I still hear voices. Thank you.


"Ear worms".


What a great combination of words.


I know they are often used to refer to those catchy little ditties we hear on daytime radio shows, and which wiggle their way deep into our consciousness. And I am so sorry if "The Birdie Song" has unexpectedly popped in to your otherwise well ordered thoughts.


However, "ear worm" has a different connotation for me and quite possibly others too. I hear my ear worms on Airwave police radio speakers or the secret service style ear buds that I wedge in my ears.  I used to use chunky headsets with cotton covers that made my ear sweat.  Not anymore.


I wanted to write about ear worms because this week is the first week for a long time when part of my daily routine will not involve swallowing a bitter tasting Sertraline pill.  I was rather concerned that the "not real" voices I used to hear in the dark old days would come back.  They haven't.


And the mere sound of chatter on an Airwave police radio that had started to make my chest chill with anxiety, well that has returned to an almost comforting noise.  It makes me feel part of something, again.


The familiar voices that make the chatter have returned to being my ear worms; ear worms I understand and know how to live with.  No matter what I am doing, If I hear Airwaves chatter it touches my ear drum and gets instantaneously conducted to whichever part of my consciousness and unconsciousness that is trying to keep track of where everyone is, what they are doing, what nasties are out there and what I should be doing etc etc etc.


So, I still hear voices, but they are technologically as opposed to psychologically conjured out of thin air. That's good.


And now to say thank you; thank you to a really rather amazing group of people.  These are the people who are there with you during every painstakingly dull moment of a long shift, working with you in every rushed and confused journey to an incident when information is flying around like a flock of startled birds, whose spirit is alongside you every time it has well and truly hit the fan and they are working magic to make sure you are not the only one it is flying towards.  Some people call them "Gold".


These are the Radio Dispatch Officers(1) and Control Room Staff who spend their shifts in one of the most incredibly high stake, multi screen, non-role playing strategy "games" I have ever seen.  And do you know the most amazing thing?  Well, actually there are two amazing things.  The first is that they sound phenomenally calm and controlled under the inhuman levels of stress.  The second is that they keep doing it; keep coming in to work; keep guiding "the blue line" to where it is needed and doing their very best to keep those on the line as safe as they can be.


Yours


 Inspector


PS - the snow makes the little winding lanes even more slippery, and also makes it even more important to look after each other and each other's property.



(1) - the computer calls them Resource Deployment Officers, but what does the computer know!

Show me yours first.

IWF

I really don't know why I didn't mention these guys earlier.  Well, actually I do know.  It's because I didn't realize they were out there when I wrote the piece from which the paragraph below is an extract.

That is not to say I had never read something about them, been briefed about them or seen some cunningly crafted awareness raising materials. After all they have been around since 2010. But if I had, it hadn't stuck.

Hopefully you will have more luck.

These guys are the "Internet Watch Foundation" or IWF for those in the know, and they have a logo that reminds me of the telly programmes Panorama and Joe 90.

The Internet Watch Foundation will do their very best to get rid of pictures and videos that have ended up on the internet, and which really should not be there.  They will help young people who have had live streams recorded, shared pictures and sent videos of themselves with their kit off  or getting "explicit".  If you, or someone you might know want to get hold of them, they are here Internet Watch Foundation

. 

I didn't know that texting a naked selfie would end up on the internet forever.  This applies to text messages and all your other tech.  If you haven't gone "kit off" then probably best you don't.  Every text, video chat or photo on any app can be recovered. People will show and share photos and videos, you know they will.  They will still exist on the internet when you find someone you want to get serious with.  They will be there when you go to university.  They will still be there when you apply for..........you get the message.  If you have already gone kit off, you will be fine but you may want some help if your photos are shared. We can help.  Oh and if you think about sharing, texting or forwarding something to your besties or mates - that is a criminal offence.

 

And just so you know, these people also work incredibly hard to bring down the live streams, the shared pictures and videos of child abuse, often of the vilest sort.  So I'd like to say "thank you" to anyone who works or volunteers there and happens to read this.

 

Yours

 

Inspector

 

PS.  When I was small(er) I was told that driving a car is safe until you forget that it's not, that it's never ok to fight just because you are angry and that I should leave other people's stuff alone.  © My Dad

PPS. If you Google IWF and find yourself looking at people lifting up really heavy looking stuff, you are on the wrong page.


PPS. If you are under 25 and sometimes think the pre-internet generation don't get it, find one of them and ask them what the title makes them think of; honestly.

Harsh words.

 

"Critica" by Julio Ruelas (1870 - 1907) – Painter (Mexican)Born in Zacatecas.

A discussion, a debate, a lecturing, a telling off, a vent; criticism.  There is, absolutely rightly a lot directed at the police.  I like being in a country where we can do that.  I also like to think that we, the police are professional and thick skinned enough to pick out and adopt the pearls of wisdom from the criticism with good grace. It's how we have grown in to the UK's police forces we are today.  But it can sometimes feel as if there are no pearls; just moans and venting surrounding even more "directions and recommendations" that show a less than brilliant grasp what we face in the situations we are called on to deal with.  It can start to feel like being the employee of a mildly abusive employer who likes to publicly criticize your best efforts.  Perhaps my skin has just been worn a bit thin, and as in so many other situations I have been distracted by the language used.

This is an extract from an open letter one of our Chief Officers wrote when working their last tour of duty in the police. 

“I need to share with you that I have found myself frustrated, angry and disappointed when I see and read others, at a local and national level, being too quick to criticise policing without first taking the time to understand and engage with those delivering the service. These detractors and critics would do well to remember that much more is achieved with a smile, politeness and appreciation than is achieved through criticism and sharp words. It is easy to criticise others when you do not tread the same footprints and experience the same challenges as those you choose to attack.

The balance to this is of course the public confidence we enjoy, our local communities are not aligned to the national newspapers views or those within the regulation or inspection regimes. They have a much more intimate relationship with us and it is our public that we need to invest our energies focussing on serving and building relationships with them. In the villages, towns and cities of Devon and Cornwall we enjoy great support and people who believe in us and want us to succeed. This is, and always has been, the bedrock of British policing and I am grateful to have shared this most special profession and my journey within it with all of you.”

Thanks for the letter Boss.

I have not picked out examples of the headlines, the every day sniping and ridicule officers face. You will have seen them.  I have found my best way to deal with them is to stop reading them, or just change the channel (I'm not allowed to throw bricks through the telly screen).

But I will share this link, just for balance: Thanks Russell for the video.

Yours

Inspector

PS – And as ever, I ask that you please take care on our roads, be considerate of others and honest in all things.”

Would you believe it!

 

Whilst I am still in the mood to “swing the lamp” I thought I would share just one more story from days gone by.

 

This one is not mine but my colleague swears up and down that it is true.  It all happened in a distant police force where many of the officers still have British accents but the weather is much warmer.

 

“The Incident”

 

A frighteningly keen officer whom we shall call “Rich Tea” was on foot patrol one night.  It was a dark warm night and it was in that part of town where the street lights and made up roads give way to darkness and dirt tracks.  Rich Tea saw two men, dressed in flip flops and colourful shirts turn down a deserted, dead end side road. He decided to follow them.  (I interrupted the original story teller here to see if our hero had anything more than a radio and if it was in the days before stab vests were worn. He did and it was.) The two men stopped a short distance ahead and Rich Tea hid in the bushes to keep observations on the pair.  After a muffled conversation, the exchange of something and some fist bumping and back slapping they went and got into a nearby car.

 

As the car turned and started to head out of the side road our man stepped out of the shadows and with a crisp number one stop sign brought the car to a standstill.  Rich Tea walked round to the driver’s door, opened it, smelt alcohol and then told the driver to get out of the car because he was being arrested on suspicion of driving a car whilst incapable through alcohol.  I was surprised for the second time in the story to hear that the driver, and his friend did actually get out of the car.

 

Events followed the natural course of things.  The driver and his friend started to beat the living daylights out of Rich Tea.  Just before Rich Tea fell into unconsciousness he heard a conversation about whether to cut his eyes out to stop him identifying his attackers at a later date.

 

Apparently a passing taxi driver stopped to help; help Rich Tea that is, not the two attackers.  He persuaded the two that the sorry looking bundle on the floor had had enough and that they should leave.  They did.

 

Rich tea woke the next day still with his eyes in his sockets.

 

“The Investigation”

 

The two were known to the taxi driver and quickly located and arrested. There was no forensic evidence tying them to the scene. No knife was found but one of them had a decent stash of drugs in his car.  But with an eye witness and a damming collection of previous convictions they were remanded in custody by the police and at the bail hearing.  Simples.

 

“The Collapse”

 

A trial date was set.  Rich Tea’s bumps and lumps started to heal and he felt confident.

 

The taxi driver withdrew his statement.  Rich Tea’s bruises had started to fade and he felt less confident. 

 

On the day of the trial Rich Tea discovered the defendants had secured the services of a defence barrister known as “The Beast”.  Rich Tea was the picture of health and was nervous.

 

Rich Tea took to the stand and the prosecution guided him through a re-telling of his story, sparing none of the colourful details.  Then The Beast stood.

 

The exchange between The Beast and Rich Tea, I am told went like this.

 

“Officer, do you consider yourself a professional member of the police service?”

 

“Yes your honour”. (Slightly insulted expression.)

 

“Officer, I know it is your force’s policy that you carry your pocket notebook at all times when on duty.  Do you adhere to that policy?”

 

“Yes your honour.” (Straight answer to a straight question.)

 

“Officer, let me take you back to the events of that night.  You have given an extremely detailed account in your testimony haven’t you?”

 

“Yes your honour”. (Slight tenseness in the answer.)

 

“And you say in your statement that this was because you referred to your notes whilst writing that statement. Further, here you say made those notes of the incident at the “first available opportunity”.  As a professional officer who carries his notebook I am guessing you made those notes in your pocket notebook? Did you?”

 

(Pause and a “weighing up my options” look.)

 

“Officer, to have that much detail in a statement you must have taken notes. Did you record those notes in your pocket note book?”

 

“Yes your honour”. (An expression of intense concentration.)

 

Rich Tea can be seen to sink up to his chest in the evidence box in the manner of a bad mime artist doing the comedy elevator move.

 

“Have you still got that notebook?”

 

(Rich Tea can be seen by the whole court, chin level with the top of the witness box, to be reaching for something in his back pocket whilst keeping his eyes fixed directly ahead).

 

“Ummmm, no your honour.”

 

Rapidly following this answer Rich Tea pointed with his left hand at something in front of him, exclaiming “What’s that?”  At the same moment he threw a police issue pocket notebook behind him out of the witness box.

 

“Officer, why have you thrown your notebook away?”

 

“I haven’t.”

 

“Yes you have officer, the whole court room saw you.”

 

“No I haven’t”.

 

The Beast didn’t get to ask any more questions. Rich Tea, in a magnificently John Cleese turn of events swooned in the witness box and collapsed dramatically on the floor.  He could not be roused from his “feint” until well clear of the courtroom.

 

The case was dismissed.

 

I did not find out what happened to Rich Tea.

Yours

Inspector

PS - please drive safely, be kind, respect property.

PPS - there was an armed robbery in Truro a few days ago.  Our thoughts and support go out to those affected.  Baddies have been caught.

Well that was Christmas.

They are petering out now; the "How was your Christmas?" and "Happy New Year and all that" greetings from colleagues and friends.   I am not sure how I feel about that.


Part of me is definitely disappointed to be leaving behind the jolly, self indulgent days with people I love.


Part of me is relieved to be leaving behind the jolly, self indulgent days with people I love.


And I have to admit that yet another part of me feels disappointed that I didn't spend a more challenging Christmas with my other family, trying to keep the peace and help people.


There were just over 2200 crimes and some truly awful traffic accidents in Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly in December.  I know of two officers recently assaulted and injured on duty.  There were probably more scuffs and scrapes that went unreported.  One of the officers described the incident to a friend as "...a little hairy.  He didn't want to accompany us to our en suite facilities...".  I admire the humour the officer showed; nice one.


So just in case you are like me and have mixed feelings about last Christmas, or are pretty sure you had a pants Christmas, here is a little collection of the "police humour" from colleagues in the dim and very distant past that has made me stifle inappropriate sniggers.


To "Danny", a former boxer and regular beggar who cut off his toes on one foot to maximize the sympathy donations to his methylated spirits fundraising campaign.  A colleague retrieved one size 10 left boot and one size 6 right boot from lost property going in the bin and popped them in Danny's collecting cap.


To the suicidal drunk on the wrong side of the safety barriers and threatening to jump off a bridge, an opening line of, "If you're there to paint the bridge, I hate to break it to you but you forgot your brush."


To the prisoner being driven to custody and threatening to burn down an officer's house with his family inside, the officer said, "Sorry mate, it's an igloo. That's where I live.".  The prisoner replied, "I know where that is, it's on the Piccadilly line."


My tutor constable to me after I pulled most of a long deceased person out of the Grand Union Canal, "You do know it's the probationer that has to do the mouth to mouth don't you."  He relented after the look of horror on my face.  The tinker.


My colleague who at a National Front march in East London that had started chanting "Kill the pig, kill the pig" who marched straight up the shaven headed, five foot tall, 16 stone cheer leader wearing 16 hole Doc Martin boots.  My colleague stepped in front of the cheer leader and faced the chanting crowd, spread his arms and said over his shoulder, "Ma'am, I'll try and protect you but it sounds like the crowd wants to kill you."


So, keep smiling and may we all keep a sense of humour through 2018.


Yours


Inspector


PS - My New Year's Resolution is to encourage safe driving, kindness to each other and respect for property.


PPS - All of the above ended relatively well, all things considered.

Gets you right there.

This morning there was a thank you card over in the office where Patrol,  Neighbourhood,  Crime Management and Licensing officers hang out.  It was from a really strong person and it made my heart swell when I read it.    Four or five officers with different jobs and in different departments were mentioned by name with a short paragraph describing how they had helped at the scene,  at hospital,  giving support and simply being kind.  The closing paragraph said something very similar to,  "What you did had such an impact on my life.  I genuinely believe that without your help I would not be alive today".  That's it; all I wanted to say.

Yours

Inspector

PS - I wish you a peaceful Christmas with no RTCs,  no aggro and where nothing gets pinched.

Wobble.

Some may think that posting a blog entry like this is done by blokes who “over share”, are “emotionally incontinent”, “LMF (Lack Moral Fibre)”, “can’t hack it”, “lost their big boy trousers” or “have jumped on the mental health bandwagon”.  They may be right.  I wrote it anyway.

It will be two years ago come January since the wheel fell off.  This blog tells the story of what I remember about the time it all went a bit wrong for me, and I had to admit to myself and others that everything was not “OK thanks”.

It was a life changing event which unfolded over a couple of days.

The previous year had been tough.  It had begun to feel as if the difficulties would never end.  I felt exhausted, isolated, stressed and unappreciated.  A normal day at the office right?  It’s just a police officer’s lot isn’t it?

I don’t want to sound like I believe my life is harder than yours.  We all have a story to tell.  My black cat is not two shades darker than your black cat. I think a lot of people experience financial uncertainties, difficult relationships, unmanageable workloads, failures and guilt.  And I know there are plenty of other coppers and members of the police family who have also taken the odd knock, been unable to stop bad things happening to good people and seen stuff best left unseen.

Anyway, it was about two forty in the afternoon when I put the phone down.  I had spent an hour trying unsuccessfully to resolve a complaint that could have come straight out of the worst daytime telly.  As I stood up I felt what I later described as a “fizz” in the right side of my head and became dizzy.  I had two quick thoughts. First was that I was having a stroke. The second that my wife would be so pissed; I’d ignored her advice about black pudding and bacon for ages.  I looked at my reflection in the window, smiled, raised my arms, recited Peter Piper to myself and decided it probably wasn’t a stroke and if I didn’t tell anyone I’d have got away with it.

I hung on till the end of the shift, went home, thought better of not telling anyone and made a Dr’s appointment for the next day, lay on the settee and went out like a light.

Here it might be useful to explain some of the other more “normal” symptoms I’d also been happily “minimising” over the last couple of months.

There was the teeth grinding and thrashing about whilst sleeping; the waking up tired; feeling grumpy; drinking perhaps a little too much; losing interest in hobbies and exercise and getting fatter.  I said to myself things like “it is simply part of being in The Job”, “It is what it is”, “If you don’t like it, no one is making you stay”, “Fit in, front up or **** off”.

It’s funny really, but I would have never dreamed of saying anything like that to anyone else, and I would tell anyone I heard saying these things to themselves to not be so silly.

As well as these “normal” symptoms I had for a handful of months been experiencing and minimising some “added extra” symptoms.  I noticed the first added extra in the early hours during night shifts when the struggle to stay awake was hardest.  For me that’s usually between 4.30 and 6.00 a.m. I occasionally heard/dreamt/imagined radio transmissions of people boasting about the nasty things they had done, or people screaming for help as nasty things were being done to them.  I thought I was awake, but who knows.  I would check my radio then check the usually dark and empty station, room by room, to make sure it wasn’t a radio on someone’s desk. We often end up left on our own at this time of day.  Then, at all sorts of unexpected times I found myself obsessing about the jobs where it had not gone well for me, or that had ended badly for someone else.  Now these intrusive thoughts really sucked. The real people, places and experiences that had touched my life filled my thoughts until I was totally immersed in analysing my decisions, what I’d missed and what could have been done to change the outcome. I felt also felt the same fear, the same stress, the same anger, the same struggles to take charge of myself.  I once found myself putting my head in my hands trying to remember someone’s name.  When I looked up it was 2 hours later.  I still can’t remember his name.

So it was that I sat in the Dr’s consultation room.  There were student Dr’s with my Dr.  One had been tasked to get my history.  The student Dr opened with, “Tell me why you want to see the Dr today?”  I had rehearsed in my head rationally explaining what was going on with me.  I was about to help the student do a good job, whilst getting in to see the real Dr as soon as possible.  I opened my mouth to say, “I have been experiencing some unusual things” but nothing came out. I tried again. Still nothing.  So I took a breath, calmed myself, closed my eyes and came out with a guttural string of “I I I I I I I I I I’ve”. Then I stopped. I hadn’t stuttered for 41 years.  Then I started to cry, wrenching ugly crying that flushed out more snot than I knew a human being contained.

Like I said. That was nearly two years ago.

I wish I could say it has been a pretty straightforward, if tough road to recovery but it hasn’t. I expected a few weeks on some pills, a couple of sessions where I could blag my way past a psychiatrist wearing half-moon spectacles and holding a note book, two or three weeks de-stressing at home and a couple of good long runs to “shake it off”.  Then back to the fight.

I was off sick for nearly six months in the end, having not missed a day for years before or since then.  I have benefitted from six Employee Assistance Programme counselling sessions after which I became better at managing my stammer.  Stanley the stammer is still there and quite possibly will always be just below the surface, but most of the time you wouldn’t know it’s there.    Whilst off work I went to Eye Movement Desensitising and Reprogramming therapy sessions.  I learned lots about bits of the brain and why they started getting their jobs wrong, and about the workings of cortisol, serotonin, melatonin, adrenalin and a bunch of other “ols” and “ins”.  The dose of my Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors gradually crept up in steps of 50mg until they went as high as they go.  It took months to get to a place where the knot of anxiety and churning stomach did not descend on me as soon as I realised I was awake.

In the early days I felt bad for not having my leg in a caste, my arm in a sling or a face like a Picasso painting.  In the past I have gladly accepted others sympathy in when in those situations.  I avoided people in general.  The dogs have never had such regular or long walks.  I discovered uplifting corners of the county I love but had never seen before.  Bird and wildlife watching became an obsession.

Finally I got back to work, but I am still working on getting back as a Critical Incident Manager.

And now?  I rarely stammer, I sleep better, I have an interest in life again and I no longer have auditory illusions, overwhelming guilt or nasty, totally immersive intrusive thoughts.  The stalking fear, a dark cloud that sits just out of sight over my right shoulder is still there, but just as soon as I can get hold of it I will get that sorted too. I am also far more accepting of myself and others who are battling their way back from being temporarily overwhelmed.  I would not be where I am now without my family, my colleagues and friends, patient counsellors, dam fine meds and my faith.  Thank you.

Yours,

Inspector

PS: please drive safe, be kind, don’t steal.

Dedicated to one amazing double glazing saleswoman who wandered into the front counter of a west London police station 30 years ago.

Sexual predators; help us stop them.

Sexual predators.1  I wish I had a better term to describe those people who bully, pressurize, bribe and exploit others so they can feel powerful over other them and make them do things they don't want to do. It's not the label I would use for that kind of person, but I hope you know the type of people I am trying to describe.

And as anyone who has seen the headlines in recent years will know, there are nasty sexually motivated offenders out there.  Why? I'm no expert but I see around me that street drugs are ubiquitous, sexualisation of young people is used to sell music and clothes, pornography that normalizes bullying and exploitation is common
There is greed and violence associated with selling street drugs that has spawned whole networks, cuckoo houses and honey pots with an embedded culture of exploitation and lack of respect.

The ever growing World Wide Web has enabled ever more people to find, talk to and connect with people whilst remaining anonymous.  Pornography has almost gone mainstream.  Being less judgmental and having more conversations about healthy sex, experimenting and curiosity are I believe good things.  But I also believe pornography spreads the message that it is ok for sex to be selfish, an entitlement, exploitative and without consequences.

So, helping our kids (especially but not exclusively boys) respond to porn is kind of a parenting requirement in the western world.
But what else can be done?  Well the fight against sexual exploitation has got five messages which come from people who have been targeted by, survived and beaten predators.  This, amongst other things, what they said.

·   I didn't know I was being targeted for sex. I thought we were online friends. To the boys and girls in front of their iDroid Smartphone, XSwitchProStation, Tablet, Laptop and PC - it is ok to be suspicious.  If someone is trying to get to know you better or you are suspicions at all, go for the "kit always on, video chat check or ghost".  If you only know them online and only ever see their avatar, it's just sensible to have a video chat (with their clothes on!!) to prove neither of you are some middle aged bloke.  No cam, connection too slow, not allowed and 'another time' excuses earns a trip straight to the "ghost zone".  And if you are asked to do the same, it's up to you if you chat or take the "ghost" option.  

·  I didn't know my boyfriend wanted me to have sex with his friends. There are some things you need to know.  These are: You are an incredible person. You will do great things, have great friends and work out for yourself who you want to share your body with.  If your "boyfriend" insults, says things to hurt your feelings, insults you in front of his friends or acts like he is "in charge" of you, he is not your boyfriend and you should dump him.  Maybe try to avoid a row. Find an adult you trust, your parent, your doctor, your teacher, any police officer and tell them what has happened.  

·  I didn't know that texting a naked selfie would end up on the internet forever.  This applies to text messages and all your other tech.  If you haven't gone "kit off" then probably best you don't.  Every text, video chat or photo on any app can be recovered. People will show and share photos and videos, you know they will.  They will still exist on the internet when you find someone you want to get serious with.  They will be there when you go to university.  They will still be there when you apply for..........you get the message.  If you have already gone kit off, you will be fine but you may want some help if your photos are shared. We can help.  Oh and if you think about sharing, texting or forwarding something to your besties or mates - that is a criminal offence.

·  I didn't know that my daughter was being sexually exploited - I thought she was out with her friends.  For all the families of all types out there, please keep talking to each other. Be honest with each other. Don't judge. Do listen, help and support.  There is so much to cope with as you grow up and it's not easy.  Being able to help someone stop a bad decision becoming a really nasty situation is what it's all about.  Oh, and this more "do what I say" advice.  I am on a life long course learning how to talk to my family.  Just when I think I've got it sorted, the instructions change.

·  I didn't know if I had concerns about exploitation I could call the police.  You can. We want you to.  By email to 101@dc.police.uk or phoning 101, or online reporting at our website, or picking up the blue phone at a station, or Crime Stoppers Crime Stoppers Website .  Please do to tell us what is worrying you.

Yours

Inspector

PS - may the people around you be kind to you and each other, drive carefully and look after everyone's stuff.

1. I don't really like the term.   It suggests the abuser is some sort of a "stalking hunter" which in my experience is giving them way more status than they deserve. The converse is that there is some sort of "prey" which does not do justice to the bravery, dignity and ability to fight I have seen in survivors.