A new Police Commissioner has been appointed in London. Her name, Cressida Dick. The first woman to lead the Metropolitan Police. She led the re-investigation into the murder of Stephen Lawrence and did a damned good job of it by all accounts.
That's all very nice, but what does it mean to the officers on the ground?
Diddly squat. That's what.
It makes zero difference to the boys and girls who are rushing around and desperately holding onto London's sanity by their fingernails. In fact, if it hadn't been plastered all over the news, I wouldn't even have known we had a new Commissioner. I do remember that when Sir Hogan Howe took over the role he replaced a lot of the antiquated computers that simply didn't work. After that, nothing.
That isn't to say the Commissioner isn't doing anything useful. I'm sure they are. It just isn't noticeable from where I am sitting. To me it appears that the role of Commissioner has become a blur between that of a politician and a representative that goes to events to shake peoples' hands and tell them how well we are doing, but promising them we'll improve.
The face of The Met. An expensive face of The Met, at around £250,000 a year.
Sir Hogan Howe would publish a weekly diary of his activities to officers online. I always thought it sounded like that of an excited child that had been invited to a variety of VIP events. I am genuinely convinced he did a lot of good, and that Ma'am Dick will too, but whether or not they will help me or my colleagues in any way whatsoever is very unlikely.
Sir Hogan Howe arrested someone last year and the media went bananas. That same day Anonymous Bobby arrested two shoplifters and didn't even get a mention in the local newspaper. But then again, perhaps my face wasn't deemed as nice as that of Sir Bernard.
Anonymous Bobby
Monday, February 27, 2017
Friday, February 24, 2017
The Factory Next Door
Cannabis factories are everywhere. Literally everywhere. This has been shown in the last couple of weeks with a discovery of a cannabis factory in Legoland (Legoland for Christ's sake!) and another in an abandoned nuclear bunker.
Obviously it wasn't a new attraction that Legoland were trialing, it was a remote outhouse on their land, but it was there all the same.
More often than not, however, cannabis factories are found in normal suburban homes. Tending to be more prevalent in either council, housing association or privately rented houses which have been acquired using fake or stolen identities. Sometimes the details of the vulnerable are used to acquire the properties. The electricity will be bypassed to hide the excessive usage. Usually in a rather dangerous manner I might add. These properties are very much in demand by regular families at a time where housing is at such a great shortage in London. Instead they are used to grow cannabis.
Criminal gangs are said to make about £250,000 from each of the small suburban factories a year. And they have plenty of them. It is accepted that one by one they will be discovered, so new ones are constantly popping up to make up for any loss. Due to the high profits made, the loss of a single harvest and all the equipment involved is insignificant.
I've discovered many of these myself. Normally the door is forced and you will hear a frantic scurry from inside. Upon entry you will find a rear window open and a poor fellow darting away across the rear gardens. Occasionally you find these people asleep or simply waiting for police in amongst the plants. These guys are not the criminal masterminds. They are usually vulnerable people, or persons whom have entered the country illegally. In return for a place to stay and a pitiful wage they are paid to take care of the plants by the gangs.
Occasionally somebody will set up a mini cannabis factory in their own residence in order to supplement their income or feed their own habit. Twice (TWICE!) I have attended addresses where the occupant has wished to make some sort of allegation. They have called police to their home themselves! A quick whiff inside and an experienced copper knows exactly what is behind one of those shut bedroom doors. So twice I have been called by somebody to help them with something only to end up arresting them for cultivating cannabis. As I hinted at earlier, these people are not always criminal masterminds.
I've spoken before about the problems with relatively harmless drugs such as cannabis being illegal. These factories are everywhere, and even in the most surprising of places (for example Legoland). They are filling the coffers of criminal gangs with millions and millions of pounds every year and I hasten to guess that their profits aren't being donated to Cancer Research.
For every cannabis factory police find and shut down, another two pop up. So, the question remains, are you living next door to a factory?
Anonymous Bobby
Obviously it wasn't a new attraction that Legoland were trialing, it was a remote outhouse on their land, but it was there all the same.
More often than not, however, cannabis factories are found in normal suburban homes. Tending to be more prevalent in either council, housing association or privately rented houses which have been acquired using fake or stolen identities. Sometimes the details of the vulnerable are used to acquire the properties. The electricity will be bypassed to hide the excessive usage. Usually in a rather dangerous manner I might add. These properties are very much in demand by regular families at a time where housing is at such a great shortage in London. Instead they are used to grow cannabis.
Criminal gangs are said to make about £250,000 from each of the small suburban factories a year. And they have plenty of them. It is accepted that one by one they will be discovered, so new ones are constantly popping up to make up for any loss. Due to the high profits made, the loss of a single harvest and all the equipment involved is insignificant.
I've discovered many of these myself. Normally the door is forced and you will hear a frantic scurry from inside. Upon entry you will find a rear window open and a poor fellow darting away across the rear gardens. Occasionally you find these people asleep or simply waiting for police in amongst the plants. These guys are not the criminal masterminds. They are usually vulnerable people, or persons whom have entered the country illegally. In return for a place to stay and a pitiful wage they are paid to take care of the plants by the gangs.
Occasionally somebody will set up a mini cannabis factory in their own residence in order to supplement their income or feed their own habit. Twice (TWICE!) I have attended addresses where the occupant has wished to make some sort of allegation. They have called police to their home themselves! A quick whiff inside and an experienced copper knows exactly what is behind one of those shut bedroom doors. So twice I have been called by somebody to help them with something only to end up arresting them for cultivating cannabis. As I hinted at earlier, these people are not always criminal masterminds.
I've spoken before about the problems with relatively harmless drugs such as cannabis being illegal. These factories are everywhere, and even in the most surprising of places (for example Legoland). They are filling the coffers of criminal gangs with millions and millions of pounds every year and I hasten to guess that their profits aren't being donated to Cancer Research.
For every cannabis factory police find and shut down, another two pop up. So, the question remains, are you living next door to a factory?
Anonymous Bobby
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Can A Copper Have A Cuppa?
On the BBC today was a story about two police officers who had stopped off to get a cup of tea on their way to a call. Unbeknownst to the officers a female was deceased and hanging at the address they were due to attend.
The call had come from a concerned friend who had received a suicidal message from the female in question. The call was originally directed to the ambulance service but was also passed to the police, most likely due to their ability to force entry into an address if required.
Police call handlers graded the call using normal the police triage. It was graded 'S'. This is the second highest grading a call can receive ('I' grade being the highest) and gives officers up to one hour to arrive on the scene. Whilst the limit is an hour, officers should arrive as soon as possible. ('I' grade calls have a 14 minute limit).
Lack of police officer numbers and recent cuts means that the officers out on the street, namely the response units, are almost always en route to one call or another. Whether its an 'I', 'S' or 'E' grade. ('E' grades have a 72 hour limit, they are unofficially known as "E-ventually" calls). That means that over a 10 hour day officers are constantly on their way to one call, diverted to another of higher grading, stopping at something they have come across direct such as a damage only road collision etc etc. Hardly ever are they 'On Patrol' - or free for whatever call comes out.
So this beggars the question, is it really that unreasonable that these two officers stopped to grab two cups of tea from Mcdonald's, which they probably drank whilst en route? For if officers only ever went to the toilet, had a drink, or ate whilst they were 'On Patrol' they would never do any of the beforementioned necessities.
Had PC Tony Stephenson and PC Gavin Bateman not stopped to pick up the two teas, the female would still have been dead in her home. She had died before the original call was made.
A 2 day hearing is due around the conduct of these two officers next week, costing God only knows how much. All because they dared to stop to get a cup of tea, before making the 'S' grade within the allotted one hour time slot. At a time when the public needs every police officer possible out on the street protecting them, this seems like a waste of everybody's time.
Police officers eat, drink, smoke, urinate and defecate just like everyone else. They are not entitled to any official break and often manage a constant flow of calls and people needing help by stopping and doing these things whilst en route to lesser graded calls such as the one in question.
An unprecedented attack on police officers on the street from within, the public and the media continues, and now it seems that despite the difficult work we do, we aren't even entitled to the most Englsih of constitutions, a simple cup of tea.
Anonymous Bobby
The call had come from a concerned friend who had received a suicidal message from the female in question. The call was originally directed to the ambulance service but was also passed to the police, most likely due to their ability to force entry into an address if required.
Police call handlers graded the call using normal the police triage. It was graded 'S'. This is the second highest grading a call can receive ('I' grade being the highest) and gives officers up to one hour to arrive on the scene. Whilst the limit is an hour, officers should arrive as soon as possible. ('I' grade calls have a 14 minute limit).
Lack of police officer numbers and recent cuts means that the officers out on the street, namely the response units, are almost always en route to one call or another. Whether its an 'I', 'S' or 'E' grade. ('E' grades have a 72 hour limit, they are unofficially known as "E-ventually" calls). That means that over a 10 hour day officers are constantly on their way to one call, diverted to another of higher grading, stopping at something they have come across direct such as a damage only road collision etc etc. Hardly ever are they 'On Patrol' - or free for whatever call comes out.
So this beggars the question, is it really that unreasonable that these two officers stopped to grab two cups of tea from Mcdonald's, which they probably drank whilst en route? For if officers only ever went to the toilet, had a drink, or ate whilst they were 'On Patrol' they would never do any of the beforementioned necessities.
Had PC Tony Stephenson and PC Gavin Bateman not stopped to pick up the two teas, the female would still have been dead in her home. She had died before the original call was made.
A 2 day hearing is due around the conduct of these two officers next week, costing God only knows how much. All because they dared to stop to get a cup of tea, before making the 'S' grade within the allotted one hour time slot. At a time when the public needs every police officer possible out on the street protecting them, this seems like a waste of everybody's time.
Police officers eat, drink, smoke, urinate and defecate just like everyone else. They are not entitled to any official break and often manage a constant flow of calls and people needing help by stopping and doing these things whilst en route to lesser graded calls such as the one in question.
An unprecedented attack on police officers on the street from within, the public and the media continues, and now it seems that despite the difficult work we do, we aren't even entitled to the most Englsih of constitutions, a simple cup of tea.
Anonymous Bobby
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
Anonymous Bobby and the Zombies
Police officers regularly kick peoples' doors in only to find them deceased inside. Sometimes they have been dead for a long time. I have detailed a few stories around this before.
But people aren't always as dead as you think they are.
Once, I was working with my colleague Ben when we attended such a call. Social Services had not seen their client for a few days and were concerned, there was no reply at her address and her neighbours hadn't seen her. (Note: It was Friday, rather than wait around to find out the result, social services just called the police, therefore passing on the responsibility, and went home).
Cue Anonymous Bobby and Ben. A few sharp kicks later and her front door lies in pieces on her floor. A putrid stench emanates from every room. It certainly smells like death in this flat.
I turn a corner and next to a fireplace, beside her bed, is the body of an old lady. Lying motionless, face down. It looks like she fell out of bed and died. She is utterly motionless. We begin the procedure we have gone through a thousand times. Suddenly a loud and sharp inhalation of breath from the female on the floor. Ben and I both fly 6 feet across the room in shock.
I'm always concerned that the Zombie apocalypse is just around the corner. Walk the streets of London at 5am on a Sunday morning and you will see what I mean. It's closer then you think! At that moment, when what we were convinced was a corpse came back to life, I thought the moment had finally come. Tasers went back into holsters and we calmed ourselves, knowing we would live to see another day.
The lady was alive but had been lying in her own juices for 3 days. We rendered her first aid and she survived and made a full recovery.
I expect the real zombie apocalypse any day now.
Anonymous Bobby
But people aren't always as dead as you think they are.
Once, I was working with my colleague Ben when we attended such a call. Social Services had not seen their client for a few days and were concerned, there was no reply at her address and her neighbours hadn't seen her. (Note: It was Friday, rather than wait around to find out the result, social services just called the police, therefore passing on the responsibility, and went home).
Cue Anonymous Bobby and Ben. A few sharp kicks later and her front door lies in pieces on her floor. A putrid stench emanates from every room. It certainly smells like death in this flat.
I turn a corner and next to a fireplace, beside her bed, is the body of an old lady. Lying motionless, face down. It looks like she fell out of bed and died. She is utterly motionless. We begin the procedure we have gone through a thousand times. Suddenly a loud and sharp inhalation of breath from the female on the floor. Ben and I both fly 6 feet across the room in shock.
I'm always concerned that the Zombie apocalypse is just around the corner. Walk the streets of London at 5am on a Sunday morning and you will see what I mean. It's closer then you think! At that moment, when what we were convinced was a corpse came back to life, I thought the moment had finally come. Tasers went back into holsters and we calmed ourselves, knowing we would live to see another day.
The lady was alive but had been lying in her own juices for 3 days. We rendered her first aid and she survived and made a full recovery.
I expect the real zombie apocalypse any day now.
Anonymous Bobby
Sunday, February 19, 2017
The Annual WPT Awards - Vote Now!
Today marks the beginning of the Anonymous Bobby Award Season. The WPT Award (or the Wasting Police Time Award) shall be decided by Anonymous Bobby's devoted readers.
Please feel free to vote for your choice of the following candidates by commenting below or visiting the official Anonymous Bobby Twitter page and voting on the poll at the top of the page (Twitter ID: @anonbobbyblog)
Nominee Number 1:
The dear old lady who called for Anonymous Bobby's services as she had inexplicably noticed a full garlic bulb on the roof of her conservatory. Fearing for her life she had called the police. Was it left there by vampire fearing burglars? Or troublesome French youths? This lady had all of her marbles, but just could not find a logical explanation as to how a garlic bulb had found its way onto the roof of her newly built conservatory. Patiently, Anonymous Bobby removed the bulb, however it was never forensically analysed. The mystery remains unsolved.
Nominee Number 2:
A concerned, and time rich, citizen who called for Anonymous Bobby's help due to a raging neighbour dispute. He had lived next door to his neighbour for a few years and their relationship had always been friendly and amicable. Until one dark Summer's day when he awoke, drew back his curtains, and saw his worst nightmare. His neighbours had hooked their washing line over HIS fence post. It was visible from his garden as it recklessly strained at his fence post. This was, according to the man, blatant vandalism. Order was restored by Anonymous Bobby politely requesting the neighbour found another support for the offending washing line. This incident never made the national news.
Nominee Number 3:
A young, and probably strung out, chap who called the police stating a stranger was in his garden. Risking life and limb Anonymous Bobby flew to his aid. The stranger in his garden was a cat. A black cat. It wasn't a neighbour's cat and the young chap was convinced he had never seen the cat before. But that was not why he had called the police. It would be ridiculous to call the police as there is a cat you do not recognise in your garden. He admitted that. The reason he had called the police was that the cat was refusing to leave. No action was taken against the cat by Anonymous Bobby, however the strung out young chap was given strong words of advice.
All three have been scrupulously chosen from an extensive shortlist. Please register your vote now to ensure your worthy candidate receives all the recognition they truly deserve. Also, be sure to save the Anonymous Bobby Blog to your favourites in order to ensure you never miss an Anonymous Bobby blog.
Anonymous Bobby
Please feel free to vote for your choice of the following candidates by commenting below or visiting the official Anonymous Bobby Twitter page and voting on the poll at the top of the page (Twitter ID: @anonbobbyblog)
Nominee Number 1:
The dear old lady who called for Anonymous Bobby's services as she had inexplicably noticed a full garlic bulb on the roof of her conservatory. Fearing for her life she had called the police. Was it left there by vampire fearing burglars? Or troublesome French youths? This lady had all of her marbles, but just could not find a logical explanation as to how a garlic bulb had found its way onto the roof of her newly built conservatory. Patiently, Anonymous Bobby removed the bulb, however it was never forensically analysed. The mystery remains unsolved.
Nominee Number 2:
A concerned, and time rich, citizen who called for Anonymous Bobby's help due to a raging neighbour dispute. He had lived next door to his neighbour for a few years and their relationship had always been friendly and amicable. Until one dark Summer's day when he awoke, drew back his curtains, and saw his worst nightmare. His neighbours had hooked their washing line over HIS fence post. It was visible from his garden as it recklessly strained at his fence post. This was, according to the man, blatant vandalism. Order was restored by Anonymous Bobby politely requesting the neighbour found another support for the offending washing line. This incident never made the national news.
Nominee Number 3:
A young, and probably strung out, chap who called the police stating a stranger was in his garden. Risking life and limb Anonymous Bobby flew to his aid. The stranger in his garden was a cat. A black cat. It wasn't a neighbour's cat and the young chap was convinced he had never seen the cat before. But that was not why he had called the police. It would be ridiculous to call the police as there is a cat you do not recognise in your garden. He admitted that. The reason he had called the police was that the cat was refusing to leave. No action was taken against the cat by Anonymous Bobby, however the strung out young chap was given strong words of advice.
All three have been scrupulously chosen from an extensive shortlist. Please register your vote now to ensure your worthy candidate receives all the recognition they truly deserve. Also, be sure to save the Anonymous Bobby Blog to your favourites in order to ensure you never miss an Anonymous Bobby blog.
Anonymous Bobby
Sunday, February 12, 2017
A Question of Morailty
We, as an organisation, don't always get it right. A lot of the time I see decisions made with all the best intentions, but decisions that are morally or practically wrong. Often these decisions have been made through no malice, and often due to a willingness to please the public.
An example of this was one winter a few years ago. I was working central in London and had been tasked by senior officers to escort a council team around London who were looking for the unattended possessions, mainly bedding, of the homeless and were disposing of them.
A police escort was deemed necessary to quell any resistance that these poor homeless people may put up.
Now this task was approved by senior officers, but I believe it is quite clearly wrong. To collect the few blankets and items that bring warmth to the most vulnerable is an awful action to sanction. During a particularly harsh winter night the loss of such items, unexpectedly, could even lead to death.
I have been unfortunate enough to find a deceased homeless person down an alley during one of our harsh London winters. It isn't pleasant, and it shouldn't happen. I'll never forget the look of his frozen corpse, clutching a Thermos. So, to go and remove blankets and such items where they have been stashed for the night time was an inconceivable mission.
The decision to take these immoral actions were probably prompted and authorised due to a select, noisy, selection of the public who found the sight of the homeless repulsive. In an attempt to please these inconsiderate people, morality had been forgotten and an attempt to merely sweep the most vulnerable in our society away had commenced.
This is an example of us getting something wrong. We should be helping, not hindering, our most vulnerable people. It is, however, also an example of making the wrong decisions for no other reason than blindly attempting to please the most vocal citizens.
Suffice to say, and rather inexplicably, I didn't manage to find ANY blankets or possessions of the homeless that day. Not one shred of material.
Anonymous Bobby
An example of this was one winter a few years ago. I was working central in London and had been tasked by senior officers to escort a council team around London who were looking for the unattended possessions, mainly bedding, of the homeless and were disposing of them.
A police escort was deemed necessary to quell any resistance that these poor homeless people may put up.
Now this task was approved by senior officers, but I believe it is quite clearly wrong. To collect the few blankets and items that bring warmth to the most vulnerable is an awful action to sanction. During a particularly harsh winter night the loss of such items, unexpectedly, could even lead to death.
I have been unfortunate enough to find a deceased homeless person down an alley during one of our harsh London winters. It isn't pleasant, and it shouldn't happen. I'll never forget the look of his frozen corpse, clutching a Thermos. So, to go and remove blankets and such items where they have been stashed for the night time was an inconceivable mission.
The decision to take these immoral actions were probably prompted and authorised due to a select, noisy, selection of the public who found the sight of the homeless repulsive. In an attempt to please these inconsiderate people, morality had been forgotten and an attempt to merely sweep the most vulnerable in our society away had commenced.
This is an example of us getting something wrong. We should be helping, not hindering, our most vulnerable people. It is, however, also an example of making the wrong decisions for no other reason than blindly attempting to please the most vocal citizens.
Suffice to say, and rather inexplicably, I didn't manage to find ANY blankets or possessions of the homeless that day. Not one shred of material.
Anonymous Bobby
Friday, February 10, 2017
Anonymous Bobby, the "Legend" and the Prostitute
Sunday mornings are a curious time on London's streets. The excesses of the previous night often spill over and those that do not know when to stop are regularly mopped up (necessarily so, in most cases) by police officers. If you enjoy a calm Sunday morning, listening to birdsong and reading the Telegraph, then do not become a police officer in London.
It was one such morning when a call came in to a young lad who had woken up to find a confused woman in his flat. This woman was disorientated and probably suffering some mental health or dependence issues. He originally called for an ambulance but due to the suspicious circumstances around the incident, the police were dispatched also. This is how I came to be involved.
Upon arrival at the address, a flat share with three bedrooms and three different tenants, I was greeted by a disheveled yet magnanimous fellow aged about 20 years old. I'm not one to place people in such categories, but I would describe him as somewhat 'posh'. Cockily he strutted up to my colleague and I. He went on to explain that he had been out drinking the night before and, although his memory was hazy, he believed he had possibly picked the female up on his way home. All suspicions, including his own, was that this female was a prostitute (Or a 'Tom' in police jargon).
He told the story as if he were speaking to his mates and he was proud of how 'out of it' he had been. It was all a funny story to share with his friends.
Indeed, his flatmates soon joined us in the living room of the flat and he cockily divulged himself in the story of what he described as "Lad antics" the night before.
Sick of this self-proclaimed "legend" I went to check the female was ok. She was on the ambulance having some routine checks. I hopped aboard and instantly my heart filled with glee. I knew this young lady. I had encountered her before. There was obviously one detail that our "legend" forgot from his romantic encounter.
With a new spring in my step I went back to the living room. I was looking forward to it already.
AB: "Right then, we'll overlook that we all suspect you to have picked up a prostitute last night as there isn't any concrete evidence to suggest what happened. She seems OK, the ambulance will take her wherever she needs to go. There is nothing further for police to do here so we are going to go."
I headed for the door. Without batting an eye the "legend" turned back to his friends and continued to relay the intimate acts of the night before to them, whilst in hysterics. Columbo-style, I turned at the front door.
AB: "Oh, just one more thing. That lady, isn't exactly a lady. She's a transgender prostitute. And she also has hepatitus C, so get yourself checked out. Good day".
The smugness leaked from his face as I turned and left him to swallow the new information. It remains one of the most satisfying moments I have experienced as a police officer.
Anonymous Bobby.
It was one such morning when a call came in to a young lad who had woken up to find a confused woman in his flat. This woman was disorientated and probably suffering some mental health or dependence issues. He originally called for an ambulance but due to the suspicious circumstances around the incident, the police were dispatched also. This is how I came to be involved.
Upon arrival at the address, a flat share with three bedrooms and three different tenants, I was greeted by a disheveled yet magnanimous fellow aged about 20 years old. I'm not one to place people in such categories, but I would describe him as somewhat 'posh'. Cockily he strutted up to my colleague and I. He went on to explain that he had been out drinking the night before and, although his memory was hazy, he believed he had possibly picked the female up on his way home. All suspicions, including his own, was that this female was a prostitute (Or a 'Tom' in police jargon).
He told the story as if he were speaking to his mates and he was proud of how 'out of it' he had been. It was all a funny story to share with his friends.
Indeed, his flatmates soon joined us in the living room of the flat and he cockily divulged himself in the story of what he described as "Lad antics" the night before.
Sick of this self-proclaimed "legend" I went to check the female was ok. She was on the ambulance having some routine checks. I hopped aboard and instantly my heart filled with glee. I knew this young lady. I had encountered her before. There was obviously one detail that our "legend" forgot from his romantic encounter.
With a new spring in my step I went back to the living room. I was looking forward to it already.
AB: "Right then, we'll overlook that we all suspect you to have picked up a prostitute last night as there isn't any concrete evidence to suggest what happened. She seems OK, the ambulance will take her wherever she needs to go. There is nothing further for police to do here so we are going to go."
I headed for the door. Without batting an eye the "legend" turned back to his friends and continued to relay the intimate acts of the night before to them, whilst in hysterics. Columbo-style, I turned at the front door.
AB: "Oh, just one more thing. That lady, isn't exactly a lady. She's a transgender prostitute. And she also has hepatitus C, so get yourself checked out. Good day".
The smugness leaked from his face as I turned and left him to swallow the new information. It remains one of the most satisfying moments I have experienced as a police officer.
Anonymous Bobby.
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