The Mysterious Case of Sherlock Cones
Sherlock Holmes once wrote that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?
For the Met Police then, the truth must hurt. My comic book experiences of these 21st century Keystone Cops combined with the public trashing of their reputation, means that however much we hope (in this year of all years) the security of London is entrusted in safe hands, the reality is rather different. Having eliminated the impossible, and considering what remains, one can only conclude that the Met Police are, well, crap.
It hasn’t been a great few years for them has it?
The Police used to be noble public servants upholding the law – now they are above it – or should I say, beneath it. They are wining and dining suspects, enjoying free hospitality at health spas, knocking off the former Home Secretary’s wife, sleeping with campaigners (what I call ‘deep’ cover) and banging out sprogs whilst padding their pensions with jobs at National Newspapers.
In the halcyon days it was ‘Evening Officer’, today it’s ‘Is that a truncheon in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me officer?’
Their track record of shooting innocent people on the streets of London (one man with a chair leg, another in a taxi, a Brazilian electrician, even a drunken barrister) means that if I get caught up in a Mumbai style terrorist attack in a London hotel, I’d rather take my chances with the terrorists than risk it with a trigger happy shoot-to-kill Met Police officer.
Even if that means purchasing an on the spot Islam conversion kit and prayer matt.
As I present my case for the prosecution, let me furnish you with some examples:
1) As former Counter Terrorism Commander Andy (‘Cor blimey gov!’) Hayman proved, you don’t have to be thick to be a policeman, but it certainly helps. Amusing and terrifying in equal measure, his hilarious side-splitting performance in front of the House of Commons Select Committee blended the mock outrage of ‘I cant believe you asked me that’ with the kind of intelligence normally found in ponds. Apparently he is now gainfully employed staging children’s parties.
2) Are we slipping into a Police state? Hell no. We are already there. They trawl our Facebook pages, emails and telephone calls. A nation of innocent people now presumed guilty. So much for Habeas Corpus and the rule of law. Forget Iran or North Korea – try staging a gathering at Buck Palace and witness a response that even ‘President Iveadinnerjacket’ might baulk at.
3) The Police are now so brave that they have taken to kettling children at protests without food, water or toilets. We love our kids so much – cue ‘we act in the child’s best interests’ mantra – that we lock more children up than any other country in Western Europe. Thank god we are protected from these evil children by this thick blue line.
4) My experiences alone are testament to what we now know. In 2006 Rebecca Wade then Editor of the Sun was contacted by the Met with a gossamer thin story saying elements within F4J were plotting to kidnap Tony Blair’s son Leo. The story could only run with the approval of the Blairs and No10. The story was of course a complete fabrication. There were no names published and no arrests made but for the story to appear it involved criminal malfeasance on the part of the Met and revealed the menage-a-trois relationship at the heart of the establishment. If the story had been true, you would never have heard of it – in the same way the Blair’s prevented publication of the story that their daughter Katherine had tried to commit suicide at her Hammersmith School in 2004. You won’t have read that anywhere in print – they put a D Notice on my 2007 F4J book removing that paragraph.
5) Later, the Met said that on the State Opening of Parliament one year ‘they couldn’t guarantee my personal safety if I was in London’ on that day. Since then they have harassed and hounded me to the point I started making ice creams named after them, ‘Chocland Yard’, ‘The Custardy Suite’ and ‘Lemony of the State’.
They sent Counter Terrorism Command down to see me in Hampshire and labeled me an ‘extremist’ to which I replied ‘I am not an extremist, I am an Icecreamist’. (Thanks for the name boys, you aren’t entirely useless).
They later upgraded me to ‘terrorist’. What am I going to do? Make an Ice Cream Bombe so they have to evacuate hundreds and thousands?
And they like my ice cream so much they keep popping into an ice cream store in London looking for me. Odd really considering they know where my wife lives, it wouldn’t surely require huge powers of deduction to join the dots and realise that I might possibly live with her.
Either that or they’re after a loyalty card. Of course, with so much material to work with it seems only right and fitting I acknowledge their efforts with flavours named in their honour.
6) At my last meeting in Scotland Yard in 2010, they said (and I quote verbatim) that my name was above the late Osama Bin Laden’s when it came to being a national security risk and that they paid ‘stakeholders’ and ‘information resources’ to collect intel on me. Sod it I said, I need the money. Give it to me and I’ll tell you what I’m up to.
7) Finally, when I was trying to negotiate our last gathering at Buck Palace, I agreed to meet one of their commanders at the Savoy Hotel. I might get into trouble for saying this, but she looked more like a Kiss-a-gram than a Gold Commander, dressed as she was in a cocktail dress and fishnet stockings at 10.00am in the morning. However, by using my finely tuned powers of deduction I concluded that she must have been a real Police Officer. A Kiss-a-gram would have arrived in full uniform.
Who knows whether she was planning on going ‘deep cover’ with me if negotiations had carried on in a horizontal position in a suite upstairs, but in true News of the World fashion I made my excuses and left. Lets face it, imagine the nightmare scenario of having a love child with a Gold Commander or Kiss-a-gram? Or both? (I should stress those days are a decade behind me!)
I’m hoping to pick up the trail again when she appears as a witness at our trial on May 18th and Mrs O cross examines her.
So there you have it. The Mystery at the Met continues. It sounds like a case for a new super sleuth; Sherlock Cones, Licensed to Chill.
Matt O’Connor, 24/2/12