interested party working in a law enforcement capacity myself I am expected to fill in forms itemising what I do each minute of the day, how long I have spent on any specific "tasking" and to provide results, everything being "performance related"
Yet SOCA has just disappeared under the radar and seems to have got away with doing nothing.
I'm sure that's not the case and that they are very busy, but if they don't tell us about their sucesses how are we to know? I'm sure their American counterparts in the US get regular pats on the back for thier sucesses, so why don't we hear anything from SOCA about their results? Could it be they have had none?
This is a problem with the police service as a whole. Whilst the media jump on the police at every single opportunity when things go wrong, they rarely want to publisise the goood news stories relating to what the police do, If they did then perhaps the 20% reduction in police services that is happening to save the Government money would have hit the headlines more than it has.
Only when the media percieves thatthe police (or any other law enforcement or criminal justice body) has fouled up, does it hit the media. Yet behind the scenes thousands of hard working police officers are making arrests that make a little difference to th elittle people everyday, and the collective result is we are all that little bit safer in our beds at night. So why are we not told? Why can we not hear the results of what our tax pounds buys? Could it be that if it were publcised that the average bobby on front line response has made seven arrests this week, each involving a violent, probably armed suspect who was drunk, drugged or both, and that the officer was injured (again) as he tacled the same suspect unarmed, might the public start to think that the police service did offer value for money? Might it shatter the media perpetrated illusion of officers sat around in police stations eating donuts and issuing fixed penalty notices to illegally parked mobility scooters. And, if the suspects were named and shamed, might it alert the public to the revolving door justice system when they read that the same man arrested last week for an armed robbery has just been arrested again for another offence. Why wasn't he in prison, they might righlty proclaim.
The truth is, that whilst the British police service is not perfect, and undoubtedly has a few bad apples and a few lazy desk jockeys, and some ill chosen supervisors, as a whole unit it works and works very well. Where it falls down is in the meddling of politicians, restricting it's powers, procedures, budgets and by imposing a performance culture.
When I bought my diesel engined car I expected certain performance from it, and I expected it would run within a certain budget. After a month I found that it exceeded my performance requirements, it could carry five people and their luggage, tow a trailer or a caravan, and I coudl fit a roof box to carry a little more if required. The car returns on average 55 miles to the gallon. This means I put in around £75 of fuel each month, and in return I get aroudn 1000 miles of driving. Naturally, with the increase in the cost of fuel each year I budget a little more as time goes on. Haviong established that within a month of ownership, I accept that this is the case. I do not ask the car to provide me performance statistics at the end of each day, I just expect that it will get on with it's job. I know a little about the workings of an internal combustion engine, but I trust that Vauxhall have made a better job of building it than I could, so I do not tinker with it, and leave it alone. I do not try to remove biots, add bits or pare bits off, or improve bits, because I truly beleive that experts know better. You may be wondering where I am going with this analogy.
Well supposing my Vauxhall Vectra was the police service. If it was, I would not beleive that it would do 55 mpg, so I would ask it for monthly reports to prove it. And if it failed to acheive 55 mpg for the very pbvious reason that during that particular month it had towed a fully laden caravan, and a family of four 2000 miles across Europe I would want it to give me an in depth report as to why it had not only failed to acheive it's performance target, but also why it had gone over budget on it's petrol allowance. Coversely, if it had sat in the garage unused for two weeks whilst I was away and thus used half as much petrol, I would then cap it's diesel allowance for subseqent months becasue quite obviously it didn't need as much.
I might also consider removing the 2.o litre engine and replacing it with a 1.5 in the interests of cost cutting, but with no regard to a reduction in performance. And at the same time I would add two extra roof boxes and squeeze in six or seven extra passengers, because a car is little different from a mini bus after all. Oh and then I'd remove a wheel, because it's been proven that a car with three wheels is feasible, and saves 25% on tyre wear.
Well, ask an expert and they will tell you that three wheeled people carriers with a 1.o litre diesel engine, towing a caravan, and two trailers and with four roof boxes on the roof with a fuel budget of a pound is not going to achieve much. The same goes for a police force that has been hobbled by budgets and tinkered with by politicians who don't know how it works.

So here's my message to our government - leave policing to the police. Because if you don't ..... Well here is my prediction, for what it is worth. We have seen an influx already of former USSR state migrants, in the form of Lithuanian and Latvians coming into the UK. We also have Iraqis, Iranians, Turks, Pakistanis, wel, to be honest we have an open door to all nations, many of them enemies of our state and culutre, and yet we welcome them in with open arms. And that includes the arms they are undoubtedly bringing in with them. Whilst I would be the last to suggest that they are all criminals it has to be said that many have different life values to the indiginous UK population. They certainly view the value of life itself differently. I will strongly object to the suggestion that I am racist in suggesting that a great deal of organised crime comes from migrants. I have dealt with many Polish migrant workers who are now working and living in the UK and I can hand on heart say that they are some of the most honest (to a certain value of honest at least ) decent, hardworking, law abiding and god fearing people I have ever met. Moreover they integrate well into British culture, keen to learn English language and values, and to make a better life for themselves. I have no problem with that. You have only to think back to the "Auf Wiedersien Pet" years to realise that 20 years ago we were doing exactly the same thing over in Germany.
But my point is that if the Governemt chooses to cut police pay and funding now, for every pound over every year they make these cuts, they will end up paying tenfold to get anywhere near recovering the situation back to what we have today. Because once organised crime takes hold, as it surely will, then we are all off to hell in a handcart. Their resources will outstrip ours, and that is the slippery slope we are set upon. Guncrime and organised crime will soar.

Mark my words, dated 27/7/2011

One in a million chance - seven times in a row.

What are the chances of a one in a million chance happening seven or eight times in a row?
Pretty high I'd have thought. But I have just experienced exactly that.
Allow me to explain. I drive a Vauxhall Vectra - the odds on that were fairly low, given that 3 out of 4 of my more recent cars have been Vauxhalls. The headlight bulbs on a Vectra, in common with many modern cars are a bit of a pig to change. In my case it involves either lowering the bumper and removing the headlight entirely, or removing the airfilter housing to gain access from the rear and doing the bulb change with the headlamp in situation. The later is my preferred option, and I can now do it in around 30 minutes and still retain some of the skin on the back of my hand. The bulb costs around £7, so the DIY cost is £7 plus the cost of the elastoplast. A garage would charge a minimum 1 ours labour at anything from £25 up to £75 an hour, so I think the job ios worth doing myself.
Now the Vectra has some clever electronic gizmatry going on which somehow knows when a bulb has failed and lights up a light on the dashboard to tell you about it before a nice policeman writes you a note, payable within 28 days, requiring you to fix it and pay a £30 fine. I don't know what happens if the bulb on the dashboard fails. So when the bulb failure light lit up as I left work a few days back I knew immediately that the front offside had given up the ghost. But what to do, in the middle of a city which has garages that sell 42 different flavours of crisps but no essential motoring parts? Well, first of all you resort to old habits and bang the headlamp with the palm of your hand. Which of course works, and the light comes on. assuming I have a slightly dodgy contact I do not bother to buy a replacement bulb. Only the next night the same thing happens again - and the hit it with the flat palm thing works again. It is as though I now had a separate micro switch under the headlamp which needed a tap to switch the offside headlight on manually from outside the car. Whilst a novelty this quickly becomes a tiresome nuisance. Unwilling to strip out the airbox etc, I tried squirting WD40 up behind the headlamp which I hoped would help the electricity find it's way across any poor or loose connections any into the headlamp. It did, once. But the next day the headlamp failed to come on again.
Admitting defeat I bought a spare bulb just in case and stripped out the air filter case, to get at the headlamp and look at the wiring - all good, but the bulb had blown. The filament was hanging from one support with a definite gap across to the other side. So how on gods earth had it made connection not once, but seven or eight times over the week to light again and without burning out? I can only assume that the filament somehow dropped across the gap when I tapped it, and once it had it held in place whilst the current was flowing, but when it cooled after power was removed it failed again. But to do this seven or more times, it must have been a magic bulb.
Mysterious forces are at work I think.
Of course, if I could discover the secret of the magic bulb I could be a rich man - certainly people with Renault Meganes would pay me handosmely for such a bulb, as the price to change their headlamp bulb at a main dealer is an astounding £250.

Motorcyclists get a bad press

Motorcyclists get a bad press. Often when they are squished between two other vehicles.
Statistically, we know that most deaths on the road are those of motorcyclists. But why is this?
When you look around you as you drive around, motorcyclists are a minority of road users. And by and large they are focused on the task in hand - that of riding their motorcycle. Ask yourself when did you last see a motorbikist smoking, shaving, putting on make up, eating a sandwich or using a mobile phone on the move? Or reading a map, using a SatNav or trying to read a road map for that matter? Yet all these activities are commonly found amongst four wheeled road users. In fact, other than the odd Harley or Goldwing, which are big enough to count as cars anyway, when did you last see a motorcyclist distracted changing channels on the stereo?
Never, that's when.
Further more I would venture that out of all the people driving under the influence of drink or drugs, it is probably less than 1% who ride motorcycles. After all it's difficult to keep on your feet after ten pints of Stella, let alone drive a car, but balancing a fireblade is totally out of the question.
So we are left with the Governments tag line that speed kills. Well we know that it doesn't in itself. Speed is fine. It is the sudden stop when you run into something hard that kills, and obviously you have a better chance of survival in a big metal box than you do on a motorbike.
But, not all motorbicyclists speed, so, I have come to this controversial conclusion. Motorbikists are killed because they are better drivers and concentrate too much on the driving task.
If they drank a few beers, read a road map, used their mobile and ate a sandwich as they rode along then statistically their chances of survival would be higher - because a lot of drivers seem to do exactly that and get away with it.

We Own those Peaks

For the past few years, as those who follow this blog will be well aware, a few friends and I have made annual assaults on the Three Yorkshire Peaks (known officially as Whernside, Ingleborough and Pen-Y-Ghent, but affectionately known to us as that devious deceptive slog, Inglebugger, and that Evil Brooding Bastard)

Our first attempt took place if memory serves on 2^nd December 2008 and saw us arrive to some of the worse snow the county had experienced in a fair few years. We bravely attacked Ingleborough but conceded defeat due to the worsening weather conditions and lack of daylight, although to be fair with the refracted light from the snow visibility wasn’t so bad. Just as well we did cancel though as temperatures plummeted through the night and it would have been foolhardy to go on.

A second attempt took place around the same time of year in 2009, with the core team of Selby, PK and myself joined by the Judge. This time we started with Whernside from Ribblehead but returned down to the Station pub as light began to fail and a couple of injuries cast doubts on our abilty to continue.

That same year I took on solo challenges of both Pen-Y-Ghent, the slow way up the slope and down the sheer side, and on a consecutive day I had a bash at Ingleborough from the eastern side, returning the same way down.

The Three Yorkshire Peaks Challenge (3YPC) however has to be completed in one day within 12 hours each peak being climbed. Technically we achieved this last year on our third visit, successfully conquering each peak, but not in the favoured route from Horton in Ribblesdale. Instead we positioned a support car at Horton, equipped with spare food and drink and ready for any casivac or bale out, and then used the second car to start from the Ribble Head Viaduct. This allowed us to tackle Whernside and Ingleborough before dropping into Horton to restock on supplies, before taking on Pen-Y-Ghent. Having reached the top we then had the option of returning to Horton to pick up the support car, about a 3 mile hop cutting the route short, or pushing on the 7 miles across to Ribble Head back to our start. Given that none of us were over familiar with the last leg of the route in the absence of the Judge and with the October light failing we opted for the former, and satisfied ourselves that whilst we had cut the 26 miles down to around 21 or 22, we had at least climbed all three peaks this time. And we had done it within the 12 hour period, albeit only just.

However, walking this route can be addictive. So a return visit was arranged for 2011. We would go back, and this time it was personal.

To gain the best window of daylight a date nearer midsummer was required, and what better time than the days after our nightshift weekend, which also coincided with my birthday, allowing a marital pass out on compassionate grounds. Monday July 4^th saw the four man team assembling at the Judges House in the Cave. Perhaps I should explain that – the Judge does not live in an actual cave, I refer to the East Yorkshire village of South Cave.

The team as ever consisted of:

David “Greendale” Selby, appointed as Navigation Officer.

Michael “Judge” Barratt, appointed as Chief Medical Officer, doubling as Morale Officer.

Paul “Nelson/PK” Kitson, appointed as Entertainments Officer, a role he fulfilled admirable by bringing along a fine collection of Clint Eastwood DVD’s for the post walk relaxation.

And of course myself, Martin “The Stig” Crossland, self appointed as Logistics Officer, Accomodation and Catering Manager.

Things didn’t bode well when Car One (Yankee 1) crewed by Greendale and the Judge got lost leaving the cave. Tango 1 with better road sense of direction held back and waited for them to rejoion us, before MadSat woman in Yankee 1 lead us across to the outskirts of Leeds on an unfamiliar route before dropping us onto the A65 towards Skipton. It might have actually been a quicker route, it certainly circumnavigated the Harrogate Bottleneck. Sadly Dave had roadside Café blindness and didn’t see the Big Red Bus Café despite it being a Big Red Bus surrounded by an ambulance and two police cars. For the un-initiated, if ever you find yourself in strange territory check out the places where the cops and emergency service guys eat – you can guarantee it’ll be the best food in town.

Instead Dave drove on by and we ended up at a Booths Supermarket cafeteria where a breakfast would have cost about £8. Being a Yorkshireman, and knowing that a decent meal lay ahead at the Marton Arms later I declined to pay such an extravagant fee, and settled for a nourishing black coffee instead, despite having not eaten in a good 12 hours. Naturally Selby got lost trying to escape the Car park.

We checked into our accommodation at 1630, the excellent value Stable bunkbarn at Stackstead Farm, just outside of Ingleton, our second year at this venue, which I’ve also visited with my caravan, and always found homely. £11 per head per night means it is affordable, even if the TV is a little dated with a Video built in – we brought a spare Scart lead and a portable DVD to upgrade things for added comfort.

After settling in we decided to walk down to the Marton Arms rather than driving with a Des as we did last year, in anticipation of a good feed and a number of beers from their fine selection of local brews. Unfortunatley it seems the pub has recently changed hands, and it was obvious that the staff hadn’t quite yet gelled into a working team. In fact, It was as if some had never worked in the pub trade at all.

We could have coped with their incompetence if the food had been on, but with just a small selection from the specials board potentially available we cut and ran after a couple of pints and returned to Ingleton for a few more beers and a decent feed at the Craven Heifer, a very good feed indeed.

After that it was back to the digs for a Few Dollars More, more beer and falling asleep in front of the TV.

We had planned to be at our start point at Ribble Head for 0700 but even with a 6 a.m. start by the time we had eaten the mammoth full English to fuel us for the trip it was getting on. There was a difference of opinion on the right route to Horton, with Yankee One actually getting it right, even though he had got lost on the filling station forecourt as he visited the ATM. Thus we lost a little time getting to Horton, as Tango One went off the wrong way.

Having dropped off the support Vectra Tango One at Horton, we set off to our start point at the Ribble Head Viaduct in Yankee One. We were of course taking our adapted route rather than the official sign in and out at the Horton in Ribblesdale Café route. There would be no official audit trail for this expedition, but the, real heroes don't need medals right?

Whernside was quickly dispatched in short order. It is of course a deceitful devious slog, but we knew that anyway. The highest of the peaks it is actually not so terribly bad, particularly if tackled first as we did. It was slightly demoralizing to meet a couple of teachers at the top who informed us that they had a group of children tackling the 3YP’s that day, although they did concede they weren’t really aiming to finish in under 12 hours. Of course a photo opportunity presented itself, and it was at this point that the stowaway fifth member of our team was introduced – Bobby Sergeant, a soft toy bought for me by my children for Fathers Day, with the promise that I would take him along and photograph him at the top of each peak. So here he is at the Peak of Whernside. Note we had to weigh him down a little with a stone – it was a bit windy up there, but this was better than last years visit, where it was thick fog.

Down Whernside and into Chapel le Dale went easily enough, and then began the ascent of Ingleborough.

Inglebugger, to give it it’s proper name, is my personal most hated of the three peaks. The ascent gets suddenly sharper with a definite need to use hands as well as feet to make progress, and just as you think you have reached the top there is another top, then another one. It was almost midday by the time we reached the summit, and whilst the temperature wasn’t excessively high it must have been around 20 degrees – certainly on the final assault up the climb I was sweating so much that the salt running into my eyes was worse than if I’d been sprayed with CS. I had to stop several times as I just couldn’t see where I was going.

Lunch was had at the summit, where we met a number of young ladies who were doing the 3 peaks in preparation for the Duke of Edinburgh Award. They had been walking for three days, and having to carry all their supplies, water, bedding, tent etc with them – I am full of admiration for the kids who do this, and it was a stark and contrasting reminder that not all kids are like those we deal with on a regular basis, these were decent kids, not shoplifting disrespectful dope smoking dropouts.

The descent of Ingleborough to Horton In Ribblesdale went smoothly, although by now my left knee, subject of a long term injury, was starting to send bolts of pain to the pain receptors in my brain. At this point I resorted to drugs, and took my first Ibuprofen in many years. The Judge then degreed what became our mantra, that “Pain is just weakness leaving the body.” Well, much weakness left over the next few miles. Annoyingly, whilst I was in much agony, Selby, who had almost cried off the entire expedition having suffered a minor blister following our warm up on the Beverley 20 the previous week was by now pulling a good half mile lead. I had caught up up once we reached the flat though, and we entered Horton as a team again.

Prior planning meant we had Tango One on standby at Horton and could restock our water supplies and drop off excess gear here as well. So far the weather had been kind – I was even a little sunburnt despite the cloud cover, but it had stayed dry on the whole so far, with just a few spatters of rain to cool us off.

In 2010 PK had set a blistering pace up Pen-Y-Ghent, and this year was to prove no different as he and Greendale set off fast leaving me and the Judge trailing in their wake. Before long we were reeling Selby in, but PK stormed off ahead and reached the summit a good 15 minutes ahead of the rest of the team. The Judge and I caught up with Dave on the final climb of PYG, where his inexplicable fear of heights slowed him somewhat. Quite how someone can be afraid of heights when their feet are firmly on the ground is beyond me, but I can’t really comment, having suffered a strange optical illusion coming across the top of Whernside, when the hillside appears to be moving past you faster than you are moving forwards. Weird!

At the top of PYG it was crunch decision time – to cut short like last year or go for it over Horton Moor to Blea Moor and Ribble Head. Despite the pain in the left knee I took another Ibuprofen and soldiered on, not wanting to let down the team. Apart from that, I knew there was a bog ahead and I was looking forward to Selby falling in. That boy is like a moisture magnet – if there is a wet bit he will be in it. Incredibly he managed to avoid any mishap and we traversed the boggy bits without major mishap – although I would have to concede this was probably due to the dry conditions – I’m sure if we went back and did it again in the autumn, spring or winter there would be swamp monster entertainment to be had.

Reaching the packed limestone track I just had to push on ahead of the team, knowing that if I stopped at all It would be hard to get going again, such was the pain in my knee by this time. The thought of the stream at Ribble Head to cool my feet in, and the promise of a mixed grill at the Masons Arms pushed me on, and it wasn’t too long before glimpses of the top of the viaduct came tantalizingly into view before disappearing again. As I reached the final stretch of tarmacced road I was joined by Greendale and we walked the last mile or so together, I pushed ahead maybe 20 yards and got that most welcoming view of the Viaduct, then the Station Pub and immediately after, Greendales car hove into view. A credible 10 hours and 35 minutes from our start I stripped off my boots and immersed my feet into the freezing cold stream. Dave was seconds behind with PK and the Judge crossing the arbitrary finish line less than a minute later.

It is however a team effort, and I couldn’t have done it without the support and encouragement of the whole team, and my heartfelt thanks go out to you guys.

With time pressing on it was back to the digs for the requisite shit shower and shave before walking another 1/4 mile up to the Masons, where a very welcome mixed grille and a couple of pints went down very very well. I can highly recommend the Masons Arms at Ingleton for any 3 Peakers in need of post walk sustenance at a reasonable price, a mixed grille capable of defeating four very hungry walkers coming in at the most reasonable price of £10.95 a head.

More beer was consumed back at Stacksteads with another DVD winding down the weary ready for a restful night disturbed only by beery farts and the occasional yell of anguish as movement caused strained muscles to direct weakness to leave the body forthwith.

Wednesday saw the usual anticlimactical return home, the mood only being lightened as Selby once more got lost on the home straight, heading for Stamford Bridge instead of down the A1079 towards Hull. This was of course most satisfying for me, Selby having taken the piss out of my navigational skills throughout the walk – he may be good at directions whilst walking, but behind the wheel I am king- wel I am the Stig after all.

Of course 10 hour and 35 minutes, whilst a good time is not unbeatable, and I am sure we will want to go back and do it all again next year, not least because we have to give the Marton Arms a chance to redeem itself, and because Stacksteads are building a leisure complex on the site including a swimming pool and sauna which will provide more welcome options next time.

Until then, lets keep walking.