10 New Year wishes

Just to round off the blog for this calendar year before it celebrates it’s second birthday on the 3rd January (Have I really been keeping this up for two years? Ye cats) I’d like to post my ten wishes for a happier 2007.

I wish;

First: To actually meet some of my regular commenters and readers in the flesh, just to say hi and maybe set the world to rights over a pint or two.

Second: To be able to “Get a proper job” as so many kind people out on the streets keep encouraging me to do. Thank you for your pleasant exhortations, may I assure you; it’s not for want of trying.

Third: To be able to complete a Manuscript that a reputable publisher feels confident enough to take on as a commercial proposition. Please, I really, really need the money.

Fourth: For a revelation to come to all Managers, both high and low, that not everything, in fact not very much at all worth quantifying, will fit on a fucking spreadsheet.

Fifth: For the current crop of UK politicians to wake up and realise that the taxpaying public is not a bottomless pit to be plundered at will. Although I’m not going to hold my breath on this one.

Sixth: To see Tony Blair do the ‘perp walk’ on TV over the ‘cash for honours’ scandal. Come on Yates of the Yard! Let’s see you feel his collar!

Seventh: To see Gordon Brown caught with his greasy paws in the public funding till and sent to share a cell with his old mate Tone. Failing that, a shared cell with a nasty sex offending lifer known by the soubriquet ‘Vlad the Impaler’.

Eighth: For the grand centralist EU vision of government to be exposed as a crumbling, cancerous lie and begin its inevitable collapse.

Ninth: For the various immigrant communities around the UK to understand that in order to live on this overcrowded little island, they’re going to have to get used to a bit more give and take. This means no more demands for holy wars and murders in their cause. Whatever that turns out to be.

Tenth: Failing most of the above, for me and my family to find a way of making a decent regular living in a country where regulating everyone’s every single waking moment is not an obsession with the political elite.

Eleventh: (Did I say ten wishes? Okay – I lied.) For all my readers to have a very happy and prosperous New Year.

Fug

In the time I’ve had off duty recently my thoughts have been pushed in the following direction; during my time off I’ve been the cook, chauffeur, carer, body servant and everything else to everybody else. I’m also a bit down, swamped by the pointlessness of everything. Everything has been boiling down to one question; what about me?

Let me enlarge upon the question; I’ve got to one of those ‘glitch’ points where the daily round holds little or no satisfaction and all I’m doing is spinning my wheels, yet work on my major project has dried up. I’ve lost track of the narratives. Everything is too fragmented. Even turgid. I'm in a rut.

My head is as full of a fog as we had in the run up to Christmas and proper joined up thinking is hard work at present. It’s not the booze, or the food (I’ve been pretty frugal this year and haven’t over indulged) Time for a new years resolution I think. The resolution is simple; Detox.

Now I’m talking about more than the Carol Voordeman whatever based diet, I’m talking about a major mental and physical house clearance programme. To enlarge further; One of the presents I got this year was a two disc set of the excellent Pixar movie ‘The Incredibles’ which made me take a look in the mirror and go Ugh.

One of my favourite clips is the trailer when Bob realises how fit he was and how unfit he has become, struggling to do up the belt of his old Superhero costume. That’s how I feel at present. Weight loss is required, and a thorough desludging of the mental and physical processes is essential.

To begin; I’m going to kick off with a Sauna and swim twice a week to gradually flush out the accumulated toxins. Less refined starch in my diet (More protein and fresh veg – less bread and ‘convenience’ foods). No major exercise regime until I’m sure I can cope with it without doing myself a mischief. The theory being that as my circulation improves I’ll become more alert, focussed, and more able to concentrate. Well that’s the theory.

Well who knows, maybe one day the Spandex hero costume will fit again.

Christmas repeal - vote now

Radio 4's Today programme is running a vote for which act of Parliament should be repealed. I've voted for the European Comunities Act 1972 which gives the EU primacy over UK law and the control freaks more control over our lives.

The list of acts is:
Dangerous Dogs Act
Serious Organised Crime and Police Act
Human Rights Act
European Communities Act
The Hunting Act
Act of Settlement

Also worth a read is Daniel Hannan's piece in this mornings Daily Telegraph 'Comment' section and the accompanying 'Opinion' piece.

Incidentally; if you think that the EU is a good idea, remember that after March there will be no 'getting away' from a French or German speeding ticket or Parking fine. See this item, also in the Daily Telegraph.

Voting on a radio programme might not change the world, but our current crop of media savvy politicians might sit up and take notice (Or at least be patronisingly dismissive in public). Go on, you have nothing to lose but your chains.

Writing Quiz answered

You Should Be a Film Writer

You don't just create compelling stories, you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind. You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really make a character come to life. Chances are, you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling. And nothing would please you more than millions of people seeing your story on the big screen!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

Yers, maybe I should be writing a sitcom about what I do, not a book. On the other hand, no one would believe it if I wrote the screenplay true to life. Honest.

Payback time

Today was the day when I squared accounts with certain others I come across in my day to day working life. To be honest I feel good about being even. For the moment I feel clean and my conscience is as untrammelled as new fallen snow.

Today my soul is quiet enough to read Hemmingway and feel the heat in my skin, and the tight dryness of thirst at the back of my throat. For me the fog and damp does not exist. Even with a house full of in laws and teenagers winding my dog up past breaking point.

Squaring my particular circle was not difficult. I simply went out and did something I cannot ordinarily do whilst in uniform.

Let me fill you in on a little background; there are two ‘Big Issue’ sellers that work either side of the High Street. Same guys, week in, week out, trying to drag themselves out of the gutter by their own efforts. One is a reformed addict and the other a guy who got dumped by his wife and family when he went bust. There but for the grace of God go we all.

In the past, both of these two ‘Big issue’ sellers have helped some my workmates out, speaking up for them, or simply by just giving a kind word when the rest of the world was all shit, fan, incoming.

What did I do? Simply walked up to both of them in turn, pressed a few quid into their hand and bid them ‘Merry Christmas’ before walking away. I know it’s not much, but it raised a friendly smile and that made me feel good about this whole festive season malarkey. More so than anything else.

What I did won’t make much difference to their lives I’m sure, but payback has been earned and even a small gesture is better than none at all. Lives have been turned by less. All we can do sometimes is pass on a little hope.

Merry Christmas all.

Twas the mayhem before Christmas

That’s it! I’m done, knackered, blown out and fit to drop. The heaving masses of Christmas shoppers will be increased by one tomorrow because I’m going to be one of the last minute maniacs. I know what I want, it’s on order, and all I have to do is scrum down and push!

It’s been very busy and I’ve tried to keep on top of the job but deceased equine flagellation has seemed to be the order of the day, so in the end I just gave up and took the easy bookings. Boy, those jungle drums were working well today! Every corner I turned the illegal parkers were already running for the kerbside.

I suppose it’s gratifying in a way that we’ve got a reputation for being harsh, as the Uniform is almost guaranteed to clear double yellows. The only people we seem to get trouble with are some of the hard core locals and a few out of towners who can’t be arsed to read the signs. Despite that, my toll of sinners hit double figures just after lunch and tailed off after five. Tell you the truth my writing hand was in need of a rest.

Managed to keep things rolling (Just about) and the ambulances and Police cars with their ‘blues and twos’ on full volume seemed to sail through without much delay. At least the ones I heard did.

Anyway, I’m ready for bed. It’s been a long day and tomorrow might seem even longer.

Xmas To do list

Wifes Parking Permit
Clear rear dining table
Clear desk
Decorate Tree

Buy Hangover stuff

Vitamin C
Diocalm / Immodium
Paracetomol

Write blockbuster novel
Conquer Universe
Go shopping (Shudder)

Nonverbal communication

There are some days when you just have to give in and be ruthless. I mean I try to be fair and not book everything with a number plate, but certain people make it so cussed easy. There is a street which forms one of the main exit streets from town. Double yellows on both sides, no stopping places, and a 16:00 to 19:00 no loading restriction which is well signposted.

I’m passing through that way around fiveish when I come across a Blue Volkswagen Beetle, A Green Ford Fiesta, and a Grey Porsche Boxster all parked half way up on the footway, one after the other. No wrestling with conscience; No loading; No mercy. All three got a ticket within five minutes and rightly so in my book because they were forcing pedestrians out into the road and messing up the flow of rush hour traffic. I’d just finished writing up my notes when all three drivers came out of the shop they had been patronising and saw what I’d done.

Next thing I know I’m neck deep in outrage. “We were loading!” Shouted one. Doesn’t matter, can’t you read the signs?
“You can’t do this!” Protested another. Oh yes I ca-an.
“We were delivering stuff.” Says the third rather weakly.
“Gentlemen; with me.” I told them, beckoning them towards the rather unambiguous plate on the wall of the shop they had been ‘delivering’ to. Tapping the sign rather ostentatiously (Did I mention I’m a six footer?) with my pen I delivered my short lesson. “You cannot load here between the hours of eight and ten and four and seven.” I pointed at the single kerb marking, mercifully intact. “You may not even stop here during those hours.”
“Yeah, but where we gonna park?” Protested one.
“Over there.” I pointed to a pay and display car park less than fifty metres away. “Over there.” A set of pay and display bays at the other end of the street. “Over there.” At this point my mischievous little inner demons are telling me to burst out laughing. “Oh yes, and just round the corner.”

The end of my little lecture was greeted with grumbles and moans of protest. So what’s new? The Porsche driver looked especially aggrieved and was about to mouth off at me when an outraged female voice came from behind. “These yours!?” Two middle class ladies with posh pushchairs had just had to brave rush hour traffic to get their precious cargo past the parked cars. “Book them Officer! Book them!” One of them demanded. Already done Madam. I nodded towards the vehicles, one of which was still sporting its little ‘Bill Sticker was here’ windscreen badge. Two of the three drivers stepped back from the explosion of female outrage, but the third tried to have a go back (I think it was the Porsche pilot). “It’s none of your sodding business!”
“Yes it bloody is, I’ve just had to take my children into the middle of the bloody road to get past your fucking car!” She screeched. Well I bet she didn’t learn that kind of language at finishing school. “In rush hour!”
“So what!” Bellowed Mr Consideration 1921.
“Excuse me!” I raised my voice. “Excuse me!”
“Fuck off!” Snapped the driver, turning round to glare at me. I ignored the angry words and set my face in a ‘take no nonsense’ expression. “That’s quite enough sir, or shall I call a Police Officer?” I said mildly, putting my hand rather obviously on my radio. Of course I was bluffing, but he wasn’t to know that. I shifted my gaze to the two women and raised my eyebrows. “Can I deal with this madam?” I looked the angriest in the eyes and tilted my head on one side. Funnily enough this is a Dog / Wolf gesture which seems to work jolly well with humans too. Don’t you just love nonverbal communication. Her mouth tightened and with a frustrated “Ooh.” She and her friend bimbled away to disturb the peace with their squalling toddlers at the nearest Coffee Shop.

Turning back to the three slightly discomfited drivers I cocked an eyebrow. “Gentlemen, may I suggest you start your engines?” I said, feeling awfully smug.

Do you know what? That’s exactly what they did. Bloody hell fire.

How evil are you?

How evil are you link c/o Tom Paine

Party, party

It’s that time of year again. The season when the drunks, like the leaves, change colour and fall. On the other hand, we’ve just spent a few hours of hilarity on evening patrol, waiting for some item of inebriated humanity to give us a faceful of abuse laden alcohol fumes, whereupon we promptly shop him to the coppers. They get an easy collar and we get a little instant justice for our abuser. Especially if said item shows poor enough judgement to step into the drivers seat.

Drunk drivers deserve all they get; hopefully before they kill some other poor mothers son or daughter. I’ve lost a number of good friends to people who thought it was okay to drink and drive, and have a real ‘burr up my arse’ about it, as Mrs S so colourfully puts it. Over the years I’ve come in for a lot of stick from people who consider me a bit prissy on the subject, but hell, if drunk drivers had killed half your best mates (This is unhappily true, and a source of much regret in my life), wouldn’t you be a bit critical too?

Lots of drunken bodies around despite the rain. Been there, done that. I often think that getting shitfaced is a way of coping with your failure to deal with grown up relationships, and perhaps life in general.

Nowadays I have no quarrel with an odd drink to loosen the inhibitions. This is fine, and a few glasses of Wine, Beer, or the occasional large single malt can smooth the edges of even the most tedious day. Sometimes this is an essential of existence.

Tonight was the night for half the office parties in town, and me and Dave my beat oppo have been roundly amused by the antics of the office partygoers. One chap tried to cross the road in front of us with his trousers (No underpants) around his ankles. Not a sight for the faint hearted I can tell you. His friends were trying to help him, but he kept on pushing them away and staggering onwards before falling over a small ornamental hedge that would not normally inconvenience an arthritic Dachshund. One of his friends fell over him into what might be considered an intimate embrace, which may shortly be posted on Youtube.com. Dave cracked up laughing and we had to pull the van over (Late evenings are almost always driven patrols) while we laughed until we were almost sick.

Despite all the drunks we saw no real aggro, although this might have something to do with the rain. It seems to dampen the martial ardour. Hopefully the coppers will have an easy night of it and the town centre sirens that punctuate my sleep will be few and far between. Ah me, another few days to survive and I’ve got five days off. Nighty night.

Mistaken identity

I have a problem. Some might think it is not a problem but there you go. Certain people who appear to be short sighted take a half glance at my imposing (Well Mrs S thinks so and I’m not going to contradict her because I want to live – she can be a very forceful woman) figure and say “Good morning Officer.” Then; “Go on dear, say hello to the nice Policeman.” To their goggling tots.
My response has been; “No Madam / Sir / Miss, it’s the nasty Traffic Warden.” Which no one has seemed to mind. I wonder if someones dumped Prozac in the local water supply because I’ve rarely come across so many happy smiley faces. Even a builder walked past with a “Fair play to you mate.” Whilst I was booking an illegally parked car.

This has happened half a dozen times today out on one of the outer town beats where my path takes me past several rather posh boutiques. What on earth is going on? No matter, I’m sure when it all wears off I’ll be public enemy number one again and everything will be back to normal.

Christmas Decorations

Several people have decided, the Gods alone know why, that our concrete box of a mess room has to have some Christmas decorations. Sorry folks but it’s like putting cheap Thomas the Tank Engine wallpaper up in the Auschwitz Gas Chambers. The whole effect is ghastly. Barely painted breezeblock and Motorway underpass brutalist architecture highlighted by twee tinselly streamers and a plastic something that is meant to look like a Fir tree but bears a closer resemblance to the bastard offspring of a Chilean Pine and a Saguaro Cactus. To cap it all, the decorations were arranged by someone who has all the decorating flair of a hyperactive spider with a nervous tic. Blu-tack has been heavily applied.

If you find this offensive to read about, take pity on those who are forced to work there. I know we do an unpopular job but this is just sadistic.

Cry Havoc!

Well this is a sea change and no mistake. We have been given orders to ‘keep the streets clear at all costs’ on the run up to Christmas. This means that the usual rules governing observation times, which are discretionary anyway, are now in abeyance. We have been given the green light to book hard, book often and show no mercy. If there is no driver present, the vehicle in question will have one slapped on the windscreen and no five minutes observation, no nothing and God send the right.

That’ll be fun then. Us poor sods doing the town centre beats are going to have more aggro on the run up to the festering season than ever before. The past two Christmastides we were told to go easy and increase our observation times. Not so this year. After the first couple of shopping weekends, town centre congestion was so bad that the Police and various civic bodies have clamoured for us Parking Enforcers to come the heavy and book anything that doesn’t move fast enough.

It’s all very well for them upstairs to make these demands when their front line troops are in for a caning. I can safely predict lost teeth, black eyes and diverse other assaults upon our persons.

As I said to one Copper a couple of weeks ago while I was booking a car “Hi ho, all this and no body armour.” Now where’s my gumshield, shinguards and cricketers box?

Propaganda

I just got this link from H, one of my regulars. This is the sort of shit I don’t do, yet get accused of. I’d like to one day get hold of Dom (not so) Joly and shake the cunt warmly (But ever so firmly) by the throat.

It’s not as though I ever found ‘Trigger happy TV’ funny. Oh yes, and before commenters get busy accusing all Parking Enforcers of being ‘miserable old scrotes’ and suchlike; today I was complimented by several members of the public on my warm and sunny disposition, despite my being in what they described as ‘a pretty crappy job’. Even two of the poor sods it was my unhappy duty to hand tickets to. Even after some quite heated exchanges in which yours truly kept his cool and acted in a civil and courteous manner.

Oh hell, I’ve had a day and need a stiff drink – oh thanks love.

My wife is a wonderful person who has my unfettered and undying love and admiration. She is a saint in human form (Being married to me she’d have to be, wouldn’t she?) as she has now opened our second bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. This is now a matter of public record. Bollocks to everyone else.

Ouch!

I’m a bit busy at the moment what with one thing or another, but I got this in an E-mail from Nick Wilson showing exactly what happens when you try to tailgate a bus over the bus lane bollards in Manchester. Just an observation, but do the people who try to tailgate look like they are accelerating hard?

Mind you, having seen what some of the heavy duty anti terrorist bollards will stand up to, you’ll understand why I wouldn’t be keen to try it myself.

The girl in the first car is rushing to the sales.
The council in Manchester installed some retractable bollards to stop people using bus lanes. It's causing a bit of uproar with the public.
Click on the link to find out why.
PS keep an eye on the windscreen of the white van.

Ask not what your country can do

………But what its guardians and instructors should be allowed to do to help safeguard the future. Sign the petition(s), spread the word, either (Or both) will do.

Personally, I do not think that the New Labour spin machine will do much based upon these requests: but perhaps other politicians will take note and try to do the decent thing.

It’s a long shot, but we can live in hope.

Regards

Bill

Sensible Policing Petition

Frank Chalk's Petition

Ten more reasons to love and hate Christmas

Yes, it’s that time of the year again. The twinkly lights are up in the shops and above the streets (Much improved on last year), and while they were going up we got a big ‘Hands off’ message about the installation vans from Management. Not that I’d be that stupid to try and book one of the installers, they’re doing a job for the town, so let ‘em be. Inconsiderate shoppers who seem to be losing the use of their legs seem to occupy more of my time than anything else.

This year things seem to be looking up this; no politically correct genius has as yet proposed changing the name of Christmas to ‘Winterval’ (Or some such nonsense), or even abolishing the holiday altogether. I mean, the political elite devalue the rights of the individual, ignore democratic opinion and take money off people for ‘honours’, but try to change a much cherished tradition and the howling mob is at the metaphorical gates. More bread and circuses (Sigh).

Seeing as site traffic has picked up again with lots of hits going to my old ’10 reasons to love and hate Christmas’ entry, I thought I’d enlarge on the list a little from last year with yet another list of pet peeves.

First on the list has to be; Actually doing the Christmas shopping. This can be a study in purgatory with the kids in tow, demanding this, wheedling for that so much that the shopping bill ends up treble what you budgeted for. I swear there’s a touch of Magpie in my stepdaughters genetic heritage. Anything sparkly and shiny seems to grab their attention and just has to be bought right this minute. Also the crowds which on weekends can be likened to surfing through a sea of bodies. On the one hand this can be a bloody nuisance; on the other it can be likened to a dangerous sport. Body surfing over real bodies. Hmm, there’s a thought. I suppose all you need is a bit of attitude. Take a run up and leap. Nah, bit too much like hard work, and I do enough of that.

Second; choosing a gift for picky / inconsiderate people. I mean come on, what do you get for the person who has everything and needs nothing? No, “Not a lot” is not the correct answer here. In a household of females, that sort of talk can get you dead, or at least sleeping downstairs with the dog waking you up every hour; and because he’s so excited that his master has come to sleep in the same room as him that he just has to lick your face in greeting every hour, on the hour. Urgh. This is not conducive to a decent nights kip. If I could afford it I’d book into a hotel for a month. If I was religious I’d go into a monastery. Believe you me; taking a vow of poverty at this time of year is no problem at all. Even a vow of silence would not be a burden provided that I had a laptop in my monastic cell, heaven indeed.

Third; having to deal with people who think that because it’s Christmas, and they’re slightly tipsy, everything they say and do is so fucking hilarious; like trying to tell jokes without the faintest idea that they have no sense of comedic timing. Oh yeah, and thinking that because they have put a sprig of Mistletoe in their waistband will result in sexual pleasure from another human wrapping their mouth parts around their less than sanitary genitalia. Yuk! If said behaviour wasn’t so desperately sad such antics would be incredibly deserving of public mockery and derision.

Fourth; Perfume merchandisers. You walk into a department store only to get deluged by a bronchitis inducing cloud of the latest ‘fragrance’ by a lurking merchandiser (often in fancy dress). Worse still, arriving home, reeking of said odour and having to explain the alien scent to ones dear spouse before the mince pies and Christmas pudding take on a high speed horizontal trajectory in your general direction and you make for the nearest open pub.

Fifth; ‘Charity’ muggers. “Yes I agree, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was no poverty / hatred in the world and no I’m poor myself so I can’t afford even the paltry ten pounds a month that you’re asking me to give every month to feed a starving child in where was it you said, yes and the whales and Dolphins too, isn’t over fishing and whaling wicked? Now fuck off, I’m trying to nick this car parked in a bus stop.”

Sixth; Credit card overload. Now I don’t suffer from this, having carved up all my credit cards over three years ago. If I ain’t got the money, I ain’t gonna buy that sparkly piece of tat. Yes, it’s pretty and I know I haven’t bought anything for that particular cousin for over two years, unfortunately all I can give is my love this Christmas, and if I have to buy affection it ain’t worth the fucking price.

Seventh; “Ho! Ho! Ho!” What is the fat old git in the red suit with the pillow down his front guffawing about? Is he taking the piss, in which case that sleigh is definitely getting a ticket, or is he just a hebephrenic schizophrenic with appalling dress sense and a fetish for Reindeer? None of which have a red nose, even when attacked by rare Arctic fungal diseases, or repeatedly scrubbed with sandpaper.

Eighth; Having to feign pleasure on Christmas day when presented with wholly inappropriate gifts (And no sodding spare batteries Dammit!). The huge burden of faux-guilt because someone has outbid you in the great war of Christmas presents. I’m sure the midwinter solstice / Christmas message is “Peace on earth and goodwill to all men” – not;
“Oh look, the Bailiffs are coming next week dear.”
“Dear God, not more of your bloody relatives”.

Ninth; Having to deal with Christmas shoppers who think that ‘because it’s Christmas’ they suddenly don’t have to walk anywhere. The insistence on everyone in our department having a Christmas meal together (If you’d met most of them this is not a very salubrious prospect). Then being accused of being a ‘Scrooge’ because you aren’t going to play at ‘Secret Santa’. Please God, I don’t want to do this any more.

Tenth; Seeing obviously well to do shoppers out on the street with ‘lost’ eyes as they dread the enforced loneliness of the festering season. Their vacant, helpless expressions indicative of people who feel their social lives slipping into the black hole of solitude whilst all their social circle traipse back to see family they’ve spent the rest of the year trying to avoid. You can almost read the seasonal despair in the lonely shoppers minds. A small prayer tries to spring from your heart; Mother Mary pity the rich and lonely, they are truly in poverty. It is often tripped up by a cynical “serve the greedy sods right” thought before it can reach the vocal cords when I see how they’ve parked. Such is the human condition.

Now things I do like about the festering season include; It’s my day off (Yay!). Getting out early to enjoy the Christmas silence first thing in the morning while I walk my dog. Taking my time to cook Christmas Lunch and being able to kick everyone out of the kitchen whilst I guzzle half a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon while enjoying a few choice sounds on my MP3 player; Mince Pies, Mulled Red Wine, sleeping through the Queens speech (Sorry your Majesty, but it’s a repeat anyway); Scented candles, and letting the stepdaughters push off to annoy their dad around tea time. Other pleasures include; leaving the TV off and cuddling up to Mrs S while we read the books we’ve given each other, wrapping myself around a couple of wee drams of single malt whiskey, safe in the knowledge that I’ve set up a cold collation with pickles for tomorrow and I don’t have to fuss about cooking for anyone.

This may not sound much ‘fun’ to you, but I’ve done all the other stuff and you can keep it. Unless I’m in a warmer country of course, in which case pass me the sun block chum, and I hope the champagne and dark chocolate is properly chilled for once. Now where are my new sunglasses?

Happy festering season, and may, in the words of the late great Dave Allen, “Goodnight. Thank you, and may your God go with you.”

No, no, no!

I don't care what people say, I'm not doing this!

Santa in Animal Cruelty shock!

In a Lapland Wildlife Police press release, it was claimed today that ‘Father Christmas’ has been ritually abusing Reindeer for commercial purposes. Detective Chief Inspector Kaslifin Nordskaan of the Helsinki Police Bureau for the protection of Native Finnish Wildlife released the following translated press release to an astounded world.

“Red nosed Reindeer are very rare mutations which do not often live to attain maturity in the wild. In a combined operation with Wildlife rangers we have recently uncovered a ring of serial Reindeer abusers pandering to the seasonal tourist trade.”

“Chief of all the abusers has been the man in the photograph positively identified as Raymond B Goatfondler III of Milton Keynes, England. CEO of Xmas Incorporated also calling himself ‘Saint Nicholas’, ‘Father Christmas’, ‘Santa Claus’, or ‘Kris Kringle’."

“Mr Goatfondler faces multiple charges under Finnish Wildlife legislation of repeatedly punching tethered reindeer on the snout and then sandpapering the poor animals injured proboscis until it physically glows red. Apparently he has been doing this for some time, ostensibly to bolster falling revenues from Xmas Inc. and provide spectacles at his Lapland HQ for fee paying tourists. Because of the rarity value of full grown Red nosed Reindeer, he has been artificially creating them for his seedy operation. He is also wanted on suspicion of illegally importing Elves as part of a toy makers slavery ring, as is his partner, Ms ‘Snowy’ Weiss of Bad Luneberg, Germany.”

“This kind of behaviour cannot be tolerated in an enlightened European state, and it is therefore my duty to announce that we are seeking the Extradition of Mr Goatfondler from the UK to Helsinki for trial.”.”

UK Police sources have yet to confirm that Mr Goatfondler is in custody awaiting extradition.

Okay, okay, I was bored with writing about getting another torrent of abuse from a member of the public who chose to block the top of a street just because the idle twat couldn’t be arsed to walk a couple of hundred yards. It’s just so nice to drift ‘off topic’ sometimes.