No More.

Thanks to all of you who asked if there was more to come, sorry, this is the first time I’ve even logged on for seems like an age…

But to answer your question, No… there isn’t.

I’m off at the moment, injured by some pissed up pond life shit head. So i may be on to read some stuff now and again… but as for blogging… I just don’t have the time or the inclination anymore… and I wish you all the very best and respect you all.

Bye and thanks TUPC – this blog will shut down in a few days!

 (I hope that cheers you up you dispicable little rodent, yes you, you know who I mean, the freakish loner with a fettish for masturbating bile onto everyones blogs, and then getting off on the fact that you think anything you spew in anonymous-land is even considered…. you abject loser…. It would kill me if I found out I ended up sat in this cast because I stepped in to help a prime scum pile such as you, I hope and pray I didn’t and no one ever does!)

The Games People Play

Busy week… here’s a repeat of a post from 2006.

Lesson one. Social Economics.

I was talking the other day, to a couple of thieves, as you do. (Well you do in My/our line of work), Its amazing how unashamed they can be sometimes and the pathetic thing is, I kind of understand these creatures. Unemployable, Untrustworthy, Un-Everything really.

It reminds of when I was back at school. That’s training school, I never stole a thing at real school, only at training school.

The day I got caught was a warm sunny day, and we had been called to a hall to conduct an exercise.
There we were, fresh faced, and ready for anything.
So you can imagine our raised eyebrows when the instructor gave us all, one Gold counter, three Blue counters, and half a dozen Red counters.

“No kicking in doors then staff? “


Then came the rules. “Two blues equal a gold. Three reds equal a blue. Trading begins now…. off you go then…”

Trading begins, against the clock. I move amongst my peers, a take a risk, I swap all my reds for two blues, and I’m in the middle of a big gamble to change those blues to Gold when the buzzer sounds, and I’m stranded, one blue left….NOOOOOOOOooooooooo!

Round Two, and I’m desperate to get more counters before the buzzer, so I gamble again, but all I can do is get more reds…. REDS? I don’t want reds… I want gold….. So I gamble again… a Blue, Then the Buzzer. Damn.

Then the crippler. We divide into Three groups, The ones with a lot of counters. The ones with a few counters. And the ones with very few counters. And there I am, in the bottom group. Scarcely a worthwhile counter to trade with. I could kick myself.

Then the twist. “the Top group makes a rule” says the instructor with a sneer.

So they decide that the bottom group (me) can’t trade with the top group (them). Off we go, and now, even the middle group won’t touch us. We’re worthless, we have only a paltry amount of counters to trade and we’re a waste of their valuable time.

Then I see it…. Its just sat there on the window shelf. The box, with all the spare counters. I look around, I look back. Its full of gold coins. Brimming with them, oozing with imagined wealth. No ones looking. I think to myself, just a couple of gold counters, and I’m out of the this desperate plight. Out of the Losers group. I could bounce up to the middle group, that would do… but no, I’m greedy, I’ve set my sights higher. So in a delve. A fistful of gold counters just as the buzzer goes… YES! I finish in the top group, I’m a winner!

Then I’m told. In fact I’m shown it on the secret video. My hand in the box, grasping desperately for my way out. Bang to rights! Captured!

I wasn’t the only one who took from the box. Oh no… everyone in the lower group stole from the box. None of us wanted to be losers. No one does. We all wanted to be better than the next man…. better than our talents allowed, we wanted what others had. And because we lacked the opportunity, the drive, the whatever it is we needed to succeed, we all, each and everyone of us, stole to get it.

I’ve never forgotten that day!

Sign of the Times.

To the world, the disused railway bank is empty and calm. No sign of the hell to be soon unleashed on its sun baked weeds. I’m well hidden here,  entrenched on a verge, head deep in the undergrowth. My chest heaves and all I can hear is my breathing, my heart pounding as I try to silence my body. The smell of the reed-grass redolent and rich as it tickles my face.

I chance a glance to my right and Vince is there too. Red faced and puffing. The crawl from the rendezvous point was exhausting and hot. He’s lying flat, his cheek pushed into the dry earth. I place a finger to my lips telling him to stay still with nothing more than an indication.

We can’t see them, but just over the ridge they lie in wait, just like us. I know they are there… I can sense it. Deep in the grass, waiting for the first sign of attack.

I signal to Vince…. ready? He nods in agreement, and passes the nod down the line to Peter and Clive who are crouched behind the trunk of a great Oak bristling with rich green leaves.

I lift my gun, I don’t know it…. but I will, one day…. its a Heckler and Koch G3, designed in the 50’s by the Spanish. Vince has a Famas, 1946 design famed by the French Army for decades…. Peter has a Remington bolt action single shot rifle and poor old Clive is holding a stick.

I pick myself up and sprint to the top of the bank, weapons to bear as we spill onto the old railway line in a single line….shouting as I lead the charge, running hard and leaping over the edge without fear…. and we have them…. five prostrate forms in the undergrowth…. the look of surprise as we unload bullet after bullet into them… slaughtering them with round after round… the mid-day sky shattered with the chatter of machine gun fire and explosions!

“Piow, piow!” I shout, closely followed by a rasping “Brrrrraa! Brrrraa!” as I fire round after round into a hapless Stuart Robinson… a German for the day. Yesterday he was an American just like me. I look at Clive who lobs his second invisible grenade, the explosion is huge and Paul Smith and Jason Durkin play along, leaping up to their feet the hurl themselves back down again in a faux slow motion death, rolling down the bank faster than their tears of laughter on their cheeks! Clive finishes them off with a few dozen rounds from his stick as we retreat back up the hill. We don’t take prisoners. We execute them all. Victorious again, the battle for Dead Frog Hill is over and the Americans, although we were a warrior short with only four of us, win the day! I’m 10 years old.

30 years later, I’m sat in a car waiting for a Duty Officer. The call sounded so bad that the Armed Response Unit have been called and they are on their way. That might be my future, but for now I have to form an RVP, obtain Tactical Advice, and begin an Armed Operation Record. Then the tell-tale clue comes in. Updated intelligence on the man in the park with a MAC-10 machine gun. The man is not a man at all. He’s an 8 year old boy.

I make a judgement. I decide to drive into the street.

“Do you know where Johnny Blogs lives?” I ask an inquisitive group of 9 year old Ronaldos.

Then I approach the house where they pointed. I two storey new build in sand coloured brick, heaving under the weight of the satellite dish.

Sandy answers, and I ask her to fetch little Johnny home.

“Why” she says,

“Cos he’s waving a MAC-10 at people”

“Whats a MAC-10”

“It’s a gun”

“Oh its plastic”

“I guessed that, can you get him or not?”

She phones him on his mobile ….. 8 years old?…. a mobile? oh well.

5 minutes later, still no Armed Response, in comes little Johnny, a MAC-10 held gangsta stylee in his right hand. I explain our call to all.

Then I hear Grandma before I see her. Walking in the back door.

“Fackin old Bill! They Ave fack all else to do, so they make a facking song and dance abaht a kid wiv a fackin shoota from the paaaaaarnd shop!! what a bunch of wan….”

She stops as she enters the room. Because I’m holding a MAC-10 up towards her.

“Fackin ell!” she yells eloquently. “You nearly killed me there of an ‘art attack”

“Well you bought it madam, if your scared of it, imagine how someone else might feel, before we knew this was in the hands of an 8 year old we were going to tear gas your daughters pretty little maisonette.”

I think I made my point.


Mock the Weak

I thought this was a funny one….. amusing observations welcome.

This was troll boys latest email to me…. (one of simply hundreds that usually don’t see print) but need I say more….?  comments on this troll are welcome….

Its not a competition…. it’s just for laughs!

(Ps. Nothing edited! this is his own rant)

… nah

People who have their own blogs are just train spotters at heart. Control freaks, a bit anal – and no real authority and feel undervalued out there in the real world.

Don’t you think?

Bit of a let down for you though eh?, that apart from a couple of your buddies with blogs of their own – comments such as this one are the only attention or activity that gets sent our way.

Not quite the open forum of hot debate and mass camaraderie for people on the job that you envisaged at the start.

Is it?

Book deal not come through yet either?

.. just a parting point for you to consider: The other week, over on “nightjacks” blog, a lot of posts appeared with your silly “nom de plume” on them . They described this up and coming relaunched site and told everyone that hey had to register in order to contribute.

Eventually “You ” had quite a dialogue going with a couple of people and “your” side of the conversations were pompous, obnoxious , acerbic, short-tempered, posturing and pretentious and ridiculously belligerent ….

… and not one damned person- including nightjack himself – thought they were talking to anyone other than the real TUPC

Kind of tells you something?

Do you think anyone really believed you when you tried to say that they were written by another?


Laters ! :))

Lost Prohpets

I’ve never been a proper fan of the Federation if I’m honest…. I think the politest thing I’ve referred to them as over the years is the Toothless Tiger.

However in fairness, I do believe despite their impotence, they do try their best to get their, (ahem, our) point across. I’ve had good and bad experiences at local level from representation but fortunately never had to deal with anyone further up the Fed Ladder.

Something I’m actually glad about. I’m still not a fan. Something major would need to change for that to change.

That said..

Jan Berry retires this month. So “bye bye, good luck and happy retirement.”

Now we watch the rise and rise of the self servers who wish to fill her shoes!


I was tagged to ask my Favourite book and why…..

I figure that the “why” is rather subjective, so I’ve listed my top 5 (That I can remember)…. for no reason other than I can… and yes, they are in order of preference.

1. Birdsong – Sebastian Faulks

2. American Psycho – Bret Easton Ellis

3. The Lord of The Rings – J.R.R. Tolkien

4. Making History – Stephen Fry

5. A Bridge Too Far – Cornelelius Ryan (Non Fiction)

Of course there could be hundreds more….  But these are simply brilliantly written.

Under Siege

 I knew dealing with an armed man shooting at people in the street would be the fault of the police eventually…. but It’s only taken a day to blame us this time…                    I had a very brief chat with some of the guys involved on the perifory of the big job the other day, then saw this article.

I know it is impossible to fathom a fathers grief, so I lay no blame on his question why Mark was shot even if it’s blatantly obvious to everyone else, and there’s probably only one person who will ever know why Mark took the course of action that he did, and he’s no longer with us.

However, We (Thats the Royal we) do not go out in search of a kill! Yet there’s lots of information to suggest Mark did. Even if it meant himself. He also had the means to do it, and to be honest, from the accounts I’ve heard, he tried.

I’ll say no more because unlike Deborah Coles (Of Inquest) who seems to assume its another trigger happy slaughtering, we just don’t know and maybe won’t know why he did what he did…. but I’ve a feeling the news isn’t too far from the truth on this one…. There was a temporarilly derranged male on the loose with a gun, and the right people were in the right place to do what had to be done.

Spare a thought for the guys who were doing their job.

Thats all I ask.

By the way This article is far more balanced!