Happy Summer

The blog is going on holiday, while I toil away on www.accessinterviews.com and other stuff. Do feel free to join me there.

Until I see you again, along the way...

Love All

The grace, humility and sheer excellence in the face of extreme pressure displayed by Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer was nothing short of awe inspiring.

I watched every minute, fidgeting from the sofa, to my feet, to the floor, anxiously willing Nadal to do it. I had been in pretty much the same state the day before cheering on Laura Robson through dewy eyes.

Ah, the heart-lifting innocence of her victory and the titanic triumph of Nadal's makes the world seem a better place. Anything suddenly seems possible when you see such personal fortitude in these young, brave people.

But it is the manner in which they both won - and how Federer took defeat - that is the brightest beacon. Such modesty and respect for their competitors - how rare it is see such qualities in our public figures. Arrogant celebrities with wafer thin talents and mendacious, vain political leaders should all have looked on in shame at these tennis stars.

My weekend of loving the world that bit more was rounded off sweetly just as Nadal collected the trophy; "The Inspector" called again with an up-date on my little complaint.

Well after 9pm on a Sunday, this fine gentleman was grafting away for the good of the nation. "Really sorry, but would you mind calling back? I'm just watching Nadal get the cup...?", I asked. "No, problem at all, sir." Blimey, what a diamond.

We chatted later and - after I had given him a match report - he informed me that he had discussed the matter with Snell's superior officer and she had been hauled in, along with her side-kick (Mick Lomax) and they were both carpeted for breaching various regulations and for generally being obnoxious in their duty. (Lomax has "gruff attitude" form, it would seem).

"Would I like to take the matter further?" No, I said. I like to think that these coppers are doing good work in general, so I would not like to wilfully blot their records. A bollocking is enough for me, thanks. "That is very big of you, if I may say so, sir," he said. Well, there you have it. Case closed.

The tennis proves there is much to celebrate in life, so I am moving on. Very big, I know.



ps: what a picture of misery Gwen Stefani struck in Federer's private box of supporters. I had the misfortune of trying to interview her a couple of years ago. She was pleasant enough but as dull as you get in my game. Now I see that she is not even moved by the greatest game of tennis, I will no longer berate myself for failing to get anything of interest from her. When we met not even a cattle prod would have woken her from her monosyllabic, jet lagged stupor.

Catch me if you can

Another day, another battle to fight. Yawn.

I wouldn't want you to think I go looking for trouble, or that I'm some sort of aspiring vigilante, or worse, a dedicated Mr Grump recently regenerated from the Victor Meldrew misery mould, but I'm buggered if I am going to live a life blindly turning the other cheek while the inconsiderate bastards of the world run roughshod over our daily lives.

The Scene: 8.30am this morning, I am getting into the car outside my home. A white van pulls up, a bloke with a blood-burst face in his late 50s steps out, hobbles a few paces then angrily hurls a poly-wrapped magazine in the direction of my front door. It lands in a puddle near the bins. I quickly retrieve it and see that it is my weekly edition of Press Gazette.

I chase after him. "Excuse me, do you reckon that's the right way to deliver this magazine?"

"Yeah. I'm double parked...it's a fucking nightmare here, what else am I'm gonna do?"

"So it's going to sit there all day in the rain, until I get home?"

"Yeah," he said getting back into the van.

"Er, I know the people who run this mag. The least you could do it put it through the letter box - like you are paid to do. Can I have your name?"

"Nah. Fuck off. I've got enough fucking problems..." Cue the screech of an engine and the burst of fumes. An absolute delight to make your acquaintance.

Now, do I forget about it and forgive this poor unhappy chap for the off day he is clearly having? Life really is hard enough, we all know. Or do I shop him to the hard-working, decent owner of the magazine who pays tens of thousands a year to the "courier" company that employs such an oik?

I'm not keen on being a sneak, but I think we all have a duty to help sift out the objectionable, useless grime that pollute the service industry.

One day it's the police, the next it's the courier business. I know, I am emerging as something of a Super (Local) Hero. It's not easy, but someone's got to do it.

Tomorrow: motorbikes.

Arghhhhhhh!

An Inspector Calls

Following the surge of interest in my 'interaction' with an officer of London's Met Police, I have an up-date and some interesting information for anyone troubled by such issues.

Powered by the energy of thousands of global readers connecting with my trifling strife with woman "officer" Snell (No: TL7449), I cranked up the one man revolution and took it to my local cop shop. The desk sergeant quickly informed me that a complaint against the police can only be dealt with by an Inspector - and the one Inspector for the borough was not available. He was in with the "Chief". Oh, OK, do get him to call me, thank you. I left not expecting to hear anything too soon.

After a stroll through the sales - Joseph, Conran, Harrods - I headed back, empty-handed, to HQ at the gasworks to continue developing the empire. Then the phone rang out: an Inspector called.

I will not provide his name, but suffice to say that our ensuing 25 minute conversation helped reaffirm my life-long belief that the police are, in the main, good and fair and deserve our support. This chap was open, articulate, understanding and wise.

Inspector X listened to my little tale and agreed whole-heartedly that I had a worthy complaint. It was not piffle, he said, but important for all concerned to get these things right. He was aghast at the conduct of the officer and lambasted her as "arrogant" "not good enough" and "infantile". "This is not the way we should be treating people and is not of the high standards that we expect" he added.

More importantly Insp X outlined a few facts that you all might find worth knowing:

1. It is most definitely NOT against the law to take a photo of a policeman in the UK. "We should carry on our duty irrespective of how many cameras flash away."

2. There is no law to say that you MUST give a policeman your name and address if they stop you. It is only required if you are suspected of an offence.

3. He revealed that the "Stop and Account" forms are likely to be scrapped in the coming months because they are unpopular with the police and proving counter productive in terms of public relations. Yep, they sure are.

4. Snell is not - as she claimed to me - a fully loaded police woman. Although full time, she is in fact a Community Support Officer (The number "7" in front of an officer's lapel code denotes this).

5. Most interestingly, Snell acted improperly by demanding to look through my phone files. This constitutes a "Search" and in her Support Officer capacity she does NOT hold the power to do this without instruction and observation by a PC. At the time of looking at my phone, her colleague (a proper copper) was busy "busting" the cyclist.

OK, so where does all this lead? Well, Inspector X was happy to relay an official complaint to the West End police where Snell is based, which would ultimately lead to her getting bollocked. Or, he suggested he personally haul her in and do it himself. "I could get her in, no problem, and shout at her, then let you know how it goes," he said. Oh, how civilised. "It might be that this is one of a number of complaints and might be the hair that breaks the camel's back..."

Well, there you have it. The obnoxious, officious, small-minded Snell is in the doo-da. The police, G'awd bless 'em, are on to her. They are there to fight for us I'm sure, even if it doesn't always feel like it.

I will report back. The 'Not Guilty One of Oxford Street' is nearly free.

Thought for today: anyone but Murray.

To Snell and Back

My recent 'interaction' with a particularly small-minded and supercilious officer (WPC Snell) in the Met's bicycle regiment has caused quite a spin on the internet. Since it was picked up by a kindly reader called "Chakalakasp" and linked on Reddit, the traffic to this blog has rocketed beyond all recognition.

It is clear that matters of police over-reaction and the wilful shattering of our civil liberties causes consternation around the globe. It is now a month since the incident and I regretfully confess that I have been slow to make an official complaint. Time assuages the injustice, as does indeed the attrition of getting on with life; basically, my time has been consumed by single-handedly running Access Interviews.com, trying - and failing - to move home in a collapsing British housing market, and dealing with the joys - and worries - of imminent fatherhood. My desire to take on the police and government has withered.

But I should be ashamed of my inaction. Trifling matters such as making a little life and a living are no excuses to delay the revolution. Certainly, the issues I raised in that blog are important and no revolution was won by basically lumping it and soldiering on.

The actions of police like Snell are the splinter at the thin end of a very nasty, giant wedge that will adversely affect our lives for generations. Hence, I will head to my local cop station tonight, bolstered by those thousands of readers, to lodge my complaint. I shall report back. Onwards into battle...!