Most of my working life was spent trying to get fairness and justice for others. Ordinary people who were in a David and Goliath struggle. In these last few years it is now me in that David sling shot position.
I tried to right wrongs, and today in England's green and not so pleasant land, there are a lot of things wrong, like litter, energy waste, a tardiness to incorporate alternative energy sources, and a great waste of experience and education by this country. Strong stuff, but it is no wonder people just rely on the state and drift along. Why should they bother when the country, government and society does not bother about it's citizens. The Government pump billions of pounds into a black hole of banking institutions and watch from the balcony playing a fiddle as countless companies go bankrupt with no support from government or the banks. So the unemployed swell in numbers me included.
Today I go to Job Centre Minus to sign on again. £73 a week. They will say have you worked - No, are you looking for work - yes, I will say have you got any jobs , they will say no. I have argued 3 times about sending me on a Career Development Course which places the individual in a job at the end, by fine tuning skills that are transferable. All this funded by EU grants. I am waiting to hear, after trying all manner of routes to by pass Job Centre Minus who are an obstacle to progression. I even wrote to my MP, but that was a waste of time too. At the Government's Job Centre Minus they fail to put people back to work, as I sit there my bum hardly makes an impression in the seat, my question and answer period with an officer laughingly called an advisor, last for about 60 seconds. This is what is has come to after a couple of yearss working through private employment agancies as a lorry driver, apart from the year I worked fixed term to introduce the smoking controls in public places. So to resort to being a Job Centre Minus statistic is a true last resort.
I have sort advice from other non government organisations like Next Step and Jobsmaites. They have warned me about age discimination, so on my CV 30 years plus of dealing with the public, is not a selling point - delete 30 years. So sad.
It is a far cry from when I left school. I was still working at my Friday night Saturday job in Woolworths Harlesden on the delicatessen counter. I had a Lambretta TV175, £££, no tax as a student, and a job which was a source of girlfreinds too. I was ok. BUT, the Youth Employment Bureau thought otherwise. They told me off in their Pound Lane Offices. I told them I looked in the newspapers and applied for jobs, I had 3 A levels and 11 O levels. Not good enough. Go for these 6 jobs. OK.
Well the highest paid was in what was to become Trading Standards but in those days was still Weights & Measures, working for a local council but run by the Board of Trade. £19 a week, trainee assistant, checking up on factories and shops, sounded good to me.
It was a mile and a half to work. I started by going on the bus. I even made a girlfriend at the bus stop, a hairdresser, very pretty, lasted a week.
I had to drive a van when we checked petrol forecourts and factories, One inspector 2 assistants. Sometimes I drove the inspectors cars when just 2 went to check retailers. I still lived with Mum in Essex Road, but we worked in Ealing, Brent and Harrow, so we travelled to the edge of London and the countryside like Elstree and Stanmore. It was interetsing stuff. One of the best jobs was acting like a customer. I would go into a shop and buy something, then we would check it for correct weight and price back at the car parked round the corner. I often caught the shops. I had some knack of pretence innocence. So much so that Harry Stanton said once " Bloody hell, every time you go into a shop I get another case". Good old red faced, grey haired Harry, he never got promoted. He looked like an old Colonel Blimp, a Knight of St Columbus, got drunk every lunch time, so to keep death off the roads the assistant would drive in the afternoon. Else if he drove we would be swerving in a silver grey Singer Vogue Estate with the rotund Harry clutching the steering wheel but leaning on the curves with the wheel, TT Isle of Man style, pass the roseary beads Harry !!!
We had ex Kenya inspectors too. They were ex British Colonials, fluent in Swahili which came in handy in Southall, as the African Asians were being booted out of Africa to land at Heathrow Airport.
The Trade Descriptions Act November 14th 1968 changed the job overnight. Lots of people telephoned to complain for the first time. The car had broken down, the artist impression hotel in the holiday brochure had not been built in time, the special offers were over priced. The Harold Wilson Labour Government tried to protect the consumer, whereas today it is left to Brussels. We had counter inflation measures to stop traders making instant profit as they did in 1971 with decimalisation. Then a pint of Watneys Red Barrel went up overnight from one shilling and ten pence to twelve and a half p = to 2 shillings and sixpence in old money. Old Money that had served the anglo saxons well, so it was an excuse to profit and inflate prices. Lessons were learned and I was so good at getting prices down, I took over all the counter inflation complaints in 1973. One extremely camp gay ladies hairdresser in Ealing said to me after I had taken the red pen to his price list on the introduction of VAT.......... *Oooooooooo you are ruthless, you have taken me to the cleaners".
I was qualified by now, it took 4 years to pass a Government Professional series of exams on law and technology. I used to get lots of stories that I could dine out on. Only because I seemed to have a knack of finding trouble. My jealous counterparts would say I was a trouble maker, a maverick, a loose canon. I would counter and say I knew exactly where I was aiming. I did not need artificial targets. I did not want to tick boxes. My self motivation was about deterrence, and making the place fairer for all, a level playing field , where cheats did not prosper. Hard sometimes when you are in your early twenties and the only thing younger than you is a Page 3 girl in the Sun.
Coal men were always on the fiddle. We would roam the streets in residential areas in a specially equipped van with a big sliding scale in the back. Sacks of coal would be weighed and often they were well short of the cwt. So the lorry would be escorted back to the yard it had come from and the whole load reweighed.
One day in Northolt, I was still a trainee with John Taylor who had just passed. We used to go to day release college together. He had married his child hood sweet heart. He went on to be the Chief Officer in later years, never working outside Brent. We got on professionally, but I cannnot say we liked each other. So one day Mr Burns the coal man is in Carr Road Northolt delivering, his bags turn out to be light. Taylor tells him to go back to Charringtons in Neasden by that bridge I walked over after my tonsils were removed 17 years before. Burns tries to make a run for it, he drives a huge detour up through Harrow, even Stanmore, with me in a Comma Van at the wheel pinned behind him, even when he goes through red lights, even crossing the North Circular. Then in the yard after this chase, he stops on the weighbridge, goes into revers and before I can select reverse he has rammed us. The whole front of the cab is now in bits all around me. The steering column saved me, Taylor had leeped over the passenger seat into the back. The van was a write off, no windsreen, no doors, no grill. Burns sped off, the engine was still running on the Comma because the passengers sat on it, so I sped off after him, Sweaney eat your heart out. Bits of metal and glass fell off as I drove with the wind in my face. Burns jumped up on the back of his lorry tipping the sacks destroying the evidence. I drove back to the offices to get Masters the manager, he sat in the remnants of a passenger seat, and barked at Burns that he was fired Alan Sugar style.
In truth cases like this were unusual but the outcome was always the same, crime paid, the offender walked away from court laughing, the do gooder Magistrates were hopelessly out of touch. It was also safe not risk. If the first offender was fined £25 then the rest, all that day were fined the same, regardless of what they did.
For those sort of reasons, when I found myself on the front pages or the TV screen because of my job, I generally told it as it was, popular with some but deeply and jealously unpopular with others. Later I would make the transition and become an investigative journalist and the outcome would be more significant than the law of our land. Public shame would achieve more than judicial sentencing, alas.
Cynical yes, the life made you like it. I would catch all the west end hotels for short measure drinks and overcharging. I would catch all the petrol attendants in the west end for fraud. In certain trades conning the customer was trade practice. Management never wondered why their lowly paid staff would turn up for work in a brand new sports car !!!
One Fine Fare manager in Northwood Hills, had the old prices on the shelves and the special offers in the window and in the Daily Mirror advertisement. The result, the sales till staff overcharged everyone. He was petrified when I turned up, sometimes the job had that effect when they had something more to hide than their brown underwear. I think I got 3 cases that day on just routine visits, no complaints from the unknowing public that I was duty bound to protect. I got out of the van with Dave Smith and thought those punnets of strawberries were never 8 ozs. Guess what they weren't. One Greengrocer Case. Next Fine Fare, where the manager later had a heart attack (3 weeks later) and died. The Supermarket bosses were cruel to their staff if Trading Standards caught them out. Next a car dealer turning the mileage and therefore the history of the vehicle back on the odometer. One Christmas time, a Butcher's turkeys in the window were all £2 over priced. Because of the scale of the problem, a queue developed of his customers even queuing down the road. One customer mouthed off at me, saying leave the butcher alone, he had been a customer for 25 years it was the butcher down the road I should be checking up on. I could not tell this guy the truth. The Butcher, under caution, his excuse was "trade practice".
That was the day in the life of...........not every day, but not an untypical day. It was rare to find no trouble to deal with, not to make , but to deal with.
Of course all the troubles had to be written up. At least we had typists in those days to write up our reports, at least we had a team to go out with and do the job. Nowadays like most jobs its one man bands, no help, no corroboration. In fact if I knew at 18, what I know now, I would have never joined the service. Since the Thatcher years it has been decimated. More statutes given by Parliament to police and less manpower and financial budgets. Consumer protection these days is caveat emptor, buyer beware, and self assistance for the majority of the time. That is ok as quality of the product has improved, but the standard of service and the desire to make a fast buck remains the same as it always was. Other things like education and social work takes presidence, and the consumer has to watch out for himself more and more, but still pay his taxes.
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
life as we know it chapter 10 Bon Jovi
Stabbed in the back and your to blame, you gave the job a bad name.
Betrayal
All good stories have their essential ingredients to ensure the reader is on the edge of their seat and not sitting comfortably. Those ingredients include:- wit, intrigue, romance and betrayal.
People often view Allan Sharpe as a hard nosed, thick skinned character, who can mix it with the best of them. To a certain extent that is true, like the planet I stand on, I have an outer crust that can take abuse hurled at it. However I also have a liquid centre and an Achilles heel. Not many are allowed to see the inner sanctum, because of that vulnerability, deflector shields on maximum.
I was at Next Step again last week. I make her laugh with my life as I have known it. Like the compliment I got from Mohammad at Waltham Forest in about 2003, who said "Allan, you are the most politically incorrect person I have ever met".
I guess politics is the ultimate betrayal game. I always supported my staff, my team , often to consequences as the guns were re aimed at me as a result. Like when the Evil Woman, Nick Ross's wife, Sarah Caplan became editor of Watchdog and made the young girl reseachers cry if things went wrong...."its your finger pointing fault". But one has to do what's right. I am no angel, but as I have said before, I try to support good against evil. Another laugh from Mrs Next Step, was when I told her what the Doctor heard when he asked me about a prescription and was I allergic to anything, my retort was "yes incompetent management".
I have known the Ides of March at least 3 times at work, and at rest & play. So much for the theory of Rhino hide and off the duck's back. I didn't get where I am today by arse licking. In fact I can count on one hand people I have worked for that commanded my respect. The rest were ok, if they left me alone, did not interfere with their inadequate assessment of the situation and left me to get on with it and get results.
http://www.guardian-series.co.uk/search/254965.Fine_for_jailed_Del_Boy/
Like my brother in law who wanted to create a garage business so that his son's Neil and Barry could take it on in later years, and it never quite made it,I have regrets. Some like my brother in law. I created Sharper Image TV & Video Productions Ltd. In 1994 My back was still healing after the knives attack at BBCTV, and I thought I could start an acorn for my sons Ian & Graeme. Alas it lasted just 4 years. Really a one man band, it did start Ian in a career though, but I had thrown in the towel before I could help Graeme make a start. In its hay day Sharper Image had a No 2 in the charts only to be pipped on the shelves by Walt Disney. But in truth that said it all. Sharper Image could not compete globally with multinationals, who remembers 2nd, only me (and Ian).
The biggest act of betrayal, getting back to the plot of this chapter, was in September 2004. LB of Waltham Forest was a poor area. Poor people are less well educated in general. I was poor as a kid, and well educated, so there are exceptions. However Walthamstow & Chingford and Leyton were depressing areas to work in, yet alone live in, which I did not have to fortunately. However I did have to serve the community and make their life better and fairer. The Council was one of the worse performers too, a fact named and shamed by the Audit Commission. Managers like the Environmental Health Officer Garry Seal, sat in his Arsenal festooned memorabilia, sat in front of his computer on his big fat arse. He knew little of what was going on in the streets outside his window. He only came out of his closed door office to go home, go to a meeting, go for a wee, go for a cup of coffee. One day in the kitchen I sellotaped a pound coin to his Arsenal mug, and said "that was the closest his team would going to get to win a trophy" haha said the Spurs supporter. His ugly face was a picture, even redder like their shirts, than when later I was to call him a "wanker" in front of the rest of the staff who cheered. All he cared about was his saving his big fat arse. I lost 50% of my staff over the 6 years I was there trying to do the reverse of what management did. All that time we had more statutes to enforce, and more demands from the public. Garry Nero Seal rose up the ranks of incompetency , I mean Peter's principle of management, and I had to suffer the Billy Bunter look a like for 10 months. He was aided and abetted by Linda Wacey, as Head of the Department. A people hater, spinster, poodle lover, and plastic smile perfectionist. Both were not on the planet High St Walthamstow. They were on the planet, budgets and saving bacon. Everyone else could get stuffed as far as they were concerned.
Now silly naive me thought I had a Liberal Democrat Councillor Allie in Barry Smith. But as with Dame Shirley Porter in Westminster 1982, I became a political pawn, and there are no winners, just losers and I lost. The build up was Seal's interference. He even pulled the plug on a crown court case, that had taken me 2 years to investigate. We were in Snaresbrook when he said we can no longer afford to proceed. So this business that had lost half a million pounds to some fraudulent ex members of staff, were left hung out to dry. The directors actually spoke to the slimmy Seal, actually that was their description, and later complained to the inefffectual Ombudsman. However worse was to follow. I used to say it was hard enough catching con men outside the office, but the worse thing was trying to undo the knots the inside office management tied me up in.
Our Price Windows had a customer non service since computer records began in 1992. I had represented complainants at the small claims court. I and they had won. Still no redress often about poor workmanship, it was their track record, along with phoenix companies rising from the ashes and receptionists made into directors as the bosses were banned by the Department of Trade & Industry. Yes really good to do business with huh !!! Not the sort of thing you admit to on your newspaper advertising.
When I turned Trading Standards Officer into Investigative Journalist in 1982, I had realised before, that the best consumer champion was not the courts but the media. So my old friend Lynn Faulds Wood was trying to resurrect a consumer slot on GMTV. I telephoned all the outstanding Our Price Window complainants to give them Lynn's telephone number. There was a successfull programme. The bosses were shown up on camera, they paid up people that had been in dispute for over 5 years.
The Labour Leader of the council wanted to know why Trading Standards was NOT mentioned and was Allan Sharpe behind all this. Got it in one, he was, that's why there was no mention. Waltham Forest council were scared of the press, they had every reason to be, they were inept, incompetent, and thay had all that and more to hide. A success story like this was not down to them to feature in any glory, it was a success story despite them. They had long disciplined me for talking to the media and tried to shut me up. Funny thing was in the summer of 1998, my first job was to track down the Good Restaurant Guide. I was temping and I got the job because the previous management hoped I could catch a guy that had been at it for 6 months. He had every Thompsons telephone directory in the country and wrote a letter to every restaurant listed. "Congratulations, our inspectors have visited you site as customers and you got 94% for service and quality of food" "Please pay £19 for a certificate, your name will be published in our guide in 3 months". He made £500,000. Alistair Leslie Woods was the Good Restaurant guide. The Police and Trading Standards had searched for him for 6 months. In the mean time he was busy. There were no inspectors or inspections. The restuarants who fell for the scam, got a worthless computer print out certificate that resembled my 100 yards breast stroke certificate that I never got at school. So I found ALW in 3 days, yes not 182 and a half days , 3 days. ALW was arrested all his directories , letters printers computers seized. The Newspapers ran the story. The boss congratulated me in front of the assembled staff for a glass of water and a turned up at the edges sarny, very nice. I worked with the Press Office and my team would feature regularly on local and national news. It was good for morale, and showed the community that something was being done, it is called banging the drum.
The new mangement were jealous, their testicals had no ego, they tried to put a lid on me. Eventually in September 2004 at the 3rd attempt, they sacked me, after all those people finally got their rights from the crooked Our Price Windows.
I did take the Council to the Employment Bureau. But employment law is not on the side of an employee who is just good at his job, rather it is on the side of employers who are not good at their job, but make the rules up as they go along, move goal posts and hold all the computer recorded evidence. At least it took a week the trial, at least I cost them £10,000 employing a barrister. At least I had 8 witnesses who supported my stand, they had 3 trumped up establishment. At least Terry Brady my old mate from Westminster turned up and gave evidence, and we went to the pub after, came home on the train and had a good laugh at old times. Those were the days.........ah yes, Life on Mars.
David lost to Goliath that day, since then he has been sent into exile, branded as a maverick , a trouble maker. Maybe one day he will return, like Dirty Harry.... yesterday is history, today is a gift, tomorrow.......well that is just a mystery..
People often view Allan Sharpe as a hard nosed, thick skinned character, who can mix it with the best of them. To a certain extent that is true, like the planet I stand on, I have an outer crust that can take abuse hurled at it. However I also have a liquid centre and an Achilles heel. Not many are allowed to see the inner sanctum, because of that vulnerability, deflector shields on maximum.
I was at Next Step again last week. I make her laugh with my life as I have known it. Like the compliment I got from Mohammad at Waltham Forest in about 2003, who said "Allan, you are the most politically incorrect person I have ever met".
I guess politics is the ultimate betrayal game. I always supported my staff, my team , often to consequences as the guns were re aimed at me as a result. Like when the Evil Woman, Nick Ross's wife, Sarah Caplan became editor of Watchdog and made the young girl reseachers cry if things went wrong...."its your finger pointing fault". But one has to do what's right. I am no angel, but as I have said before, I try to support good against evil. Another laugh from Mrs Next Step, was when I told her what the Doctor heard when he asked me about a prescription and was I allergic to anything, my retort was "yes incompetent management".
I have known the Ides of March at least 3 times at work, and at rest & play. So much for the theory of Rhino hide and off the duck's back. I didn't get where I am today by arse licking. In fact I can count on one hand people I have worked for that commanded my respect. The rest were ok, if they left me alone, did not interfere with their inadequate assessment of the situation and left me to get on with it and get results.
http://www.guardian-series.co.uk/search/254965.Fine_for_jailed_Del_Boy/
Like my brother in law who wanted to create a garage business so that his son's Neil and Barry could take it on in later years, and it never quite made it,I have regrets. Some like my brother in law. I created Sharper Image TV & Video Productions Ltd. In 1994 My back was still healing after the knives attack at BBCTV, and I thought I could start an acorn for my sons Ian & Graeme. Alas it lasted just 4 years. Really a one man band, it did start Ian in a career though, but I had thrown in the towel before I could help Graeme make a start. In its hay day Sharper Image had a No 2 in the charts only to be pipped on the shelves by Walt Disney. But in truth that said it all. Sharper Image could not compete globally with multinationals, who remembers 2nd, only me (and Ian).
The biggest act of betrayal, getting back to the plot of this chapter, was in September 2004. LB of Waltham Forest was a poor area. Poor people are less well educated in general. I was poor as a kid, and well educated, so there are exceptions. However Walthamstow & Chingford and Leyton were depressing areas to work in, yet alone live in, which I did not have to fortunately. However I did have to serve the community and make their life better and fairer. The Council was one of the worse performers too, a fact named and shamed by the Audit Commission. Managers like the Environmental Health Officer Garry Seal, sat in his Arsenal festooned memorabilia, sat in front of his computer on his big fat arse. He knew little of what was going on in the streets outside his window. He only came out of his closed door office to go home, go to a meeting, go for a wee, go for a cup of coffee. One day in the kitchen I sellotaped a pound coin to his Arsenal mug, and said "that was the closest his team would going to get to win a trophy" haha said the Spurs supporter. His ugly face was a picture, even redder like their shirts, than when later I was to call him a "wanker" in front of the rest of the staff who cheered. All he cared about was his saving his big fat arse. I lost 50% of my staff over the 6 years I was there trying to do the reverse of what management did. All that time we had more statutes to enforce, and more demands from the public. Garry Nero Seal rose up the ranks of incompetency , I mean Peter's principle of management, and I had to suffer the Billy Bunter look a like for 10 months. He was aided and abetted by Linda Wacey, as Head of the Department. A people hater, spinster, poodle lover, and plastic smile perfectionist. Both were not on the planet High St Walthamstow. They were on the planet, budgets and saving bacon. Everyone else could get stuffed as far as they were concerned.
Now silly naive me thought I had a Liberal Democrat Councillor Allie in Barry Smith. But as with Dame Shirley Porter in Westminster 1982, I became a political pawn, and there are no winners, just losers and I lost. The build up was Seal's interference. He even pulled the plug on a crown court case, that had taken me 2 years to investigate. We were in Snaresbrook when he said we can no longer afford to proceed. So this business that had lost half a million pounds to some fraudulent ex members of staff, were left hung out to dry. The directors actually spoke to the slimmy Seal, actually that was their description, and later complained to the inefffectual Ombudsman. However worse was to follow. I used to say it was hard enough catching con men outside the office, but the worse thing was trying to undo the knots the inside office management tied me up in.
Our Price Windows had a customer non service since computer records began in 1992. I had represented complainants at the small claims court. I and they had won. Still no redress often about poor workmanship, it was their track record, along with phoenix companies rising from the ashes and receptionists made into directors as the bosses were banned by the Department of Trade & Industry. Yes really good to do business with huh !!! Not the sort of thing you admit to on your newspaper advertising.
When I turned Trading Standards Officer into Investigative Journalist in 1982, I had realised before, that the best consumer champion was not the courts but the media. So my old friend Lynn Faulds Wood was trying to resurrect a consumer slot on GMTV. I telephoned all the outstanding Our Price Window complainants to give them Lynn's telephone number. There was a successfull programme. The bosses were shown up on camera, they paid up people that had been in dispute for over 5 years.
The Labour Leader of the council wanted to know why Trading Standards was NOT mentioned and was Allan Sharpe behind all this. Got it in one, he was, that's why there was no mention. Waltham Forest council were scared of the press, they had every reason to be, they were inept, incompetent, and thay had all that and more to hide. A success story like this was not down to them to feature in any glory, it was a success story despite them. They had long disciplined me for talking to the media and tried to shut me up. Funny thing was in the summer of 1998, my first job was to track down the Good Restaurant Guide. I was temping and I got the job because the previous management hoped I could catch a guy that had been at it for 6 months. He had every Thompsons telephone directory in the country and wrote a letter to every restaurant listed. "Congratulations, our inspectors have visited you site as customers and you got 94% for service and quality of food" "Please pay £19 for a certificate, your name will be published in our guide in 3 months". He made £500,000. Alistair Leslie Woods was the Good Restaurant guide. The Police and Trading Standards had searched for him for 6 months. In the mean time he was busy. There were no inspectors or inspections. The restuarants who fell for the scam, got a worthless computer print out certificate that resembled my 100 yards breast stroke certificate that I never got at school. So I found ALW in 3 days, yes not 182 and a half days , 3 days. ALW was arrested all his directories , letters printers computers seized. The Newspapers ran the story. The boss congratulated me in front of the assembled staff for a glass of water and a turned up at the edges sarny, very nice. I worked with the Press Office and my team would feature regularly on local and national news. It was good for morale, and showed the community that something was being done, it is called banging the drum.
The new mangement were jealous, their testicals had no ego, they tried to put a lid on me. Eventually in September 2004 at the 3rd attempt, they sacked me, after all those people finally got their rights from the crooked Our Price Windows.
I did take the Council to the Employment Bureau. But employment law is not on the side of an employee who is just good at his job, rather it is on the side of employers who are not good at their job, but make the rules up as they go along, move goal posts and hold all the computer recorded evidence. At least it took a week the trial, at least I cost them £10,000 employing a barrister. At least I had 8 witnesses who supported my stand, they had 3 trumped up establishment. At least Terry Brady my old mate from Westminster turned up and gave evidence, and we went to the pub after, came home on the train and had a good laugh at old times. Those were the days.........ah yes, Life on Mars.
David lost to Goliath that day, since then he has been sent into exile, branded as a maverick , a trouble maker. Maybe one day he will return, like Dirty Harry.... yesterday is history, today is a gift, tomorrow.......well that is just a mystery..
life as we know it chapter 9 This is the BBC
This is the BBC
I said before my happiest days were at the BBC. I felt I could influence things. In Trading Standards as an officer you dealt with local and national issues. Sometimes they made the newspapers, but often no one else knew what was going on and court cases took ages. True I gave the press a lot of stories, I appeared on TV as a Trading Standards Officer in the middle of things, even filmed during a "discussion" with a "don't point that camera at me sonny, I'll shove it down your throat" video pirate in Harrow Road Paddington. Yes nice chap not exactly membership potential for the round table. It was stories I could tell to journalist that helped sell their papers, and in the end I jumped the Trading Standards ship for investigative journalism.
Why, because it was obvious to me that naming and shaming had more impact than the courts of the land. I sad indictment, but true,
So life at Lime Grove Shepherds Bush in the mid 80's in the days of Breakfast TV and Thats Life. Room 601 right at the top, overcrowded but what harmony amongst a team all wanting to do well, all wanting Watchdog to be a success. A fantastic camaraderie, Watchdog had been a slot in Nationwide and when I joined it was beginning a life on its own, a programme in it's own right against the wishes of Esther Ranzen on That's Life, consumer competition.
I remember Kevin Sutcliffe joining. Nick Hayes. the editor, used to ask me to look after the new recruits. So Kevein was under my wing for a while. Lovely lad, from Blackpool so he spoke funny, and always dressed as a rocker, but had no motorbike and no crash helmet, so was past the sell by date by 20 years for no real reason of transport, he used the bus and the tube.
Kevin walked with me to a bakers in Goldhawk Road Shepherds Bush one lunch time, and asked the lady behind the counter for barn cakes, do what she said, I was in hysterics as Kevin tried to explain, so I acted as translator for my colleague, excuse him luv I said, he's from Blackpool. On the way back munching his jam doughnut I explained to Kevin that barn cakes in London meant you were mad. loopy, as opposed to a kind of oat biscuit. A nation divided by a common language. But Kev took it well. We were soon driving up to Manchester to make some enquiries about a story and as we passed Watford Gap Services on the M1 Kev said to me "Right from now on I do the talking, 'cos they won't bloody understand you".
Which is not untrue. I remember Steve Rose coming up to a Birmingham Pub once where I had tracked down some roofers who preyed on the elderly. You know the sort that drive round, look for a house that has all the signs of an old person living in. Then knocking on the door and frightening the old folk into parting with £150 to fix a loose roof tile which was not loose in the first place. Of course the old trusted the con artist and had to take his word for it, and could not see for themselves. "Better get it fixed luv quick , if it falls and hits someone you will be liable, and it is leaking now, haven't you noticed it". Some of these cowboy builders would even rin the old dear down to the Post Office to cash the giro.
Anyway on the basis of 3 letters of a number plate I found a roofers van matching a description parked in a Pub Car Park. So I then traced where the driver lived and the film crew would turn up the next morning to doorstep the Roofer and his boss. But during our observations in the pub, surveillance and blending in with the customers, some young girl came up to Steve and said "I know you , you're from the Cup Shop", Steve's face contorted as he could not understand a word she was saying, and again I was in hysterics, knowing that the girl thought the pub was going to be raided for under age drinking by the force from the cop shop.
The doorstep, well after a night in the Holiday Inn, no expense spared on these productions, it was snowing. So I said to Lynn Faulds Wood, put a scarf on to hide her hair knock on the roofer's front door and pretend she was new in the neighbourhood, but the snow has caused a collapse of a section of her roof. Meanwhile the film crew and I hid behind a hedge in some one's front garden. Why people don't come out and say oi amazes me, must be everyday they have a film crew squatting in their front garden. So matey buys hook line and sinker the damsel in distress story and as he and Lynn walk past the garden, up pops a cameraman and a sound man like a jack in a box and Lynn whips off her scarf to confront the rogue.
Wow, we used to laugh. We were the good guys and when you saw the eyes of the bad guys and their jaw hit the deck, well that was justice and comeback for their misdeeds. It gave me a real buzz. I had 3 priorities, we had to capture on camera the villains face, if he spoke that was better, if he engaged in an interview even better. But numero uno was his face on camera. The tricks we used to get up to to get them out of their houses or lay in wait at their offices. Of course the viewer never saw what the camera crew were up to laying in wait to turn the tables on the villain. All they saw was a street interview confrontation and the villain legging it slip sliding in the snow. Nor could we laugh until it was all over, so it was bite the lip, but it still makes me burst out laughing today when I think of what we did. The film crews loved it, they knew all the background work had been done, that a plan had been made and that justice was on their side. Those were the days my friend we thought they'd never end, we did sing and dance for ever and a day.
John form Kingston was a freelance stills cameraman that I often employed, for these tricky confrontations, he could take stills as back up for the moving camera. We did a lot together, even a couple of car chases in East London and up the M11. He was there when the customers of a cheap furniture retailer went bust, a group of them came up to me and said get your cameras rolling and watch this..... and they stormed the stage at the creditors meeting and beat up the delinquent directors.
But the best one was when we asked a road sweeper to borrow his donkey jacket and his road sweeping lorry in exchange for a cup of tea and egg on toast in the corner cafe. The plan then was for John with LB of Hounslow Donkey Jacket to knock on the door and say "Is that your car mate, we are doing road sweeping, with a mechanical road sweeper, can you move your car for a minute. Of course the crook comes out to move the brand new black Mercedes and hey presto guess whose on the road sweeping machine, its the BBC film crew, by jove, and you sir are a crook and a swindler.
Scuffles there were, mainly the cameraman got the attention 1st. Part of my Producer Director job was to protect him and the rest of the crew. hence I got the nick name Big Al. There was one job, a Mock Auction, where I asked for volunteers to film the event. I took a late call that this auction was happening that evening. It's illegal, but it's the sort of sale where the auctioneer shows something really good, they have stooges in the audience who pretend to but it. Everyone else ums and ars and wants a slice of the action and of course they get boxed and wrapped up tatty junk for their money. I was in the auction using a hidden camera and sound equipment and on my cue the film crew and Sarah the reporter were to come into the hall to confront the gang. So at the end of the sale I spoke into my microphone and in came the crew and suddenly their was a pitched battle. I had bullet proof Stevens as the cameraman, he had filmed in Vietnam hence the nickname and he was a big lad. 26 seconds he had hold of his camera, before it went airborne all filmed on my hidden camera in a bag, which I had to hand over to another crew member, so as I could wade into the gang attacking my crew, meanwhile Sarah who for vanity reasons never wore her glasses when filming, walked up to the auctioneer in bliss full ignorance of all hell letting loose in her wake. So the commentary went as such "The man in the black leather jacket squaring up and engaging in fisty cuffs with the gang is in fact our producer protecting the crew, and he uses himself as a barrier to stop the gang from shutting the doors as he shouts out and calls to me, so I can run and make my escape before the doors slam shut...bang".
It does bring a whole new meaning to "as seen on television". Those were the days and nights my friend, we thought they would never end.
Most of the time the crooks who were caught out let off steam, rant and swear, just occasionally it got really nasty. Lynn got 5 yards away from me once. We were at Ron Aylwards Cheshire mansion. He was the home improvement entrepreneur, whose Sunday Times Magazine glossy advertisements offered much, solar panels, the answer to flat roof leaks, a new prestigious driveway, luxurious central heating. Trouble was with Ron Aylward the only home he improved was his own. Every time the game was up, he would fold the latest venture and a phoenix operation would rise from the ashes fo the last. For instance his central heating was a series of electric fires plugged into a hole made in partition walls. Anyway Lynn got 5 yards away from me and Mrs Aylward lashed out with a dog chain right round Lynn's face as the camera rolled.
Another time 28 stone Mick was a transport manager of dangerous muck away lorries near the Blackwall Tunnel. I drove the Transit up to his portacabin door and from the van's side door the crew and Lynn could walk straight into his office. By the time I got in, the sound man was flying round the room as Mick grabbed the camera after throwing a pint of milk then a cup of tea at the cameraman, who now looked like the android in Aliens, covered in white milk. The sound man was still connected to the camera by the umbilical cord hence revolving around the room like a scene from the Exorcist. So I extracted the £25,000 camera from the guiness enhanced gut of the transport manager and gave it back to the besodden cameraman with the red recording light still illuminated. Mick then locked us IN his office as he waddled down the yard to get his drivers. Discretion now being the better part of valour, I kicked the door out and we all jumped into the Transit only for 2 lorries to bear down on us. Fortunately I can drive, fast and nippy. In fact I drove all the time because we always had to get somewhere in no time at all. Like Inverness airport 40 miles away in 40 minutes to catch the plane... and we did. So foot down I headed straight for the oncoming truck just as the one from the side missed us by inches in my acceleration, then at the last second I swung the transit hard left and then hard right and swerved round the oncoming truck, like a warship evades an Exocet missile, phew. So while the others stayed in a corner cafe, the cameraman came in my car and stood through the sunshine roof as we returned to the yard in a hired XR3i, a bit nippier to deal with any nasty lorry drivers, just to get some more footage and Mick shaking his fist through his office window. Those were the days my friend, they don't make them like they used to you know, when it was trouble up mill and tough at the bottom.
Last but not least for this chapter, I must narrate something slightly different but its not time for something completely different you will be glad to know.
Mike Embley was the reporter, the vegetarian that kept 450 passengers including me waiting on a Boston Runway in a 747 because he could not find any plums to eat for the flight.
Why, because it was obvious to me that naming and shaming had more impact than the courts of the land. I sad indictment, but true,
So life at Lime Grove Shepherds Bush in the mid 80's in the days of Breakfast TV and Thats Life. Room 601 right at the top, overcrowded but what harmony amongst a team all wanting to do well, all wanting Watchdog to be a success. A fantastic camaraderie, Watchdog had been a slot in Nationwide and when I joined it was beginning a life on its own, a programme in it's own right against the wishes of Esther Ranzen on That's Life, consumer competition.
I remember Kevin Sutcliffe joining. Nick Hayes. the editor, used to ask me to look after the new recruits. So Kevein was under my wing for a while. Lovely lad, from Blackpool so he spoke funny, and always dressed as a rocker, but had no motorbike and no crash helmet, so was past the sell by date by 20 years for no real reason of transport, he used the bus and the tube.
Kevin walked with me to a bakers in Goldhawk Road Shepherds Bush one lunch time, and asked the lady behind the counter for barn cakes, do what she said, I was in hysterics as Kevin tried to explain, so I acted as translator for my colleague, excuse him luv I said, he's from Blackpool. On the way back munching his jam doughnut I explained to Kevin that barn cakes in London meant you were mad. loopy, as opposed to a kind of oat biscuit. A nation divided by a common language. But Kev took it well. We were soon driving up to Manchester to make some enquiries about a story and as we passed Watford Gap Services on the M1 Kev said to me "Right from now on I do the talking, 'cos they won't bloody understand you".
Which is not untrue. I remember Steve Rose coming up to a Birmingham Pub once where I had tracked down some roofers who preyed on the elderly. You know the sort that drive round, look for a house that has all the signs of an old person living in. Then knocking on the door and frightening the old folk into parting with £150 to fix a loose roof tile which was not loose in the first place. Of course the old trusted the con artist and had to take his word for it, and could not see for themselves. "Better get it fixed luv quick , if it falls and hits someone you will be liable, and it is leaking now, haven't you noticed it". Some of these cowboy builders would even rin the old dear down to the Post Office to cash the giro.
Anyway on the basis of 3 letters of a number plate I found a roofers van matching a description parked in a Pub Car Park. So I then traced where the driver lived and the film crew would turn up the next morning to doorstep the Roofer and his boss. But during our observations in the pub, surveillance and blending in with the customers, some young girl came up to Steve and said "I know you , you're from the Cup Shop", Steve's face contorted as he could not understand a word she was saying, and again I was in hysterics, knowing that the girl thought the pub was going to be raided for under age drinking by the force from the cop shop.
The doorstep, well after a night in the Holiday Inn, no expense spared on these productions, it was snowing. So I said to Lynn Faulds Wood, put a scarf on to hide her hair knock on the roofer's front door and pretend she was new in the neighbourhood, but the snow has caused a collapse of a section of her roof. Meanwhile the film crew and I hid behind a hedge in some one's front garden. Why people don't come out and say oi amazes me, must be everyday they have a film crew squatting in their front garden. So matey buys hook line and sinker the damsel in distress story and as he and Lynn walk past the garden, up pops a cameraman and a sound man like a jack in a box and Lynn whips off her scarf to confront the rogue.
Wow, we used to laugh. We were the good guys and when you saw the eyes of the bad guys and their jaw hit the deck, well that was justice and comeback for their misdeeds. It gave me a real buzz. I had 3 priorities, we had to capture on camera the villains face, if he spoke that was better, if he engaged in an interview even better. But numero uno was his face on camera. The tricks we used to get up to to get them out of their houses or lay in wait at their offices. Of course the viewer never saw what the camera crew were up to laying in wait to turn the tables on the villain. All they saw was a street interview confrontation and the villain legging it slip sliding in the snow. Nor could we laugh until it was all over, so it was bite the lip, but it still makes me burst out laughing today when I think of what we did. The film crews loved it, they knew all the background work had been done, that a plan had been made and that justice was on their side. Those were the days my friend we thought they'd never end, we did sing and dance for ever and a day.
John form Kingston was a freelance stills cameraman that I often employed, for these tricky confrontations, he could take stills as back up for the moving camera. We did a lot together, even a couple of car chases in East London and up the M11. He was there when the customers of a cheap furniture retailer went bust, a group of them came up to me and said get your cameras rolling and watch this..... and they stormed the stage at the creditors meeting and beat up the delinquent directors.
But the best one was when we asked a road sweeper to borrow his donkey jacket and his road sweeping lorry in exchange for a cup of tea and egg on toast in the corner cafe. The plan then was for John with LB of Hounslow Donkey Jacket to knock on the door and say "Is that your car mate, we are doing road sweeping, with a mechanical road sweeper, can you move your car for a minute. Of course the crook comes out to move the brand new black Mercedes and hey presto guess whose on the road sweeping machine, its the BBC film crew, by jove, and you sir are a crook and a swindler.
Scuffles there were, mainly the cameraman got the attention 1st. Part of my Producer Director job was to protect him and the rest of the crew. hence I got the nick name Big Al. There was one job, a Mock Auction, where I asked for volunteers to film the event. I took a late call that this auction was happening that evening. It's illegal, but it's the sort of sale where the auctioneer shows something really good, they have stooges in the audience who pretend to but it. Everyone else ums and ars and wants a slice of the action and of course they get boxed and wrapped up tatty junk for their money. I was in the auction using a hidden camera and sound equipment and on my cue the film crew and Sarah the reporter were to come into the hall to confront the gang. So at the end of the sale I spoke into my microphone and in came the crew and suddenly their was a pitched battle. I had bullet proof Stevens as the cameraman, he had filmed in Vietnam hence the nickname and he was a big lad. 26 seconds he had hold of his camera, before it went airborne all filmed on my hidden camera in a bag, which I had to hand over to another crew member, so as I could wade into the gang attacking my crew, meanwhile Sarah who for vanity reasons never wore her glasses when filming, walked up to the auctioneer in bliss full ignorance of all hell letting loose in her wake. So the commentary went as such "The man in the black leather jacket squaring up and engaging in fisty cuffs with the gang is in fact our producer protecting the crew, and he uses himself as a barrier to stop the gang from shutting the doors as he shouts out and calls to me, so I can run and make my escape before the doors slam shut...bang".
It does bring a whole new meaning to "as seen on television". Those were the days and nights my friend, we thought they would never end.
Most of the time the crooks who were caught out let off steam, rant and swear, just occasionally it got really nasty. Lynn got 5 yards away from me once. We were at Ron Aylwards Cheshire mansion. He was the home improvement entrepreneur, whose Sunday Times Magazine glossy advertisements offered much, solar panels, the answer to flat roof leaks, a new prestigious driveway, luxurious central heating. Trouble was with Ron Aylward the only home he improved was his own. Every time the game was up, he would fold the latest venture and a phoenix operation would rise from the ashes fo the last. For instance his central heating was a series of electric fires plugged into a hole made in partition walls. Anyway Lynn got 5 yards away from me and Mrs Aylward lashed out with a dog chain right round Lynn's face as the camera rolled.
Another time 28 stone Mick was a transport manager of dangerous muck away lorries near the Blackwall Tunnel. I drove the Transit up to his portacabin door and from the van's side door the crew and Lynn could walk straight into his office. By the time I got in, the sound man was flying round the room as Mick grabbed the camera after throwing a pint of milk then a cup of tea at the cameraman, who now looked like the android in Aliens, covered in white milk. The sound man was still connected to the camera by the umbilical cord hence revolving around the room like a scene from the Exorcist. So I extracted the £25,000 camera from the guiness enhanced gut of the transport manager and gave it back to the besodden cameraman with the red recording light still illuminated. Mick then locked us IN his office as he waddled down the yard to get his drivers. Discretion now being the better part of valour, I kicked the door out and we all jumped into the Transit only for 2 lorries to bear down on us. Fortunately I can drive, fast and nippy. In fact I drove all the time because we always had to get somewhere in no time at all. Like Inverness airport 40 miles away in 40 minutes to catch the plane... and we did. So foot down I headed straight for the oncoming truck just as the one from the side missed us by inches in my acceleration, then at the last second I swung the transit hard left and then hard right and swerved round the oncoming truck, like a warship evades an Exocet missile, phew. So while the others stayed in a corner cafe, the cameraman came in my car and stood through the sunshine roof as we returned to the yard in a hired XR3i, a bit nippier to deal with any nasty lorry drivers, just to get some more footage and Mick shaking his fist through his office window. Those were the days my friend, they don't make them like they used to you know, when it was trouble up mill and tough at the bottom.
Last but not least for this chapter, I must narrate something slightly different but its not time for something completely different you will be glad to know.
Mike Embley was the reporter, the vegetarian that kept 450 passengers including me waiting on a Boston Runway in a 747 because he could not find any plums to eat for the flight.
life as we know it chapter 8 BSM
I got into the BBC because I had contacts as a former Trading Standards Officer and Investigative techniques. BBC does not really employ investigators so I was a unique animal. The change from having a team of officers to being on my jack jones took some getting used to. Also I no longer had a warrant card or statutory powers. But I soon learned that people would tell me things anyway. Sometimes it was in a brown paper envelope, other times they would be interviewed, even on camera. Of course everything had to be substantiated, else on the balance of probabilities I and Aunty Beeb could get sued for libel. But we had to show balance and did not have to prove beyond all reasonable doubt. Some stories came direct from the victim, others through the authorities who had drawn a blank. When you are in law enforcement, some things are wrong but not illegal, but the public don’t understand. When you are in TV the wrong things that are not illegal should be and hence the story.
One story I did about BSM was put on hold for a week after the BBC lawyers said I had to talk to more than 25 ex instructors. The following week we met and they asked me how many, I said 600 is that enough. They grinned. Those were the days my friend, BSM were very hostile, refused an interview, and were taking full page ads in the Telegraph, Times and Guardian about me and the Beeb saying it was all lies lies and more damn lies. The Editor David Lloyd and I went to stage our own Press conferences to counter the BSM propaganda. Lloydy was very happy, he had never had such a high profile. The ex public school boy with the same haircut was full or pomp and circumstance.
I even made his cricket team, that was the Beeb in those days, cucumber sandwiches, Pimms and Cricket, though they could not get me out, and I had to retire to let someone else bat, that was not cricket old chap to stay in for hours !!! It’s not the winning it’s the taking part, sod that for a game of soldiers even cricketers. When we fielded once the Deputy Editor hit me for six once, so next ball I charged down and put every ounce of effort in the delivery, and caught and bowled him to me great obvious delight. Now now Allan.
I remember a summer party at Frank Bough's house, we had a proper cricket match on his garden, yes it was that big on the banks of the river Thames. And when the cricket was over Sue Nix and I sat by the river, I always called her Sue no Knicks, she was beautiful.
What had BSM done I here you bib and sound your horn. Well the law allows driving instructors to learn their trade while they teach their pupils to drive. But they have to be supervised by qualified tutors. BSM in the mid eighties were masters at deception. They fooled Dept of Transport Inspectors into thinking dead instructors were still alive and not only kicking but driving.... out on a lesson, also instructors who had emigrated to Canada were still on the books and conducting lessons in Chiswick London W4 according to BSM. Well I have heard of commuting and getting on yer bike for a job, but really transatlantic flights for a one hour lesson, I don’t think so, never mind the jet lag sitting behind the dashboard of a Metro.
So for the 3 days before transmission I worked 22 hours a day, then the 6th Floor came to view the film that was making all, the headlines before it had been seen. The 6th Floor were the big BBC bosses and we all had to stand to attention. So the programme went out, and so did Jacobs the Chairman , who was also treasurer of the Liberal Party, whose Peers had blocked new legislation that BSM did not like. So BSM now closed down branches and became a franchise, and, oh the laws they were blocking got passed.
Pooped , yes I was, but adrenaline keeps you going.
Too pooped to party though, but the BBC did have some wonderful memorable parties where we would all sing Hey Jude for the final 30 minutes at some exotic location. I normally did the music which helped, as far as I was concerned, but these events were tremendous for loyalty, morale and camaraderie.
A film was always made for the Christmas party. These days I spend Christmas parties on my own with left hand pulling the cracker with my right hand. But at the Beeb, one film I made was about the Editor Nick Hayes on Watchdog. He was still a hippy in the 80s, curly hair that had not seen a brush since he was born and he was now 30 something. Beard too, floppy jumper and corduroy trousers and trainers.
So for the film I donned a wig a floppy jumper trainers and corduroys. I became Nick Hayes his double.
Now Nick had justgot his driving licence, late in life and to everyone’s astonishment he bought his first car and what was it…………..
that’s right a Porsche !! We went to Scarborough once, not for a fair but a conference. I felt every cat’s eye on the Motorway as passenger in the Porsche on its maiden voyage, bought with the proceeds from the divorce settlement. Not as bad as Sarah Spiller driving though, the wipers would be on double speed, and the SUN WAS SHINING. Lovely Sarah she used to put the wipers on to demist the windscreen, she didn’t realise they WERE ON THE OUTSIDE !!! You can see why I normally drove now can’t you. Another Spiller story she parks the hire car overnight in an NCP car park in Birmingham. Next morning at the hotel, “where is the car Sarah”. “Oh it’s at the NCP car park”, “Which one”, the multi-story one”, “they are all multi-story”. So for the next hour we wander around Birmingham City centre looking for a car park with a “twirly bit to get in”, then “what floor” “errrrrrr”, so 6 floors later we find it. Now you know why I generally drove !!!
So back to the plot………..Christmas time filming for the party premiere , the Nick double at the bus stop hand request goes out bus zooms passed, as they do.
But the funniest thing was we took his keys one day, drove his light blue Porsche with 87 learners plates stuck all over it, and in one scene Nick is watching this film at the party completely oblivious to what the film was about, and he sees a car like his, going through frame backwards then forwards, then backwards again, then kangaroo style, hazard lights on then indicating right and turning left. It was sooooooooooooo funny seeing his face , smiling at first then he saw the number plate, and he realised IT WAS HIS CAR, he he ha ha.
2 years later I still had my job, and he made me Deputy Editor, he he ha ha………..party time.
life as we know it chapter 7 Inventions
10 years ahead of his time.
Sir Alf Ramsey, former Tottenham Hotspur right back and England Manager when we won the World Cup in 1966, once said of Martin Peters he was a footballer 10 years ahead of his time. Peters was a midfield player who ghosted in to score a lot of goals. The sort of player fairly common now in 2009, but in the 70's he was the sort of player defenders failed to pick up, hence the goals. Peters also played for Tottenham, the club I have supported all my life of course.
I have often thought I was 10 years ahead of my time. I think most people do enough to get by. Nothing wrong in that, it is what the world expects. If you are riskier, then you take chances, breaking new ground. You are not safe, and lots of employers will not like that. Safe is the better option, nobody notices safe, people notice risk takers.
I remember my first case, the first day I went out as a Trading Standards qualified Inspector. The boss had sent me out with Bill Johnson a trainee to test weighbridges, big road scales for weighing lorries. At lunch time we were in Harrow, and I wandered around the biggest department store we had in the area. I always had a copy of Shaw's Price Guide in my pocket, and just checked a few prices of the toiletries as there was a Sale on. I noticed none of the products, like deodorants, shampoos, soap, were reduced in price, despite the signs stating 33% off. So the rookie Inspector asked to see the Manager. Bill was saying Allan forget it we are on weighbridge duties. No, I said, and we spent the next 4 hours confiscating products and signs as examples and as evidence, because Sopers of Harrow, part of Debenhams were holding a bogus sale, a sale that never was. We arrived back late with a van load of evidence, men's wear, ladies wear, toiletries, much to the complete astonishment of my boss.
That was the 1st day they sent me out. I was always best left to my own devices. Self motivation, bringing in the results. Interfere with me doing the job and I was not happy.
The same happened 20 years later when it took me 3 days to find Alistair Leslie Woods, after Waltham Forest Trading Standards and the Police had been looking for him for 6 months. Woods ran a Good Restaurant Guide scam. He had every Thomson's telephone directory across the UK. He wrote to every cafe and restaurant listed and told them "our inspectors have visited your establishment, unbeknown to you. They found the quality of service was 94%, the quality of food 97%. As such your details will be published in our forthcoming guide. You can have a certificate for £19 to display on your premises". Every restaurant got the same letter. There were no inspectors. Woods printed off a cheap standard certificate template off his computer and made half a million pounds in 6 months. He was South African. But all crooks need to bank the cheques, and I found out his address not to where the Royal Mail delivered the cheques to. That was an accommodation address run by another crook he despised authority and society. No I found out where the Bank sent Woods his statements, and when I knocked on the door posing as the electoral register official, a man with a South African accent opened the window pretending he was a plumber fixing the shower. By the way there was no plumber's van in the road !!!
So Woods little venture came to a halt and his 7 printers would print no more.
At last the dilatory authorities got some good headlines. The Boss at Waltham Forest even got some bridge rolls and orange squash in plastic cups, to shake my hand infront of the new staff.
But, I tell these stories because they were perceived as risk taking. Going above and beyond, showing initiative. I just called it doing my job, earning my salary as opposed to turning up to work having a chat and a giggle and getting a salary.
At the end of the nineties I had my own company Sharper Image. I had Ian, my graduate son, working for me then, he was learning how to make TV programmes. We were on out way to Camden in my car to sign a contract for a series on Discovery Channel regarding Inventions.
Today there are a few programmes informing us about Whittle's jet engine and Baird's early TV set. We know about light bulbs and the telephone. But we don't learn this at school. I never did in science at Grammar School anyway. Biro, was Hungarian . He dies a pauper before the 2nd world war. His patented invention was not taken up till the war when the American army needed a pen that would write in all weathers in the Pacific theatre against Japan. Chester Carlton invented the dry paper copier Xerox, in Greek. The Californian draftsman in the 1920's was fed up drawing and redrawing the same thing over and over again. It took him 28 years to find a company to take up his machine. Again he died a pauper. Fascinating human interest stories behind every day appliances we use.
I had spent 6 months researching for the series proposal, but they reneged on the deal, over ruled by HQ in Washington that they were to run repeats instead. That was a nail in my coffin, one too many.
That was the price to pay for being 10 years ahead of your time, being inventive about inventions, showing initiative, showing a risk. The repeat was the safe option.
Well Sharper Image could not exist against that sort of competition in the market place.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8r-tXRLazs&ob=av2n
I have often thought I was 10 years ahead of my time. I think most people do enough to get by. Nothing wrong in that, it is what the world expects. If you are riskier, then you take chances, breaking new ground. You are not safe, and lots of employers will not like that. Safe is the better option, nobody notices safe, people notice risk takers.
I remember my first case, the first day I went out as a Trading Standards qualified Inspector. The boss had sent me out with Bill Johnson a trainee to test weighbridges, big road scales for weighing lorries. At lunch time we were in Harrow, and I wandered around the biggest department store we had in the area. I always had a copy of Shaw's Price Guide in my pocket, and just checked a few prices of the toiletries as there was a Sale on. I noticed none of the products, like deodorants, shampoos, soap, were reduced in price, despite the signs stating 33% off. So the rookie Inspector asked to see the Manager. Bill was saying Allan forget it we are on weighbridge duties. No, I said, and we spent the next 4 hours confiscating products and signs as examples and as evidence, because Sopers of Harrow, part of Debenhams were holding a bogus sale, a sale that never was. We arrived back late with a van load of evidence, men's wear, ladies wear, toiletries, much to the complete astonishment of my boss.
That was the 1st day they sent me out. I was always best left to my own devices. Self motivation, bringing in the results. Interfere with me doing the job and I was not happy.
The same happened 20 years later when it took me 3 days to find Alistair Leslie Woods, after Waltham Forest Trading Standards and the Police had been looking for him for 6 months. Woods ran a Good Restaurant Guide scam. He had every Thomson's telephone directory across the UK. He wrote to every cafe and restaurant listed and told them "our inspectors have visited your establishment, unbeknown to you. They found the quality of service was 94%, the quality of food 97%. As such your details will be published in our forthcoming guide. You can have a certificate for £19 to display on your premises". Every restaurant got the same letter. There were no inspectors. Woods printed off a cheap standard certificate template off his computer and made half a million pounds in 6 months. He was South African. But all crooks need to bank the cheques, and I found out his address not to where the Royal Mail delivered the cheques to. That was an accommodation address run by another crook he despised authority and society. No I found out where the Bank sent Woods his statements, and when I knocked on the door posing as the electoral register official, a man with a South African accent opened the window pretending he was a plumber fixing the shower. By the way there was no plumber's van in the road !!!
So Woods little venture came to a halt and his 7 printers would print no more.
At last the dilatory authorities got some good headlines. The Boss at Waltham Forest even got some bridge rolls and orange squash in plastic cups, to shake my hand infront of the new staff.
But, I tell these stories because they were perceived as risk taking. Going above and beyond, showing initiative. I just called it doing my job, earning my salary as opposed to turning up to work having a chat and a giggle and getting a salary.
At the end of the nineties I had my own company Sharper Image. I had Ian, my graduate son, working for me then, he was learning how to make TV programmes. We were on out way to Camden in my car to sign a contract for a series on Discovery Channel regarding Inventions.
Today there are a few programmes informing us about Whittle's jet engine and Baird's early TV set. We know about light bulbs and the telephone. But we don't learn this at school. I never did in science at Grammar School anyway. Biro, was Hungarian . He dies a pauper before the 2nd world war. His patented invention was not taken up till the war when the American army needed a pen that would write in all weathers in the Pacific theatre against Japan. Chester Carlton invented the dry paper copier Xerox, in Greek. The Californian draftsman in the 1920's was fed up drawing and redrawing the same thing over and over again. It took him 28 years to find a company to take up his machine. Again he died a pauper. Fascinating human interest stories behind every day appliances we use.
I had spent 6 months researching for the series proposal, but they reneged on the deal, over ruled by HQ in Washington that they were to run repeats instead. That was a nail in my coffin, one too many.
That was the price to pay for being 10 years ahead of your time, being inventive about inventions, showing initiative, showing a risk. The repeat was the safe option.
Well Sharper Image could not exist against that sort of competition in the market place.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8r-tXRLazs&ob=av2n
life as we know it chapter 6 Park & Ride
A funny thing happened to me on the way to Oxford Not
Don't you just love the people you meet each day, the people who think they rule the world, well their bit anyway .
As I mentioned, I went for a job in Oxford to protect old people from rip off builders, the kind of job I used to do with my eyes almost closed. But I didn't get the job, because I was over qualified !!!
Don't you just love the people you meet each day, the people who think they rule the world, well their bit anyway .
As I mentioned, I went for a job in Oxford to protect old people from rip off builders, the kind of job I used to do with my eyes almost closed. But I didn't get the job, because I was over qualified !!!
how to not park and ride
So the interview was with Oxfordshire County Council. The job is one I could do, have done with my eyes blind folded. But they had 7 to interview including 2 internal candidates, so normally these jobs go internally and they only advertise to keep the Unions happy. After all they know the internal candidate. The job was about doorstep crime and protecting the old infirmed and vulnerable against the cruel and unscrupulous. Like these roofers that knock on an old dear’s house and say she has a loose roof tile and to fix it will cost £50, then they charge her £1,000 or even more, and there was nothing wrong with the roof anyway. Sometimes these parasites actually take the petrified old dear down to the Post Office in their dirty van to cash the giro. They put further fear into them saying if the work is not done there and then and the loose tile falls on someone walking past, they would be liable.
So the job was to prevent and cure, to educate and enforce, to be on David’s side versus Goliath.
Now I left in plenty of time to drive 66 miles to Oxford, and of course when I get to the M40, the Police have closed it in both directions (multiple pile up – fatal collision). So I still have time, but time is ticking on, and my car is only ticking over, yes gridlock, for thousands of us. So I telephoned, the recruitment department, I was in Oxfordshire, I was 17 miles away. They unhelpfully said follow the diversion signs, when I asked them for an alternative route, derrrrrrrrr, if there were diversion signs would I be on the phone asking them. Wait for it, it gets better. I saw one Policeman on my road the A43, because all the action was on the closed motorway. So I drive out of the queue to get some vague direction signs, and then get back into the queue. By now I am late, still talking to the interviewing panel by mobile phone.
Oxford is park & ride, the town council hates the motorist. I only know this through life experience, there was no details given to me when I was asked to attend an interview. So I head for the park and ride signs, get on this bus, ask the driver do I need a ticket, “no”, he says. ”Ok it’s just step on”, “yes” , says another passenger. “Do you go to New Road” I ask the driver, “don’t know” is the answer, ok we have a live one here, or do we. “Do you go to County Hall”, “yes”, well this is progress, “can you tell me when we get there”, “if I remember”, more helpful information from this public service provider, don’t you just love public transport. “You want single or return”, he says, “why, you said I don’t need a ticket”, “single or return”, “well my car is here its park and ride so why on earth would I need a single ticket”, “£2.20” he says, “you said I didn’t need a ticket”, by now the queue is like 10 miles, long , 10 people actually I exaggerate. I know it’s been 40 years since I was on a bus, but when my mum used to claim half fare for me and tell me to shrink in the seat, we had conductors and it was never this complicated.
Next, I am now finally sitting on the bus having given up talking to the moron behind the steering wheel. I then phoned the council again, telling them I am now on one of their buses heading (hopefully) in their direction, but asking them for a landmark so I would know when to get off, as the driver had been so un helpful. Guess what, no one in the council could tell me if the bus I was on would get there. I was even given another telephone number to call, but it was the wrong number (of course).
BUT, help was at hand a fellow female passenger obviously took pity on the blind talking to the blind and leading nowhere fast. She basically said hold my hand you’re a stranger in Oxford (paradise), and I did, noting that I had just spent £7 on phone calls for no help whatsoever.
The interview was nice , relaxed as an interview could be. I talked a lot, but as any reader would read I have a lot to say sometimes. But then I was told the wrong bus stop for the return trip to wherever I had left the car, no maps, no “you are here” signs, the kind of obvious helpful information you may think for a well established park and ride system, well established meaning years not quality.
So when the bus turns up and the bus driver sees me ready to board of course he puts the accelerator down and like a Mr Bean sketch as I run in hot pursuit in my new suit (give a little whistle & flute) and briefcase he parks at the stop I should have been at, sees me in his mirrors and pulls away in true bus driver trained fashion.
Obviously I got a bus eventually, else I could not write the tale, but why are we surrounded by incompetency. Gissa job I could do that. Actually I could not, I could not be as incompetent as those that cost me £7 and £2.20.
So the job was to prevent and cure, to educate and enforce, to be on David’s side versus Goliath.
Now I left in plenty of time to drive 66 miles to Oxford, and of course when I get to the M40, the Police have closed it in both directions (multiple pile up – fatal collision). So I still have time, but time is ticking on, and my car is only ticking over, yes gridlock, for thousands of us. So I telephoned, the recruitment department, I was in Oxfordshire, I was 17 miles away. They unhelpfully said follow the diversion signs, when I asked them for an alternative route, derrrrrrrrr, if there were diversion signs would I be on the phone asking them. Wait for it, it gets better. I saw one Policeman on my road the A43, because all the action was on the closed motorway. So I drive out of the queue to get some vague direction signs, and then get back into the queue. By now I am late, still talking to the interviewing panel by mobile phone.
Oxford is park & ride, the town council hates the motorist. I only know this through life experience, there was no details given to me when I was asked to attend an interview. So I head for the park and ride signs, get on this bus, ask the driver do I need a ticket, “no”, he says. ”Ok it’s just step on”, “yes” , says another passenger. “Do you go to New Road” I ask the driver, “don’t know” is the answer, ok we have a live one here, or do we. “Do you go to County Hall”, “yes”, well this is progress, “can you tell me when we get there”, “if I remember”, more helpful information from this public service provider, don’t you just love public transport. “You want single or return”, he says, “why, you said I don’t need a ticket”, “single or return”, “well my car is here its park and ride so why on earth would I need a single ticket”, “£2.20” he says, “you said I didn’t need a ticket”, by now the queue is like 10 miles, long , 10 people actually I exaggerate. I know it’s been 40 years since I was on a bus, but when my mum used to claim half fare for me and tell me to shrink in the seat, we had conductors and it was never this complicated.
Next, I am now finally sitting on the bus having given up talking to the moron behind the steering wheel. I then phoned the council again, telling them I am now on one of their buses heading (hopefully) in their direction, but asking them for a landmark so I would know when to get off, as the driver had been so un helpful. Guess what, no one in the council could tell me if the bus I was on would get there. I was even given another telephone number to call, but it was the wrong number (of course).
BUT, help was at hand a fellow female passenger obviously took pity on the blind talking to the blind and leading nowhere fast. She basically said hold my hand you’re a stranger in Oxford (paradise), and I did, noting that I had just spent £7 on phone calls for no help whatsoever.
The interview was nice , relaxed as an interview could be. I talked a lot, but as any reader would read I have a lot to say sometimes. But then I was told the wrong bus stop for the return trip to wherever I had left the car, no maps, no “you are here” signs, the kind of obvious helpful information you may think for a well established park and ride system, well established meaning years not quality.
So when the bus turns up and the bus driver sees me ready to board of course he puts the accelerator down and like a Mr Bean sketch as I run in hot pursuit in my new suit (give a little whistle & flute) and briefcase he parks at the stop I should have been at, sees me in his mirrors and pulls away in true bus driver trained fashion.
Obviously I got a bus eventually, else I could not write the tale, but why are we surrounded by incompetency. Gissa job I could do that. Actually I could not, I could not be as incompetent as those that cost me £7 and £2.20.
Life as we know it Chapter 5 Fake Blackpool
The Case of Blackpool Garden Shed
There was a time I got interviews but not the job. Interviewed by kids, appointing Grandad and asking questions about sucking eggs. So I would go to all these interviews and recount the past, cases like when the Nuns and Monks were double booked into the same hotel accommodation. yes you read that right, it was in Rome during a holy year, made the front pages the court case did. My chief witness, who suffered at the incompetent hands of Westminster Travel, Father Ignatius McDonald Knight of St Columbus in Kensington Monastery with a cellar bar, and endless pints of Guiness...hic.
Anyway back to the plot, I always try to recount something new at these interviews, else I bore myself listening to the same old song, with a different meaning since I was gone.
One day, I forget which interview it was, 3 faces listening as they do, so I told them about the time I went to Blackpool in the late 70’s. I had a warrant, because in Britain’s premier shopping street Oxford Street they were selling fake Channel, Charlie and Ives St Laurent perfume. Made in London, Paris, New York, it actually was bottled in a council house via a yellow plastic funnel in Blackpool. The packaging was good, the mastermind, who also owned the plush Blackpool Country Tennis Club, had paid a proper printers in nearby Morecombe to create the almost exact packaging. These were the first instances of counterfeit goods on sale in this country.
So I turned up from London. I rendezvoused with an Officer from Wrexham, who had also come across the product. Blackpool Trading Standards showed no interest other than making me a cup of tea and showing me the addresses on a map.
So when I descended on matey at the council house, he refused any co operation. I saw the garden shed, asked him what was in it and for the key. He said he had no key and did not know what was in it. So I kicked the door in and blimey,it started swaying, the whole shed, and creeking, and then in a puff of dust the walls collapsed like a house of cards, bham. not only was it empty but is was not nailed together properly and collapsed roof and all, empty absolutely empty just dust………ooopppsss.
“Don’t wreck the whole place” Matey shouts out, “It’s all in the cellar”. And lo and behold the bottling plant was their in the cellar, so me and Mr Wrexham loaded all into my car back to London for the court case. Next time I should take a dog to scent the scent I guess, even fake not so smelly, scent.
I came home from another job interview in Oxford, to find a letter from the postman, for another interview, and I had to read it 3 times, because I swear I never applied for this job!!!
Now the job in Oxford that I was qualified for, even though they wanted an unqualified officer, and it was a job, the duties of which I had done time and time again…..well I did not get that job. So rather than spiffing, I felt more like spitting .
At first I thought I could not possibly go for this 2nd interview in 2 weeks……..wooooooooo. As I said I had no recollection of applying, never heard of the company and the interview was in Her Majesty’s Pleasure yes a local prison (just visiting!!). Then I thought well this might be a job from the hand of god, like Maradonna’s hand ball goal in the World Cup against Peter Shilton, except my postman was the divine messenger.
I even asked for the person specification and the job advert, pretending I could not find it on their web site, when I emailed them my interview attendance confirmation. Still I cant remember applying, it’s like my name and address has been jumbled up with someone else’s.
Anyway the job was about rehabilitation of offenders. Hey I can’t get a job, so the job to go for is to try to get offenders not to re offend and get them a job. Very worthy actually. Now I convinced myself to go for it, even though I don’t have an Information Advice & Guidance qualification, but I have got life’s years of experience and common sense. We will see.
However,the job prospect did cause my thought process about how a lot of criminals are very clever, if only they devoted their brains to moral and legal practices. There are many I have come across, importing fake mobile phones, creating fake artwork, logistics , distribution, manufacture of fake designer clothing, overseas business trips, contacts. They were improper entrepreneurs.
For instance in the good old late 70’s when I was in Westminster, I was chasing a gang for 6 months. In that scenario you do try to get inside their minds in order to outwit them and therefore catch them. Their modus operandi was to go North twice a week to car auctions, buy a number of cheap unroadworthy second hand cars. Then they would give them a shampoo and set and sell them through newspaper advertisements as private individuals from varying addresses. They did not pay for the advertising and it seemed they were always on the move , week by week. New phone numbers, new addresses and the Evening Standard married up advertisements for flats to let with the cars to sell. The gang also had links with an estate agent , so the flat would be given the once over as well as the cars for sale outside in the street. None of the advertising was paid for. Also the gang leader used 10 different names and 10 different bank accounts.
Now, really, I quietly admired this guy. How on earth did he remember who he was in certain situations and with certain people, and what happened if the permutation changed and he was faced with a group who knew him by different names, the mind boggles. But, his mind did not, and for 6 months I was chasing shadows. Soon as I found out where he was, he and the gang had just exited stage left.
The mistake he made, and they all make mistakes, is he started using stolen MOT’s for the dangerous unroadworthy cars. One young couple with a child actually drove home after buying the car. As they rounded the North Circular Road a front wheel came off as they were driving, no exaggeration. So he had to use stolen MOTs, no expense was spared in selling the “excellent condition” jalopies.
Now I got Notting Hill CID interested and we hit a few past addresses. We found a rubber stamp that led us to a lock up garage workshop in Lots Road Chelsea, early in a dawn raid. This Detective Sergeant and I scaled the blue metal chained gates, and jumped over, and in true Tom & Jerry cartoon style, tried in vain to tread in mid air back up again as 2 Dobermans crept up below our airborne feet with their snarling jaws open. Ooooppps, clambering back up, the radio did not work in the Q car, so our intrepid plain clothes police officers had to wait at the end of the road to flag down a passing police car. No mobile phones in those days. Then Crocodile Dundee’s version of the Metropolitan Dog Handling Team turned up grinning with their lassoes and, guess what, the dog problem was no more.
Surprise surprise when the workers turned up , not to get the car shampoo and buckets out, but instead to be handcuffed and carted off in the black maria. So after 6 months in 72 hours the gang was being apprehended. One address remained in Maida Vale. The Territorial Support Group Police ( official name for Neanderthal officers) covered the back alleyway. The front door, no one answered and the police could not force it open. So I said I would drop kick it, and in true kung fu tradition I sailed horizontal straight through the door which remained locked with my legs in the house and my head, arms and torso in the street,,,,,,,,,,,derrrr. I get pulled out of splintered remnants of a black Victorian front door. Then the door was kicked off the lock and there was a chain. I go next door for a hack saw, we saw through the chain. Now as you can imagine 7am and all this door carpentry took quite a while and was not exactly quiet. The door finally bangs open and down the stairs comes Paul Walsh the gang leader in his dressing gown, asking “who is it”, to which a burly Police Sergeant’s reply was, “who is it” who the f***g hell you think it is, your nicked”
There was a time I got interviews but not the job. Interviewed by kids, appointing Grandad and asking questions about sucking eggs. So I would go to all these interviews and recount the past, cases like when the Nuns and Monks were double booked into the same hotel accommodation. yes you read that right, it was in Rome during a holy year, made the front pages the court case did. My chief witness, who suffered at the incompetent hands of Westminster Travel, Father Ignatius McDonald Knight of St Columbus in Kensington Monastery with a cellar bar, and endless pints of Guiness...hic.
Anyway back to the plot, I always try to recount something new at these interviews, else I bore myself listening to the same old song, with a different meaning since I was gone.
One day, I forget which interview it was, 3 faces listening as they do, so I told them about the time I went to Blackpool in the late 70’s. I had a warrant, because in Britain’s premier shopping street Oxford Street they were selling fake Channel, Charlie and Ives St Laurent perfume. Made in London, Paris, New York, it actually was bottled in a council house via a yellow plastic funnel in Blackpool. The packaging was good, the mastermind, who also owned the plush Blackpool Country Tennis Club, had paid a proper printers in nearby Morecombe to create the almost exact packaging. These were the first instances of counterfeit goods on sale in this country.
So I turned up from London. I rendezvoused with an Officer from Wrexham, who had also come across the product. Blackpool Trading Standards showed no interest other than making me a cup of tea and showing me the addresses on a map.
So when I descended on matey at the council house, he refused any co operation. I saw the garden shed, asked him what was in it and for the key. He said he had no key and did not know what was in it. So I kicked the door in and blimey,it started swaying, the whole shed, and creeking, and then in a puff of dust the walls collapsed like a house of cards, bham. not only was it empty but is was not nailed together properly and collapsed roof and all, empty absolutely empty just dust………ooopppsss.
“Don’t wreck the whole place” Matey shouts out, “It’s all in the cellar”. And lo and behold the bottling plant was their in the cellar, so me and Mr Wrexham loaded all into my car back to London for the court case. Next time I should take a dog to scent the scent I guess, even fake not so smelly, scent.
Dear Mr Postman look and see, if there's, a leter, a letter for me
I came home from another job interview in Oxford, to find a letter from the postman, for another interview, and I had to read it 3 times, because I swear I never applied for this job!!!
Now the job in Oxford that I was qualified for, even though they wanted an unqualified officer, and it was a job, the duties of which I had done time and time again…..well I did not get that job. So rather than spiffing, I felt more like spitting .
At first I thought I could not possibly go for this 2nd interview in 2 weeks……..wooooooooo. As I said I had no recollection of applying, never heard of the company and the interview was in Her Majesty’s Pleasure yes a local prison (just visiting!!). Then I thought well this might be a job from the hand of god, like Maradonna’s hand ball goal in the World Cup against Peter Shilton, except my postman was the divine messenger.
I even asked for the person specification and the job advert, pretending I could not find it on their web site, when I emailed them my interview attendance confirmation. Still I cant remember applying, it’s like my name and address has been jumbled up with someone else’s.
Anyway the job was about rehabilitation of offenders. Hey I can’t get a job, so the job to go for is to try to get offenders not to re offend and get them a job. Very worthy actually. Now I convinced myself to go for it, even though I don’t have an Information Advice & Guidance qualification, but I have got life’s years of experience and common sense. We will see.
However,the job prospect did cause my thought process about how a lot of criminals are very clever, if only they devoted their brains to moral and legal practices. There are many I have come across, importing fake mobile phones, creating fake artwork, logistics , distribution, manufacture of fake designer clothing, overseas business trips, contacts. They were improper entrepreneurs.
For instance in the good old late 70’s when I was in Westminster, I was chasing a gang for 6 months. In that scenario you do try to get inside their minds in order to outwit them and therefore catch them. Their modus operandi was to go North twice a week to car auctions, buy a number of cheap unroadworthy second hand cars. Then they would give them a shampoo and set and sell them through newspaper advertisements as private individuals from varying addresses. They did not pay for the advertising and it seemed they were always on the move , week by week. New phone numbers, new addresses and the Evening Standard married up advertisements for flats to let with the cars to sell. The gang also had links with an estate agent , so the flat would be given the once over as well as the cars for sale outside in the street. None of the advertising was paid for. Also the gang leader used 10 different names and 10 different bank accounts.
Now, really, I quietly admired this guy. How on earth did he remember who he was in certain situations and with certain people, and what happened if the permutation changed and he was faced with a group who knew him by different names, the mind boggles. But, his mind did not, and for 6 months I was chasing shadows. Soon as I found out where he was, he and the gang had just exited stage left.
The mistake he made, and they all make mistakes, is he started using stolen MOT’s for the dangerous unroadworthy cars. One young couple with a child actually drove home after buying the car. As they rounded the North Circular Road a front wheel came off as they were driving, no exaggeration. So he had to use stolen MOTs, no expense was spared in selling the “excellent condition” jalopies.
Now I got Notting Hill CID interested and we hit a few past addresses. We found a rubber stamp that led us to a lock up garage workshop in Lots Road Chelsea, early in a dawn raid. This Detective Sergeant and I scaled the blue metal chained gates, and jumped over, and in true Tom & Jerry cartoon style, tried in vain to tread in mid air back up again as 2 Dobermans crept up below our airborne feet with their snarling jaws open. Ooooppps, clambering back up, the radio did not work in the Q car, so our intrepid plain clothes police officers had to wait at the end of the road to flag down a passing police car. No mobile phones in those days. Then Crocodile Dundee’s version of the Metropolitan Dog Handling Team turned up grinning with their lassoes and, guess what, the dog problem was no more.
Surprise surprise when the workers turned up , not to get the car shampoo and buckets out, but instead to be handcuffed and carted off in the black maria. So after 6 months in 72 hours the gang was being apprehended. One address remained in Maida Vale. The Territorial Support Group Police ( official name for Neanderthal officers) covered the back alleyway. The front door, no one answered and the police could not force it open. So I said I would drop kick it, and in true kung fu tradition I sailed horizontal straight through the door which remained locked with my legs in the house and my head, arms and torso in the street,,,,,,,,,,,derrrr. I get pulled out of splintered remnants of a black Victorian front door. Then the door was kicked off the lock and there was a chain. I go next door for a hack saw, we saw through the chain. Now as you can imagine 7am and all this door carpentry took quite a while and was not exactly quiet. The door finally bangs open and down the stairs comes Paul Walsh the gang leader in his dressing gown, asking “who is it”, to which a burly Police Sergeant’s reply was, “who is it” who the f***g hell you think it is, your nicked”
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