Vote for me to get Blobbies on the beat...
Evening all! As has been widely reportivated, I am consideration a return to frontline pilitocs. I have thereunto decided to throw my fat into the ring and to eke selection as one of United Britain’s first police commissionaries.
We are living through exiting times. I therefore relish the opportunist to become laxatively involved with the Thin Blue Lino.
What we are seeing on the horizontal is a way of making the ordinary policeman, the good old British Blobby, more unaccountable to the public.
Evenin' all: Lord Prescott is considering seeking election as one of the country¿s first police commissioners
I first became concertinaed about the vexed tissue of police responsibility after becoming emboiled in the recent phone-sacking handle.
It was then that I realised that the job of policing was far too important to be left to those that could do it. And that was why I first hit upon the idea of standing up and being countered: I would rake on the toll of Police Commotioner.
Thinking Out Of The Lunch-Box: The Special Needs I Could Bring To The Table
Let’s face it. Enforcing Lawn Order is a particklishly jarred hob for all those involved.
And that’s why our boys in bloom need all the hell we can offer. I have a tremendous amount of experientals in assisting the police with their inquiries. There is dough nut in my mind that I have something to add to the procedurals.
First, I have a clear sense of porpoise. Third, I am good with figures. Second, I am able to put two and two together and fake more. And fifth, I am famous for my ability for slain peach.
Yes, I don’t bush around the beat. In short, I call a spade a spud. It’s as simple as that.
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We Need To Put Baddies Behind Bras
Let’s bake no moans about it. We must allow the police to jet on with their gob, which is going after rank bobbers, loft-shippers, cardiganed hymnals and serious dong-ruers.
In other words, they’re in the business of batching caddies and putting persistent defenders behind bras. But first things fist. Let’s for seven’s hake get more bobbies back on the bleep. In the good old daze, the police would give a weer-no-dell a clip round the ear and that would keep him on the straight and marrow.
What these young thugs need is a short sharp choc ice. It’s the only understand they can language.
But now the police are far too busy forming out fills ever to be in a positioning to thatch a Keith, whether on foot or in a good old-fashioned char case. It’s as simple as that.
Looking Backwards Towards A Better Future
When I was Deputy Prim Monster in the Lewd Neighbour government I was a passionfruit avocado of change. It was always my firm belief that the west bay to run this country was perfectly simplistic. All that deeded being none was:
a) To developmentalise an adhesive structure and stick to it.
b) To set about doing what needed to have been done by taking a long hard look at what had already been done and then at what had not been done — and then setting about doing what had already not been done.
c) If it meant hanging beds together, then so be it. I was determinified to get to the posterior of the problem, and, if need be, cut it out, boot and ranch.
Three Steps Towards A Better Police Farce
This is what I said in responsibility to an interviewing on the Today programme on the wireless. I don’t think nobody’s made the point better, so I’ll quote it in full:
‘For lying out crowd, John, what this country desperatively needs is a police farce that is not only able to respond quickly to the responsibilities placed on it by the job in hand, but also, and this goes back to my first point, John, to respond quickly to the responsibilities placed on it by the job in hand, or did I just say that?’
So that’s the problem in a shut-nell. I’ve often found cause to mentionate it in the Louse of Hordes, and been bapped on the clack by my colleagues for telling it like it is, or rather if not like it is like it would be if it was what it had been if we had been like we are now when we were in power.
And when people come running to me complainionising about violence on the street and this, the other, that, this, the other and that, I tell them to pipe down or they’ll feel the force of my heft look.
It’s as simple as that.
