Centinary Post

Well here we are at my 100th post, or rant as they are otherwise known. And my topic today is mispronunciation. I'm not sure if it is purely a Hull thing or if it goes on elsewhere, but it really annoys me when people throw extra vowels into words that don't need them. We have a seaside resort nearby, decayed and past it best, buit that is by the by. It is called Withernsea. With-ern-sea. Right? Easy enough. But Hull folk will insist on calling it Witherensea. We also have another seaside town called Hornsea. (Horn-see) Again easy enough, but outsiders corrupt it to Hornzee. Why? And then tonight listening to local radio I heard the sports announcer referring to a place called Wemberley. I'm not a footballist, so I'm not sure, but could he have meant Wembley? I know that is how it is chanted in football fanatics songs, but when it's spoken it's Wembley surely? Our languauge is being corrupted and influenced by outside sources, one being Australian soap operas, so that our youngsters are now speakng with the rising inflection of our antipodeian cousins, and it sounds like everything they say is a question. This coupled with the annoying trend when spoken to, to respond with "Who? Me?" even when it is obvious it is they who are being addressed causes stress, stress being the result of restraining the most natural disire to kick the living daylights out of someone who most obviously deserves it. Also annoying, and prevalent in out local press is the mistaken use of the word "of" instead of "have." As in, he must of deserved it. No, he must have deserved it. But then, the local rag, the Hull Daily Mail is hardly reknown for it's editorial content. Not only is the accuracy of much of what it reports in question, but the grammatical presentation leaves a lot to be desired. An example (Not a genuine one, but a paralell facsimile) would be their syntax in reporting the theft of a cycle. Their editorial would refer to the theft of a black mans bicycle. Which would cause me to wonder what colour the cycle was, and as to whether this was a racially motivated crime. Of what relevence is the owners ethnic origin I would muse. The confusion arises because they have incorerectly reported the facts, or badly chosen the grammatical layout of the sentence. If they had referred to the theft of a mans black cycle, then all becomes clear. Of course typos and errors will always slip in, and even in writing this blog I am as guilty as the rest on occasions, partly because I suffer mild dyslexia, often becasue I'm drunk, and in part because whilst drunk I spilled a bottle of sticky red wine over the keyboard andnow it doesn't always function properly, so I think I have typed something but haven't. But then, you don't pay to read this drivel. And you are not forced to listen to it on the wireless, or converse with me on a daily basis. Where as I am, at least if I want to hear the shipping forecast, see whats on TV and do my job of work. So let's all make an effort to improve standards, and remember the Queens English. Except of course she isn't, ultimatley she's German, and but for the want of a misplaced comma, that makes perfect sense.

Whatever the weather, enjoy your garden

Alan Titchmarsh often ended gardeners world saying, "Whatever the weather enjoy your garden." A cover all expression which is completely harmless and says it all really - just try to make the best of it. A very British spirit. What annoys me however is the British Press and the way they report the weather. Only a few weeks since we had "the worse winter on record" we are now having "the hottest April since 1859" So we had hotter ones recoded before then did we? Right, so there's proof of global cooling. We haven't had a warmer April for 150 years. According to our local Press Brits are flocking to the beaches to enjoy the sun, topping up their tans on Bridlington beach where it is hotter than Spain. Now let's get a few things clear shall we? It is midweek, so the only people going to the beach are Mable and Bernard, the retired couple in their Austin Maestro, and the idle rich, otherwise known as benefit claimants, who will be driving 4x4's and people carriers, because for some reason those who claim motability benefits always have an oversize family, a large dog and an outdoor lifestyle that us able bodied working folk can never aspire to. They will probably be towing a jet ski as well. So the idea of Brits rushing to the seaside is silly - they will be restricted to 50 mph at best, and probably no more than 35 if they get caught behind Bernard. Another thing for the record is that Brits do not "enjoy" hot weather. Or indeed any weather at all. They "endure" it. They complain about it. Even now there will be gardeners complaining that their seedlings are dying off in the unseasonal heat and longing for some rain because the lawn could really use it you know. The same folk who complained about the bitter cold only six weeks ago are now complaining it's too hot. It's the British way. And as for topping up tans - pah! The British do not top up tans. No no no. The first time the sun breaks cover they strip off and lie under the sun for as long as they possibly can, in the firm and unshakable belief that this day is summer, and the sun will not shine again until next year. Consequently the end up sunburned, lobster red and in agony. Given the chance they will take in their annual does of UV in a single session. And if by some fluke of the English weather it happens again tomorrow they will do exactly the same again. English people do not tan - they are pasty white, lobster red, or lobster red and peeling - which is not appealing. The exception to this rule will be Bernard, who will resolutely refuse to take off his jacket, no matter how hot it gets, but as a token concession to the heat will roll up his trouser legs and place his handkerchief in his head as protection from the sun. Bernards are now sadly a dying breed, as the next generation takes over and his like are replaced by Peter Stringfellows, dyed blond haired pensioners in G strings and Mazda MX5's. And that's not at all British. One final word on Britain in a heatwave. The Barbeque or if you are under 25 the BBQ. Barbeque's, as I've previously related, is an ancient aboriginal word, which literally translates as "meat badly cooked, burnt on the outside raw in the middle, best eaten drunk." The one sure fire way to break a heatwave and ensure a period of prolonged rain is to have a barbeque. So I urge you all. Do not go (or flock) to the beach, do not top up your tan (or get sunburnt) and on no account light the barbeque. And maybe, just maybe, we will get a decent summer this year. Whatever the weather, enjoy your garden.

Did you miss me?

Hi, I've been away for a short while. I had a visit from the old BSOD (blue screen of death) when some virus visited my hardrive and wiped all my settings. Good news is I'm back now, but I'm still missing a few setings, so If I sound wrong it's becaue I am. Hopefuly i will be back to my normal self short and able to give the usual bullshit that I do very soon.

The Sun shines on the righteous

Now that spring is here, and Bridlington is seeing higher daily temperatures than many European holiday destinations (true, but unbeleivable) the picutre to accompany this blog doesn't look so unremarkable. But when you realise that is was taken in the first week of February is comes into perspective. This was the first day of our 2011 walking season, although it wasn't really as we didn't actually stop for the winter this year, walking Blakey Ridge in the thick snow in December, and in slightly less snow again in January.

The photo was taken during our lunchbreak whilst walking the Hole of Horcum, a pleasant leg stretch to start the season. Unlike our last visit, nobody was chased by a rampaging bull, and we did not get lost at all very much hardly at all even except for just a little bit. Even Mr Selby managed to avoid falling in any holes full of water or sinking above the waist in a peat bog. What makes the picture remarkable is not just the almost cloudless blue sky, or the unseasonable very early spring sunshine, but the warm temperatures. In the picture, if you look closely you will see that not only is Dave posing in sunglasses, but that his naked leg is visible under the pub table - yes it was warm enough for shorts in February! Okay once, we stopped walking and broke for lunch outside the Horseshoe Inn at Levisham the fleece jackets were defineitly needed, there was a fresh breeze, but not even the roaring log fire inside could tempt us in.

Hopefully this is the start of a wonderful year of good walking weather, with no fog to blight our excursions. The usual suspects are already penned in for the now compulsory annual challenge on the Three Yorkshire Peaks, with a couple of possible extras doing a walk on part.

Additional challenges this year should include Sca Fell Pike, and there is even talk of doing the Lyke Wake Walk.

Watch this space, it could be an interesting year.

I deserve my pay.

I try not to get political on here. But sometimes it's unavoidable. The government want's you to beleive that the polcie are overpaid, that the pension that we contribute 11% of our earnings to i sundeserved, and that various perks we get are unjustified. This is as opposed to the free pensions that they get, with expenses they are paid which have been subject of recent media attention including such things as clea ing their swimming ppols and rebuilidng their patios in the second homes they claim they need, even though with modern technology there is no need for them to have a second home in London, they could video conference from their home constituences - but I digress.
The police are overpaid they argue. i have to agree that some police officers are. I have many colleagues who work daylight hours, and 9 to 5 office jobs Monday to Friday and earn exactly the same as I do. Their wives can also work those same hours, adn still maintain some degree of normal family life. But, consider this: I work variale shifts and often don't know from one ay topt he next what I will be working next week. I work a variation oif late, early, night and haklf night shifts. Sometimes I work a late early, starng at 9 a.m. until 5 p.m or 7 p.m but I won;t know until maybe the day before. So how exactly does my wife find a job that works around those hours, and still manange to arrange childcare at such short notice? The answer is she can't, so she is effectively a stay at home mum, and my salary is the sole income for the family. So whilst on the face of it a police officer salary may seem high, it is a sole income for a family.
Now consider the restrictions such a job places on your lifestyle. This is a typical week. I have just work 9 days solid without a day off. (This contravenes European working directives, but I had no choice in it) I finished a nightshift at 7 a.m. this morning. At 11 a.m,. this morning I took a call from the duties officer requiring me to come back on duty at 5 a,m tommorow - a return to duty at last than 22 hours notice. Any normal person would have been in bed asleep, but I had done a bit of shopping at 7 am then mown the lawn and done a bit of gardening before considering going to bed. I think I have had a sandwhich to eat today. But I'm not that sure, that could have been yesterday. That is the reality of a coppers day. I am going to bed now, knowing I have to be up at 4 am tommorow, and knowing that Wednesday will be exactly the same, because of an ongoing Industrial dispute locally I am rostered to work again on my day off . This will mean I have had one day off in sixteen days working, and that one day off was after a night shift, so the bulk of it was spent in bed catching up on sleep before a 4 a.m start the next day. Even better, I have been at least half an hour late off on every shift i have worked thsi week, and due to the regualtiosn we work under the first half hour of overtime is unpaid, so I have effectivly put in 3 and a half hours unpaid overtime or in real terms half a days work for free in the last week. Would any other industry allow or permit this? I doubt it!
So I really beleive I deserve my pay, and when the government starts to attck out pay and conditions, please remember the above. A British beat bobby has a unique postition: we are not employed, we are appointed: we cannot strike, we are there 24/7/365. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, who do you turn to? And who else is expected and prepared to lay down his or her life to protect help and defend society, democracy and do the right thing? Regardless of your experiences with the police, you have to agree that we have the best in the world, policng by consent, unarmed on the whole, with some of the bravest and most proffesional officers in the world. We deserve our pay. Don't let this government tell you otherwise.

Are ASDA taking the piss or what?

I fully support ASDA in their efforts to thwart underage drinkers. I applaud their challenge 21 policy, whereby anyone under 21, or who appears to be under 21, has to provide proof of their identity and age. And I know that I've been working out more recently and eating more healthily. But because I'm a real man in the Gene Hunt mould I refuse to moisturise, and rarely use "grooming products." A splash of aftershave and a smear of Brylcream is all I've ever needed, and to be honest, with a number 2 crewcut the Brylcream is only necessary because my hair goes very dry and fluffy otherwise, giving me the appearance of a velcro tennis ball. I do not subscribe to the Cliff Richard Fountain of Youth by abstaining from lifes pleaures, and I'd be the first to agree that I have the perfect face for Radio.
So, how I wonder did the checkout operator conclude that I was under 21? I'm 42 for Christ (or God(s) of your choice) sake. I can pass the requirement twice over. Talk about should have gone to specsavers!
I haven't been asked for ID in over twenty years. I don't really carry ID. I mean I had my police warrant card with me, but that isn't acceptable because it doesn't have your date of birth on it. You have to be 18 1/2 to join the force, but that doesn't prove you can buy a bottle of wine. Rummaging through my wallet I had all sorts of things that give away my age - a Library ticket, Institute of Advanced Motorists membership card and Caravan Club member card - but none show my date of birth. It was only when my son, 8 year old Thomas, asked "what's the problem Dad?" that the operator relented. Obviously she'd done a little mental arithmatic and figured that I must be at least 24 to have an 8 year old son in tow.
So here's a top tip for all you council house chavs out there - take your kid brother shopping with you when you buy your Stella. - hang on, no scratch that, you probably DO have an eight year old son but are still under age to buy alcohol right?

Boys and their toys

One day I will have to get a proper job. I am resigned to this. After all, I am rapidly approaching compulsory retirement age for police officers, and I can't thin of any other job that will be as much fun. Because being a copper isn;t a job at all. It's a continuation of the game of cops and robbers I used to play as a kid. It's a real life X box and Ninetendo. We get to carry guns and drive fast cars. We are James Bond, The A Team and The Saint all rolled into one. It's one rollercoaster ride of fun fun fun. Well, okay it's not all fun, there is death and danger to deal with, but it's not real. Well, actually yes it is real, but as a defence mechanism to cope with that you pretend it's not.
But just occasionally something comes along that helps you suspend reality and reinforce that James Bond feeling. This happened today when a new Skoda Octavia VRS arrived at the department. Forget the jokes about Skodas, they are now seriously cool cars, and the VRS is a rocket propelled roller skate with the grip of a go kart and handling liek a thing that handles really really well. (I'll come back and edit that bit when I can think of what it is that it handles like, but for now just take it as read that it is bloody good) now our old Skoda has all the buttons for the blue lights and sirens hidden in the flap that would normally conceal the ash tray just ahead of the gear stick in the centre console. How cool is that? Very James Bond Thank Q.
Well not as cool as the new one, which has them all in the centre roof console, all little illuminated square push buttons and toggle switches, so it's like an aircraft. Now as a basic flat foot, a kid from a council house estate with an O level in Maths and another in Art I am ideally qualified to do Painting by numbers, but could never aspire to flying anything other than a paper dart. So this opens up a whole new world of play for me. The M62 becomes a runway, and with the phonetic alphabet already in use I only have to adopt my best Roger moore voice and I'm there in my private jet with pussy galore. All i need now are the revolving number plates and some machine guns.