Soca abandons hunt for crime lords - Times Online

The special squad set up to take on the barons of organised crime has gone back to the drawing board after prosecuting only a handful of the 130 figures it aimed to bring to book.

Experienced officers are leaving the Serious Organised Crime Agency (Soca) “in droves” and the organisation’s original hitlist has been shelved, The Times has learnt.

Sources said that it had spent two years pursuing a flawed strategy on the basis of poor intelligence.

Soca, which publishes its annual report this week, identified 130 crime barons it believed were controlling the drugs trade, human-trafficking and racketeering in Britain.

I wonder what is happening to policing in this country. SOCA seem unable to investigate people and prosecute them whilst in the middle of Oxford Street at rush hour someone is stabbed to death.

Last night two things happened. A car at the top of the road sat for most of the night with it’s car alarm sounding every ten minutes. It wasn’t broken into, the alarm was clearly faulty. After trying to sleep for fifteen minutes I wondered if I should call the local police on the non-emergency line to see if they could track down the owner and get them to sort it.

The problem is that, overnight, there’s very few police around and this was just be treated as a low priority call.

At 3am a “domestic incident” started down the road as a girl, clearly distressed, left a house and proceeded to have a stand up argument for forty minutes in the road.

I came close to calling them about this as well. Again, the reason I didn’t, was the fact that there is few of them. Getting a car out to deal with an argument in the street just isn’t their priority.

If things are this bad at the elite end of the police force I wonder how bad things are for the local bobby …

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Barcelona relies on water by ship to slake its thirst amid drought - Times Online

Barcelona received its first seaborne shipment of drinking water yesterday, part of an unprecedented emergency plan to tackle the city’s worst drought in decades.

The tanker carrying five million gallons (23 million litres) of water from nearby Tarragona is just the first to help to alleviate the growing shortages in one of Spain’s top tourist destinations, which has already resulted in hosepipes being banned and many fountains turned off.

Things aren’t that bad here but I used the last of the water in the water butt this evening and, this year, I’m not growing as much as I usually do.

Luckily the weather is turning and there is rain in the air …

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After waiting, wondering and speculating about “a momentous thing” happening all of a sudden, out of the blue “a gigantic thing” happens.

I’m sure the days ahead will have uncertainty but all we can do now is sit tight, hang on and try to ride it out.

Posted by Mark at 8:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

No shorts, no sitting outside, no laying in the sun.

Just 350 mails and 4,000 posts in Google Reader to trawl through.

Normality returns, and, so does work.

Posted by Mark at 8:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Roman emperors ate it to help them make ‘bold decisions’; Anglo-Saxons swore by it to ‘spring clean’ the blood; Victorians thought the plant was a cure for toothache, hiccups and even freckles; in the 1960s, the strongest demand for it came from the north, where whatever the family income, high tea reigned supreme and back in 19th century England watercress was commonly eaten for breakfast between two slices of bread or alone as the “poor man’s bread”.

For us it was a good excuse to visit the annual Watercress Festival walk in the sun and eat some amazing food.

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“Our house, is a very, very, very fine house.
With two cats in the yard,
Life used to be so hard,
Now everything is easy ‘cause of you.”

Crosby, Stills and Nash

After traveling around all week it was nice to spend a day around the house, pottering in the garden, cooking outside and watching the stars.

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After looking for the Coronation Throne for 10 minutes I give up and go to ask one of the guides.

Westminster Abbey seems far from tourist friendly. The headsets providing an audio commentary aren’t issued to tourists after 3pm. The leaflets handed out have two sets of numbers only one set of which (the ones in a golden square) match the numbers on show as you walk around. That wouldn’t be too bad if that fact was mentioned somewhere.

Next time we will get there earlier (it’s worth checking just when the Abbey is open) and try to make a little sense of all the history that’s on offer there.

Life is less complicated at The Trafalgar Roof Garden, although after the success of last year they now have a £5 cover charger per person.

The view is still amazing. Sir Bernard Brocas would have had a more direct response.

Westminster Abbey

“advanced to Reading in Berkshire which place refusing him admittance, he burnt a part of it and made the rest his quarters”

Posted by Mark at 11:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

“I’ve changed my mind about that pot”, said K moving all the recently planted geraniums over to another container.

At that moment I didn’t mind where there were going. I was half way up a ladder and balanced with one foot on the back fence and wondering just where the people in A and E would be pulling splinters from if it gave way.

I haven’t smelt roofing felt in the sun for many, many years. “Have you done this before then?”, asked K as I sliced off another length from the roll. I had but that was with my father thirty five years ago.

Up close it smells the same and with the sun on my back and my balance a little steadier I close my eyes and drift back all those years.

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It’s not every day you are asked by the waitress to put the amount of the meal into the chip and pin machine but that was probably the better option after her first attempt was £720.

Today K and I went to Brighton to spend a night away by the sea. Amazingly the beach was full by four o’clock of people sitting on the stones sunbathing or enjoying a drink at the seaside cafes and pubs.

There is something about the seaside in summer. Perhaps it was because we were away from home but it really did feel today like we were abroad.

Turning away from the delights of “The Organist Entertains Singalong” at the hotel we wandered around The Lanes before settling on a fish restaurant.

Despite being short handed (and the rudeness of the owner’s son and his mate) we had a very enjoyable meal and a decent bottle of wine.

“Fancy a drink on the house ?”, said the waitress after the trauma of settling the bill.

After that we headed back the hotel to sleep to the sound of seagulls over the pier.

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After the good start we made yesterday at the garden centre today was supposed to be an inspiring visit to a large, formally landscaped garden.

Until we got onto the question of what bird’s name starts with G.

“Gazelle”, said K, “That’s it - or Giselle”.

After that we had to re-programme the satnav to take us to the zoo.

We left still none the wiser what the name of the bird was but very impressed with the tigers…

Posted by Mark at 8:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Ingredients :

• Shopping - done - a visit the the garden centre
• Family - done - long overdue visit to see Karen (I’m surprised the chocolate lasted this long)
• DIY - done - pumped up two sets of bike tyres

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“I’m so very glad you feel it still a home, so many of us come from the village and we like to think we look after it for her”, said the woman in the billiards room.

Small, with immaculately coiffered hair, her voice trailed off before she ventured onto the subject of the National Trust and how they had taken over the house. That was best left unsaid.

Polesden Lacey, however, still does feel like a home. With rooms set out as if you had walked in while Dame Margaret Greville was out walking her dogs around the estate or entertaining royalty on the main lawn the place has a welcoming feel and it’s fitting that the owner and her dogs lie at rest close to the house.

“Have you had lunch ?”, we are asked. “Of course you are a little late to eat at the restaurant now but perhaps next time, or bring a picnic”. Maybe, perhaps, we will.

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At the back of the shop a black man is shouting.

“You are a thief, you did not charge me for that and now I have to spend more money with you to get it setup.”

Eyes and faces are turning and the salesmen at the front of the shop where I am are sensing that, with attentions diverted, sales may soon be lost.

“I’m sorry, we don’t run that part of the shop. We rent it out to another company”, says the man across the counter to me. I’m a pretty easy sale. I know what I want and I want to buy it from them. I’ve bought here before and I like them and they like my money. All I need to do is negotiate a few extras and lower the price a little.

If Martin was doing this dance it would take a lot longer and be a lot more bloody but I have a price in mind and want to get out of London and back home to the promise of the first barbecue of the year.

We stand by the chip and pin machine. “I hope that you didn’t mind the noise”, says the salesman to me. “No but perhaps you need to put up the rent”, I reply.

I walk out wondering just how good the G9 is.

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I like technology, I love gadgets and when they are simple and work first time I’m in heaven.

To get around the WiFi-less dead spot in the front room I recently bought a couple of Powerline ethernet adapters. I was a little skeptical as my WiFi router is on one ring main, the ground floor is on another but I was pleasantly suprised to find that not only did they work but that they both worked on four gang power extensions.

Tonight K and I were at Martin’s having a Thai banquet. “Don’t worry about your PC, I think it’s the firewall and anti-virus I put on it fighting McAfee, it’s a ten minute job”, I told him as the plates were cleared away.

By 11:0 pm I was close to giving up. I’d removed all the software I had provided for them. With McAfee re-installed I tried the parental controls, was shocked to find that the one site I picked it had allowed. But even worse was the fact that it didn’t allow any outbound DNS lookups.

I guess that’s the price you pay for easy to use technology. At some point the IT Gods catch up with you and you find yourself re-installing all the things you just removed….

Posted by Mark at 11:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Behind me the queue stretches back fifteen people.

Ahead of me there are four people, one of whom is propping open the door. I can’t see how many people are inside or just why it’s taking so long.

“I was here in the rain yesterday”, I hear someone say. We had to shelter under there while we waited. Where I was yesterday it didn’t rain it hailed. I’ve only got a suit on and the sky is getting blacker.

A bloke two ahead of me sighs and gives up and I can finally see into the office where people are waiting to pick up undeliverable parcels.

The bloke behind the counter takes the card and with a look of resignation disappears from view. We wait for him to return. We wait, and wait.

The last time I was here there were two people doing this job and through the inner door was an office with green painted racking with numbered cards sicking out in places. That time the card was taken and the postman took a few steps to the book to check the number and a few steps more to the racks, compare the number and back to hand it over to the person waiting.

We wait for the return of the parcel and I watch the people inside. Gone are the green racks and in their place are new pigeon silver holes with barcodes on them. People bustle in and out, use barcode guns and pick up parcels and head off out to their rounds.

We wait for the return of the parcel and all the faces in the queue (well those in the office or at the door who can watch) turn expectantly to the window as a little Mrs Tiggywinkle like lady wanders close to us. She will help ! But no, she stamps a piece of paper and disappears back to her silver pigeon holes.

Our postman returns, “Sorry it was stuck in the last bin right at the end”, he says handing over the parcel. He’s averaging 5 minutes per parcel now, the pace has been picked up.

Outside the reason for the lack of customer parking is becoming clear. Every car belongs to a postman who parks there to load up his car before heading out on their rounds.

I look at my card. There’s a number to call. I try it imagining that I can speak to someone inside and at least get this bloke some help. The number turns out to be a central system with nine options, none of which are complaint lines.

Distention breaks out in the ranks. Cries are raised of, “Why can’t they help ?”, “Who do they work for ?”.

The problem is that they took a working system which looked efficient and replaced it with one person, a long walk, chaos and the impression that there are loads of people behind the scenes who do nothing more than have friendly chats amongst themselves and don’t care about the people queuing in the rain.

Finally I’m at the desk and I hand over my card.

“Any idea what this is ?”, he asks me with a look of resignation.

Postal deliveries by car increasing risk of thefts | UK news | The Guardian

“The security of the Royal Mail is being put at risk by widespread use by postal workers of unauthorised private cars to carry mail on their rounds, the Guardian has learned. Growing numbers of postmen are using their own vehicles to transport postal sacks, placing the bags at risk from thefts and break-ins.

According to the Communication Workers Union, managers at several depots encourage the practice or turn a blind eye in an attempt to meet delivery targets. Even in cases where private car use is authorised, the union says managers often fail to carry out document and risk assessment checks to ensure vehicles are roadworthy and secure.”

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It was fitting that, as a I drove in the rain to work this morning, the voice on the radio was Humphrey Lyttelton.

So, thanks again for the music and for making me laugh so loud that the bloke parking behind me had to do a double take.

You kept me company one last time until the rain stopped (I can never get this right and I’m close to always wearing a coat for the trudge to the office) and reminded me that no matter how confused and bad things seemed Mrs Trellis’s day was often worse than mine.

If you missed the tribute it’s available online here and there is a tribute from the Clue team this Sunday on Radio 4.

Posted by Mark at 10:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Have you got a hobby ? Do you need to carry a piece of paper with your human and civil rights documented on it just in case you get arrested or assaulted by a security guard ?

That’s what more and more photographers (both amateur and professional) are having to do. I’m planning to take my camera into London this weekend and for the first time I will have The UK Photographers Rights Guide with me.

Think that’s paranoid ? Well have a read of what happened to Curly recently :

Sex pictures shock! « Curly’€™s Corner Shop, the blog!

“€œI’€™m sorry sir, this is obviously a terrible misunderstanding, but I suppose you realise that we get more and more of these calls every week these days. I was looking at a bloke‒s camera recently, and I can tell you the pictures weren’€™t the sort that you have taken

What I cannot understand is, you said someone in The Sundial rang 999 and reported me, I haven’t been anywhere near The Sundial, I haven’t been anywhere near the park, you said I was tracked by the CCTV cameras, so you should have known that I’d been in the fairground!

So sorry sir, we have to follow these calls, and may I thank you for being so co-operative. Have a good day sir”

Then check out this video where six security guards and a policemen were usefully engaged stopping a photographer in a public street.

Sadly, this sort of thing is becoming more and more common. Photography is not a crime, the vast number of photographers are law abiding individuals.

If you feel strongly about this issue please find out the name of your MP and write to them.

After all we all have cameras and if this continues we are all a potential threat.

Posted by Mark at 8:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

“More squash ?”, I ask K.

Day one hasn’t been easy. Aside from all the fun of finding the right person at work to solve a problem and in the process roaming the world from east to west and a few points south of the Equator I think we both need time out.

Luckily we have next week off and just need to get through this week and the new, healthy, low calorie regime.

Posted by Mark at 10:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

There’s a really interesting piece over in today’s New York Times comparing the successful photography on Flickr with the fine art photography of past years.

Virginia Heffernan - The Medium - Television - Internet Video - Media - Flickr - Photography - New York Times

“A photography blogger who posts under the name Thomas Hawk is a Flickr regular, and he told me in an e-mail conversation that there is not a single Flickr style. But he conceded that intense postproduction processing is necessary for popularity on the site.”

Perhaps that’s where I’m going wrong, not enough time spent in Photoshop…

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After a warm, sunny day by the sea at Sandbanks all we needed this evening was the sound of the cicadaes to bring back even more memories of Cuba.

Tonight we really were in the presence of musical royalty. On bass Orlando “Cachaito” López whose Uncle Israel “Cachao” López invented mambo music. At 75 years young Cachaito is still touring and is the only musician to have played on every track on every album in the World Circuit Buena Vista Social Club series of CDs. He was featured in the Wim Wenders documentary Buena Vista Social Club and has been a constant member of the late Rubén González’s, and Ibrahim Ferrer’s world-wide touring groups.

Manuel “Guajiro” Mirabal (another spritely 75 year old) featured on trumpet playing just as well as he did when he started his first residency with the Riverside Orchestra at the renowned Tropicana Club in 1960. He is a senior member of both the National Revolutionary Militias ceremonial band and the General Staff band of the Cuban army and has played at many welcome ceremonies for numerous heads of state, gracing the tarmac of Havanas airport with ear-splitting fanfares.

Manuel Galbán, Cuban pianist, organist, and guitarist - the founder of the Havana doo-wop quartet Los Zafiros - featured on guitar with Amadito Valdés playing percussion while Jesus “Aguaje” Ramos (one the babies of the group at a mere 57) played the trombone and lead the band. Barbarito Torres played the laud, a Cuban instrument which is a distant cousin of the lute.

So many of the great names of the Buena Vista Social Club have now sadly passed away but if tonight is anything to go by Cuban music is in safe hands.

If you love and enjoy this music please help to support it by contributing to the Music Fund For Cuba, By doing this not only will you help support young musicians in Cuba but also keep the name of Kirsty MacColl, who first started the fund, alive.

“Culture is an indispensable component of identity and quality of life, because it makes people grow”
Abel Prieto, Cuban Minister for Culture, 2003

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It’s been a sad year for jazz in Britain.

First the loss of George Melly, then the closure of the DAB radio station The Jazz and now the death of Humphrey Littleton.

For almost as long as I can remember there’s been a Humph. In the 1970’s, sitting at the kitchen table, it was his voice on I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue, a programme he chaired until his death. Much like Kenneth Horne on Round the Horne he was the school master straight man at the centre of comic madness evolving around him as he grew into the best of grumpy old men. He missed the last live performance a few days ago but sent a recorded message. “I can’t be with you tonight as I am in hospital. I wish I’d thought of this before”.

A few years later Humph was with me as I drove in my first car to gigs on a Monday night. By then I’d given up the violin as a bad lot and his programme The Best of Jazz was a companion and a guide to the new world of jazz. Sadly he gave up the show recently frustrated by the non-jazz trails that he was later forced to make room for every week in the broadcast.

I guess the world can be divided into two. Those who knew Humph as the guardian of Samantha on I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue, “Samantha does a few chores for an elderly gentleman who lives nearby. She shows him how to use the washing machine and then prunes his fruit trees. Later he’ll hang out his pyjamas as he watches her beaver away up the ladder”, and those he knew him as the jazz musician.

Luckily I knew of both and met and worked with some of his alumni of musicians. My time with people like Bruce Turner and Malcolm Everson were full of tales about Humph. He protected his private life by changing his phone number if someone discovered it and had his house built in the shape of a square with the windows facing in but his love of his music and loyalty to those he saw potential in helped nurture and develop many careers ranging from Helen Shapiro to Stacey Kent. In 2001 he even played with Radiohead, appearing on their track Life In A Glasshouse and performing live with them at Glastonbury.

I guess that sums up a lot about jazz in this country. Despite all the adversity it somehow survives. It appears when you least expect it and in the oddest places. From Humph’s Bad Penny Blues (the only jazz track to make it into the UK singles chart) to Radiohead through to his radio work the very essence of the man was fun and music.

As it currently says on his website :

“As we journey through life, discarding baggage along the way, we should keep an iron grip, to the very end, on the capacity for silliness. It preserves the soul from dessication.

Humphrey Richard Adeane Lyttelton, trumpeter, clarinettist, bandleader, broadcaster, writer, journalist and calligrapher born May 23 1921; died April 25 2008

Posted by Mark at 8:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

The plan had been to go into town for a quiet drink.

Walking back we went past the restaurant and waved at the owner.

One thing led to another and we find ourselves sitting down with some wine and pizza ….

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Me : “What did you have for lunch today ?”

K : “We went out to the pub, but I was good and only had a chicken sandwich”.

Me : “Well that’s low calorie”.

K : “What did you have that needed the frying pan ?”

Me : “Errm toast with black pudding and a fried egg, but I was practicing making fried eggs”.

Something tells me this won’t be easy…

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“If money go before, all ways do lie open.”
The Merry Wives of Windsor, act 2, sc. 2, l. 168-70

Sadly no money went before.

Happy St. George’s Day. If you fancy a holiday on this day in the future sign the petition here.

Posted by Mark at 11:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I have given in to Microsoft.

Since I took this new role I simply have too many things to track on a day by day (and often hour by hour) basis to process them all on paper in a Moleskin with a pen. It’s taken the fun out of sitting with a notebook, thinking about what needs doing and carefully writing it down. The pages I was using for work are a scrawl of crossings out, annotations and colours.

Now I just have the persistent ping of the alert box and a long list of red, angry alerts.

Posted by Mark at 10:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

It’s not every day a man offers you the services of a six foot, white Pegasus.

Then again it’s not every day you get to hear if someone passed their interview at the London College of Fashion. Tonight we were at K’s Aunt’s to meet with family from Australia and with her Uncle Richard who lives closer by and is the proud owner of Pegasus.

For K it’s a trip back fourteen years to meet the Uncle who used to wait up for her to come back from her job at the pub to sit up with her with a cup of tea and a cigarette. All these years later there’s one less smoker but it’s clear from the smiles and laughter that the years haven’t broken that bond.

For Sophie today was the end of long journey from personal statement to application, via the creation of a portfolio and one stressful interview. Now it’s down to the London College of Fashion and their selection process. Her mind’s now on a week in New York and around the kitchen table we all swap favourite restaurants and the best time to see New York from the Empire State Building and just how long it will take to get through Terminal Five.

Of course the easiest way to get there is by Pegasus…

Posted by Mark at 11:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I can’t remember the last time I was at home on a Sunday, let alone home and ironing but after the plans to spend a day in London, visit a gallery, have lunch out and do a little shopping had to be abandoned the only thing left was chores at home….

Posted by Mark at 8:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The problem with visiting a place like Windsor Castle is the number of questions you come away with and the overall sense that you should have paid a lot more attention at school to history.

Just who is the Duke of Albany and why did he get buried in that impressive chapel ?

If Henry VIII is here where is Elizabeth I buried ?

What would this country be like if Charlotte Augusta, another tragic Princess of Wales, had lived, if we never had a Queen Victoria and the Victorian era never existed.

Posted by Mark at 7:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

“I should ask you to put on hard hats”, Enzo said with a wink as he moved the chain across the foot of the stairs.

We’ve had a lot of opportunity to sit and study the Caffe Piccolo recently. After the months behind the builders hoardings it emerged with a clean, uncluttered interior and a cheerful, attentive staff.

There is an understanding that a successful restaurant should have a sense of theatre, be well managed and efficient and the owners of Caffe Piccolo do just that.

Tonight we met the owner Ali and his manager Enzo and found ourselves upstairs admiring the finishing touches to their new wine bar. It looks like it will be as well finished, and as popular, as the restaurant downstairs.

“We had an old couple in here the other day with a picture of this place when it was a snooker club”, said Enzo, getting rather too close to the unprotected stairwell for my liking. I can vaguely recall my Father saying he used to drink here in his youth and I wonder what the next floor up looks like. “I’m going to have an office up there”, Enzo tells me as we walk back downstairs.

“You want some Limoncello ?”, he asks as we settle into the large leather sofa.

“You do fresh sandwiches at lunchtime, don’t you?”, I ask wondering if Enzo will have WiFi.

Posted by Mark at 11:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

“We should do something to celebrate St George’s day, we don’t make enough of our culture”, I said to K as we walked down to Martin’s.

Like all the best plans the whole event was very last minute and a great opportunity to catch up. Things have moved on since the last time Fhai was away. Gone are the “tray specials” which Martin used to cook and he now has broadband (but still no sign of email from him).

Today instead he fed us with Shepard’s Pie, with a Union Flag drawn in the topping with a fork. St George would have been proud.

Posted by Mark at 10:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

A collection of news about the Nation’s favourite store :