The Bogey Man Lives.

I was talking to a police inspector the other day about a seminar he attended on modern policing and what 'protecting the public' actually means. I have to say it was quite disturbing. He didn't tell me anything I didn't already know but once you put the pieces together like a jigsaw, the final picture is unsettling. He was saying that when he joined up it was perceived that there were good guys and bad guys and the good guys locked up the bad guys. Modern thinking says the person sat next to you is the bad guy, not the burglar in the stripy shirt with a bag of swag.

It's a fact that most murders are carried out by people known to the victim, perhaps a relative, partner or acquaintance. Murders by strangers are extremely rare. The same is true of rape, stranger rapes do happen but are very uncommon compared to rapes by offenders known to the victim. The same applies to other types of sexual and violent assaults on both adults and children, there are such people as predatory paedophiles, but they don't become predatory until they have been caught molesting their own children or nephews and nieces and denied access to easy pickings There are a whole range of crimes ranging from blackmail and threats to kill to making indecent images and sexual exploitation where the victim knows the offender.

As for your children, well, they're safe at school. There's a security system and the gates are locked aren't they? Unfortunately, the people most likely to do them harm are locked in there with them. They are more likely to be beaten up, psychologically intimidated' bullied and sexually assaulted by fellow pupils than by random people in the street, even if it happens outside school hours. Everyone has heard of kids going through the most awful trials at school sometimes ending up in suicide but somehow it's just' playground stuff' and doesn't really count. There are drug dealers who hang around outside schools but then again there's Jimmy in year eleven whose older brother can get whatever drugs you want. So who exactly are we locking the gates against?

These offenders are all victims themselves in the modern parlance. The fact that he's six foot tall, built like a tank and just beat you black and blue doesn't mean he's not a vulnerable victim himself and suffering from mental health issues. He's not the bad guy, he's just not getting the appropriate support from the mental health professionals for his anger management issues. It just so happens he is also your uncle,brother, ex-boyfriend or husband.

So how do you protect the public when the enemy is also the victim's friend or relative? It would need a level of intrusion by the police 'behind closed doors' as the saying goes which would never be acceptable to civil liberties campaigners, remember 1984 and Winston's  television which spied on him? How do you stop the trolls on social media sites for example? Perhaps there should be electronic spies monitoring your every update, alternatively, shut it down altogether. It's the old 'with freedom comes responsibility adage. If some people negate their responsibility to their fellow man do you restrict the freedoms of all?

Sorry, no answers, only questions but one thing I do know, the bogeyman does exist but he is not hiding under the bed or in the cupboard, you've been looking in the wrong place.

Travellin' Blues.

I had to catch a bus the other day. I haven't had to catch the peasant wagon for years and it's not something I would recommend but my Dearly Beloved needed the car. I could have cycled to work but I was too lazy and I could have caught a cab but I was too tight to pay for it. The bus stop in the city centre is a short walk from where I work and it's a direct route almost to my front door so it seemed straight forward. My naivety of public transport had lulled me into a false sense of security and I'm sure you can tell where this is going.

I left work and wandered up to the bus stop via W H Smiths to discover I had missed my first bus by five minutes. They run every half an hour so I mooched round the shops for another twenty minutes before returning to the bus stop.
There is nowhere quite as bleak as a bus-stop on a cold, wet day and my fellow passengers looked dejected and miserable. We waited and then we waited some more. Buses to other destinations came and went with annoying frequency but our transport failed to show up. It finally arrived half an hour late.

 The disgruntled passengers and I boarded without a word of explanation or apology from the driver or the two employees in company jackets standing on the bus. I presume they were there to eject anyone who complained or cut up rough. Due to the delay the bus was packed and consequently had to stop at every request stop on route. I can drive home from work in under ten minutes, I can cycle it in twenty minutes and I can walk it in an hour. My bus journey took an hour and a half. That will teach me for being tight and lazy.

There are some strange people who take public transport. I once knew a girl who recounted a story about travelling home on a bus one day with a fellow sat behind her who made her uneasy. All the way home she felt an slight tugging the back of her cardigan. She finally got off the bus much to her relief and hurried home to find the back of her cardigan had been slit open with a knife.

Dearly Beloved and I often catch buses when we go on holiday as a way of visiting the larger towns and travelling the country side. The buses abroad are much like the buses here except the weather and the view from the windows are much nicer. We once visited a bus garage in a busy town in Crete where they could have taught our local bus company a thing or two. None of the buses seemed to be marked with numbers or destination so we had to play ' guess the bus'. If you got it wrong the staff shouted at you and wildly gesticulated in no particular direction. I am pleased to say they seemed to treat the locals with the same level of contempt.

My middle son who catches buses regularly says no-shows and late arrivals are a daily occurrence. I'm surprised the company can treat people with such contempt and get away with it but that's what happens when you have a monopoly. At least I don't have to rely on public transport unlike many people. It's no wonder people at bus stops look so dismal.

The Thief of Time.

I am a wood elf. I travel the world scavenging for things that might be useful or that I can sell. I have to kill various animals, people and undead creatures in my line of work and I'm especially skilful at killing dragons. It's not my day job though.

I have recently had a birthday and received many interesting and useful presents. One of which was a new game for my Xbox and I don't know whether to curse or cheer about it. The problem is that I get carried away playing it at the expense of more worthy pursuits, like painting the kitchen ceiling.

There are two camps of people, those who play computer games and those who don't understand the attraction. I have always had a vivid imagination with a particular slant towards fantasy and adventure and if these games had been around when I was young, I would have been one of those reclusive teenagers who seldom leave the bedroom.

I've played several games over the years and every time I finish one I promise to get myself a life. I have been known to switch it on early evening and still be beavering away killing zombies when the sun comes up. It's all so pointless.

Most women are in the 'don't get it' camp including my dearly beloved. She was seriously tickled when she discovered I was a wood elf, the ribbing has been merciless. Even I have to admit it's ridiculous. I don't find it relaxing because it's so intense and frustrating and I feel guilty about the wasted time. Then there's the lethal combination of game and alcohol. I wake up with a hangover and can't even remember what happened in my alternative world.

I shall try and resist the pull of the thing but it's hard, I think I'm addicted. Perhaps there's a self-help group I can join. I've tried to ration myself to an hour a day but there's always just another little bit you need to finish, then another, then another. Devious bastards those game designers.

And The Point Is...

You're only as old as you feel, they say. Age is just a number, they say. I know people in their seventies who haven't grown up and I know people in their twenties who seem to have been born straight into middle age with all the cares of the world on their shoulders'. Personally, I think I'm about 26. 

Last week, I went out with some good friends of mine. By pure fluke we started off in the pub where I used to hang out with my punk rocker buddies back in the 70s and were I had my first pint. The pub had hardly changed in the thirty years since I last darkened its doorstep and the memories came flooding back. After a while I went to the bar for another round and was just about to launch into my reminisces with the pretty, young barmaid when I managed to stop myself. It's the classic old man's mistake. On no planet in the known universe is a young girl interested in the ramblings of an old drunk talking about a time before she was born. I still think I'm 26 but clearly, if you can remember a time when you could get three pints for a quid this can't be the case.

I've had a go at growing old gracefully and acting my age but, when push comes to shove, I would rather be in the pub than the garden (unless it's a pub garden). I have tried to take finances and wearing beige more seriously but I find it all a bit dull. I'm in robust health so have no hospital stories to swap or ailments to complain about. I still use the term granddad in a derogatory fashion when roundly cursing other car drivers whilst conveniently forgetting I am a granddad myself.

The only thing that reminds me of my age is the mirror. Just like Dorian Gray I remain young while the face looking back at me gets older. Therefore, the point is, I might think I am 26 years old but the rest of the world knows I'm a delusional old git.

The Church of Rock 'N' Roll

One of the definitions of a religion is; a particular system of belief or worship. There's a group of people who fall under this definition but who are not a recognised religion. There are certainly more of them than there are people claiming to be Jedi. No-one has done a head count but there are probably more adherents to this sect worldwide than regular Church of England worshipers. This sect is known to the wider world as Elvis fans. 

They have many similarities with other organised religions. There is a central figure who they believe to be the one and only true deity. He inspires a devotion that bears no truck with any suggestion that Elvis is not the king of rock and roll.  They gather together to worship in dusty, backwater pubs by listening to Elvis' music on the juke box. They are easily identifiable by the dodgy hairdos that resemble quiffs and strangely dated outfits and, like most religions, is more popular with the older generation than the younger.

All religions have a place of pilgrimage and Graceland stands as a gathering spot for people the world over.  Like most religions they have worldwide gatherings to meet up and celebrate his life where they choose the best impersonator. The big event in Europe is at the Birmingham Metropole in January 2014 if you're interested.

Of course, no one has claimed that Elvis created the universe but the Buddhists  and Jedi don't have anything to say about it either. Elvis isn't going to answer any prayers but perhaps his music has helped people in that indefinable way that having a strong faith does. The Question is what the followers would call themselves, Presleyites. Elvishists? Answers on a postcard please.

Achtung Baby.

Britain used to have an Empire and it was the largest Empire the world has ever seen. The French, Dutch and Portuguese have also had a crack at world domination and made a fairly good job of it. The Greeks and Italians under the guise of Romans are legendary for spreading their respective cultures and the benefits of their wisdom. The Austro-Hungarian Empire was the second largest country in Europe after Russia at its peak, but what about the Germans?

The Germans have proved a dismal failure at world domination despite at least two serious attempts. Even during the great land grabs of the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries they were non-starters apart from a few footholds in Africa. In all other respects they are a great nation. They have a fistful of Nobel prizes, some of the greatest composers ever born and have been one of the world's industrial giants. They are a proud and warlike nation, however, they are rubbish at conquest. 

One of the enduring legacies of our formally vast Empire is that a large portion of the world speak English including the Americans who make most of the film and music which is exported to the rest of the globe. This is great as it means that I can converse with waiters and bar-staff with no problems at all when I'm holiday. Not so the Germans; no-one speaks German except the Germans and a smattering of their neighbours. This means that to converse on the world stage they are forced to speak English. Considering they are the financial and industrial powerhouse of Europe and carry the most political clout in the EU, this constant reminder of their inadequacies must be extremely galling for them.

In the order of world's rankings for languages spoken, German comes a laggardly 10th with Spanish third and English second if you include non-native speakers (fourth if you don't). More people speak Japanese than German. Clearly then, the point of the EU is to conquer Europe by economic stealth and pass a law to make everyone speak German so they don't feel left out when on holiday. No wonder they appear austere and sour most of the time, it's a lack of good holidays.

Uninvited Guests

Well, here we are, back from holiday and what a fine holiday it was. We went to Los Cristianos in Tenerife and stayed in self-catering apartments a mere stone's throw from the seafront. The holiday was highly satisfactory in every respect except one, our unexpected flatmates.

I don't have anything personal against cockroaches, I am sure they are fine fellows in their own way but I would rather not share a room with the freeloaders. We found three initially so I searched the flat from top to bottom to get rid of any more. As the little beggars can fly I thought they may have come in via the windows so I closed them all to ensure no further problems.

We returned to the apartment that evening and found one in the kitchen and another in the bathroom which I hastily dispatched to cockroach heaven. Using my Sherlock Holmes-like powers of deduction I decided they must already be in the hotel and not sneaking in from outside.

We spoke to the receptionist in the morning who made the appropriate shocked noises. She appeared to write something down and promised to pass it on to the management. She did the same thing the next day when we reported we had found two more. We also mentioned it to the cleaner who also made the correct shocked expressions. She went and got a can of spray and waved it in the general direction of the corners of the room and then fled faster than a teenage shoplifter. Later that night we found a baby one on the bathroom floor and another hanging in the shower curtain.

I don't know much about cockroaches except that they like the damp and darkness, they can hide in the walls and breed anywhere.
I had worked out that they were coming from the bathroom so I blocked up every possible access point and liberally sprayed the room and doorways with a tin of cockroach killer. We kept the door shut and left the bathroom light on day and night to discourage the little critters which seemed to work.

I decided to ring the holiday rep anyway in case of similar reports. I spoke to a couple of people over the next two days from our tour company who both promised to get our rep to contact us but she remained suspiciously absent.

We spoke to the receptionist again just to see if there was any interest from the management. She picked up the phone and gabbled in Spanish for a few minutes then asked us to pop along to the manager's office. We walked in and were met by a girl in her very early 20's. 'Ola' I said are you the manager.
'Si' she replied.
'It's about the cockroaches' I said expecting her to know what I was talking about as she had just spent a few minutes speaking to the receptionist.
She appeared to be deeply confused and replied 'no speak English'. We spent about five minutes going round in verbal circles before cutting our loses and retreating. Call me a cynic but I think she was playing dumb.

I don't know the protocol for cockroaches as we have never had a problem with them before in all our years of going away. I would have thought it was something the hotel management would take seriously but apparently not. We have never had to try and contact a holiday rep before either; perhaps they are all shy and elusive creatures. It's certainly not a complaint as it didn't ruin the holiday and if we had made more of a fuss, they would probably have changed our room or even our hotel; I would have expected a little more support though. Anyway, we have come home now and we shall add our review to the hotel website while the uninvited guests multiply at an alarming rate behind the walls.