Around this time each year, the Chief Constable of every force in England and Wales gets a visit from the head teacher to see how naughty him and his class of dunces have been.
This head teacher is called HMIC (Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Clownery), and he has the power to burst into any police station in Britain unannounced, demand to know what all the noise is about and confiscate their sweeties.
It is also his job to assess the ‘efficiency’ of each constabulary, to see what’ value for money’ they are providing the tax payer, how ‘effective’ they are at combatting crime and ‘how well they treat the public’. The Inspectorate then has to take this two word finding of ‘sod all’ and blow it up into some boring, convoluted report that nobody wants to read. Especially the police.
Because cops themselves can’t read anything that hasn’t got pictures of naked women stapled into it, all this information is condensed into a short letter, outlining the worst of their naughtiness and sent to the chief constable. If that particular Queen Bee of stupid doesn’t coat it in silver glitter, felt-tip pen and Farley’s rusk it then gets filtered down to his underlings. That way ‘lessons can be learned’ and quickly forgotten about as they continue slap-sticking around until HMIC rides back into town the following year on his three legged donkey.
This year however, one particular ‘lesson learned’ might not be so quickly forgotten. Because some fuckwit of a call handler didn’t get the memo that the man with the clipboard and the horn rimmed specs sat at the back of the room was very, very important. And that staff should put on the airs and graces while he was there. You know, pretend to actually gave a shit about those pesky, annoying buzzing sounds on the phone – that fill the time between the call handler coming to work and collecting their pay packet – droning on about some house that’s been robbed or some handbag that’s been snatched…
Thereby giving HMIC a totally unexpected and unadulterated blast of reality. Something that every constabulary in the land does their very utmost to prevent.
As well as discovering that these call handlers are as incompetent and lazy as the force that employs them, HMIC also discovered that they regard the public as bickering children that have come crying to mummy. While the police themselves are treated like Hollywood movie stars. Who’s valuable time is so important and precious, the idea of them turning up at anything other than a Blockbuster of a crime must be laughed off the line. Or negotiated around like an A-listed actor’s agent:
A burglary you say? No sorry, can’t help you. The police don’t want to be typecast as crime fighters anymore. They’re looking for something more affording of their political sensibilities. Like social worker, agony aunt or Christmas tree fairy. Have you got anything more befitting of their talents? Something that involves threatening somebody on the street with a public order offence perhaps, or handing out slips of paper at the roadside? Something clean and easy that doesn’t involve scratching about for proof and evidence and all that malarky?
If this isn’t bad enough, the call handler then delivers the coup de grâce by suggesting that one band of crime fighting amateurs (the police) be replaced with another band of crime fighting amateurs (the public) and that the caller should don their twirly pipes and Belgian moustaches and have a crack at solving the crime themselves.
Of course the moment any victim attempts to perform such a task, the police will immediately despatch a lorry load of Weebles to their door (or PCSO’s as they are commonly known), to drop a confetti load of warning notices onto them because the criminal has complained that he is ‘being harassed.’
Regardless of this particular call handlers faux pas of allowing a chink of reality to impede HMICs otherwise sanitized view of the 43 forces of lying bastards he is employed to assess, this goes to show how clueless and ineffectual this government task force is. If this is the best they can come up with to show what dung-heaps of indifference our beloved police service has become, then all the white-wash, sicophantic smarm and red carpet treatment they get on arrival at each police station must be working.
Which makes me wonder, who inspects Her Majesty’s Inspectorate to ensure that ‘THEY’ are providing the tax payer value for money?
Thomas the fucking Tank Engine no doubt.
If the police are so hard up for manpower these days then why don’t they follow Dundee police’s example and leave empty parked vehicles knocking about so at least they can PRETEND to have a presence on the street.
But then what would our British police use for the emergency dash to the Chinese takeaway every lunchtime?
Thanks to CB reader G for spotting the Dundee news report.
If you can be bothered to read the Fairy Tales of “Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of The Easily Fooled”, then the quick versions of their 43 under performing schools reports can be seen here.