From the Cradle to the Grave; 2 examples from over 600 courts cases and 250 films.
1. Derrick James Davies:
Christmas time 1998, I take a telephone call from Leyton Police CID. They have information that a local warehouse is holding counterfeit products like videos. It was new ground to them and the DC wanted to know what I, as Team Leader in Trading Standards could do. The first thing I did was to discretely drive around the address a unit in a large industrial estate, and I did not wear a suit.
I then applied for a search warrant at the local magistrates court with reason to believe offences were being committed . In other instances further surveillance is possible, but there is always the danger of spooking the target or being spotted by friendly neighbours. So surveillance has to be timed for maximum impact minimal use. Even so with the best intelligence gathering, it is more or less impossible to know what is behind that door, if the public at large do not have access and one cannot pose as a mystery shopper agent provocateur to see the lay out.
Every raid is mounted at dawn or a time when the target will be busy. There can be no guarantees the target will be there. Vehicles can be identified parked outside , but if luck is not on the side of law enforcement, the target could be having a cup of tea round the corner or going to the dentist etc etc. The best laid plans………….
Also these raids are multi-agency. Police and Trading Standards combined. Police have the power to arrest, Trading Standards the expertise in this instance. So field teams have to be briefed as to the building, their stations, individual responsibilities and what we anticipate. Also there is a question of logistics and manpower.
At 11 am 8th December 1998, two teams approached the warehouse, one to the back door down an alleyway and one to the front entrance. I led the front door charge with a video camera recording and holding the warrant. I had 3 officers, the Police had 5 plain clothes detectives.
As I opened the front door there were the inevitable shouts from the occupants, as I announced our identities and our mission. The scene we met were we totally unprepared for. We had stumbled on the biggest production of counterfeit designer wear this country had known. There were computerised sewing machines embroidering 52 brands onto garments. Any name you could imagine, Addidas, Nike, Versace, Hugo Boss, the list was endless. So was the stock. Hundreds of thousands of garments in production and in store. Downstairs was the showroom, shelves bedecked with counterfeit goods, even perfume and champagne. Upstairs were the women at the machines and conveyor belts. Who was in charge, well no body of course. All the staff remained silent. All were arrested and taken to Leyton Police Station in a conveyor belt of white Transit vans. That occupied all the cells at that Police Station. Most importantly Derrick was arrested running out the back door as we came in the front. Derrick was the most aggressive swearing individual I have ever met. Subsequent enquiries revealed his family were connected to the Kray Twins. Derrick professed to being just the delivery driver he delivered boxes , just boxes. But in his haste Derrick left vital clues. An address book full of contacts for “badges”, “tshirts”, “booze”, “buttons”. He also left handwriting, notes, calculations, an iou book. This was to prove his downfall later in court as forensic hand writing analysis proved that his documents in his name, were written by the same person as these business documents.
Derrick when interviewed would have none of it. All the official records of renting the warehouse were in false names and addresses, as was the telephone. 150,000 garments and 10 machines were confiscated and vans had to be hired and another warehouse to store and sort this vast amount of stock for analysis by the true brand owners. Derrick was also a cash merchant, so he left no trace there either. Any credit cards he took out, he would use for short periods either to withdraw cash balances and then not repay , or on trips to Las Vegas or Harrods on Valentines Day.
The Crown Court Case lasted 2 weeks. Derrick was charged with the Common Law offence of conspiracy, to defraud brand owners. I spent 4 days in the witness box, 3 of them under cross examination. However that was not until Derrick had skipped bail from the first court date and took the first Easy Jet flight from Luton Airport to his Villa in Majorca. I then had to liaise with Interpol to ask the Spanish Police to extradite him. But Derrick was on the run and 2 years after his initial arrest he was arrested again by Regional Crime Squad in a sting operation for importation of drugs. So Derrick was now in custody. Interestingly enough he got off the drugs case, saying he was just the driver !
In 2003 he was given the longest sentence for any brand counterfeiter 5 years. Though Derrick spent his money on a champagne life style, he lost his Mansion in Essex, cars & vans and aVilla in Spain, as assets in proceeds of crime. They were sold for the benefit of the State. Derrick also got divorced to try to keep his bricks and mortar and put everything in the wife’s name, but that was not accepted by the court.
The happy ending to this story is that there are charities that take these seized garments and machinery after the court case. They de logo the offending marks and are able to clothe the needy.
2. Johnny Morris:
In 1991 Thermastor, was Britain’s’ 2nd largest double glazing company. Margaret Thatcher was on TV being shown the Peterborough factory by one of her captain’s of industry Johnny Morris. Then in the late spring at my BBCTV Watchdog desk I read a small paragraph in the financial pages stating they had gone bust for £21m. It smelt dodgy to me, and I started making telephone calls. I met the receivers, who chose to come clean and announce their concerns.
I also chatted to the 2 ex members of staff who were left manning the telephone at the old factory. They gave me the keys to Johnny Morris’s office. His filing cabinet was like an Aladdin’s cave full of incriminating evidence.
Morris had written to all his customers asking for the balances on installation to be paid up front even up to and including the day he went into liquidation. That’s is fraudulent trading. He also had no hope of making the windows as his suppliers had not been paid and had foreclosed on delivering materials. He had also used company funds to add to the splendour of his Oxshott mansion. He also had paperwork for a phoenix company to arise from the ashes of Thermastor to carry on, even a cold calling telephone script to contact potential customers in the new business name. .
It was easy to find and film interview countless customers who had lost their life savings, double glazing does not come cheap. There were also a queue of supplier creditors including the printing firm that had worked on the new phoenix company paperwork. These unpaid suppliers were now in danger of going to the wall too, after the collapse of Thermastor for £21m.
Morris was doorstepped by me and a film crew, with a group of his customers as he arrived for the creditor’s meeting. In the interests of balance, he was given ample opportunity to state his case, and he did try to bluff his way out of it on camera.
After the half hour expose, on peak time BBC1, the files were handed over to the Serious Fraud Office, for his conviction. However the money had all gone.
Monday, 27 April 2009
BBC1 but this is 2
This is the BBC.
the story continues.........still BBC1 not BBC2 although this is number 2 following number 1, confused you will be……..
I got into the BBC because I had contacts as a former Trading Standards Officer and Investigative techniques. BBC does not really employ investigators so I was a unique animal. The change from having a team of officers to being on my jack jones took some getting used to. Also I no longer had a warrant card or statutory powers. But I soon learned that people would tell me things anyway. Sometimes it was in a brown paper envelope, other times they would be interviewed, even on camera. Of course everything had to be substantiated, else on the balance of probabilities I and Aunty Beeb could get sued for libel. But we had to show balance and did not have to prove beyond all reasonable doubt. Some stories came direct from the victim, others through the authorities who had drawn a blank. When you are in law enforcement, some things are wrong but not illegal, but the public don’t understand. When you are in TV the wrong things that are not illegal should be and hence the story.
One story I did about BSM was put on hold for a week after the BBC lawyers said I had to talk to more than 25 ex instructors. The following week we met and they asked me how many, I said 600 is that enough. They grinned. Those were the days my friend, BSM were very hostile, refused an interview, and were taking full page ads in the Telegraph, Times and Guardian about me and the Beeb saying it was all lies lies and more damn lies. The Editor David Lloyd and I went to stage our own Press conferences to counter the BSM propaganda. Lloydy was very happy, he had never had such a high profile. The ex public school boy with the same haircut was full or pomp and circumstance.
I even made his cricket team, that was the Beeb in those days, cucumber sandwiches, Pimms and Cricket, though they could not get me out, and I had to retire to let someone else bat, that was not cricket old chap to stay in for hours !!! It’s not the winning it’s the taking part, sod that for a game of soldiers even cricketers. When we fielded once the Deputy Editor hit me for six once, so next ball I charged down and put every ounce of effort in the delivery, and caught and bowled him to me great obvious delight. Now now Allan.
I remember a summer party at Frank Bough's house, we had a proper cricket match on his garden, yes it was that big on the banks of the river Thames. And when the cricket was over Sue Nix and I sat by the river, I always called her Sue no Knicks, she was beautiful.
What had BSM done I here you bib and sound your horn. Well the law allows driving instructors to learn their trade while they teach their pupils to drive. But they have to be supervised by qualified tutors. BSM in the mid eighties were masters at deception. They fooled Dept of Transport Inspectors into thinking dead instructors were still alive and not only kicking but driving.... out on a lesson, also instructors who had emigrated to Canada were still on the books and conducting lessons in Chiswick London W4 according to BSM. Well I have heard of commuting and getting on yer bike for a job, but really transatlantic flights for a one hour lesson, I don’t think so, never mind the jet lag sitting behind the dashboard of a Metro.
So for the 3 days before transmission I worked 22 hours a day, then the 6th Floor came to view the film that was making all, the headlines before it had been seen. The 6th Floor were the big BBC bosses and we all had to stand to attention. So the programme went out, and so did Jacobs the Chairman , who was also treasurer of the Liberal Party, whose Peers had blocked new legislation that BSM did not like. So BSM now closed down branches and became a franchise, and, oh the laws they were blocking got passed.
Pooped , yes I was, but adrenaline keeps you going.
Too pooped to party though, but the BBC did have some wonderful memorable parties where we would all sing Hey Jude for the final 30 minutes at some exotic location. I normally did the music which helped, as far as I was concerned, but these events were tremendous for loyalty, morale and camaraderie.
A film was always made for the Christmas party. These days I spend Christmas parties on my own with left hand pulling the cracker with my right hand. But at the Beeb, one film I made was about the Editor Nick Hayes on Watchdog. He was still a hippy in the 80s, curly hair that had not seen a brush since he was born and he was now 30 something. Beard too, floppy jumper and corduroy trousers and trainers.
So for the film I donned a wig a floppy jumper trainers and corduroys. I became Nick Hayes his double.
Now Nick had justgot his driving licence, late in life and to everyone’s astonishment he bought his first car and what was it…………..
that’s right a Porsche !! We went to Scarborough once, not for a fair but a conference. I felt every cat’s eye on the Motorway as passenger in the Porsche on its maiden voyage, bought with the proceeds from the divorce settlement. Not as bad as Sarah Spiller driving though, the wipers would be on double speed, and the SUN WAS SHINING. Lovely Sarah she used to put the wipers on to demist the windscreen, she didn’t realise they WERE ON THE OUTSIDE !!! You can see why I normally drove now can’t you. Another Spiller story she parks the hire car overnight in an NCP car park in Birmingham. Next morning at the hotel, “where is the car Sarah”. “Oh it’s at the NCP car park”, “Which one”, the multi-story one”, “they are all multi-story”. So for the next hour we wander around Birmingham City centre looking for a car park with a “twirly bit to get in”, then “what floor” “errrrrrr”, so 6 floors later we find it. Now you know why I generally drove !!!
So back to the plot………..Christmas time filming for the party premiere , the Nick double at the bus stop hand request goes out bus zooms passed, as they do.
But the funniest thing was we took his keys one day, drove his light blue Porsche with 87 learners plates stuck all over it, and in one scene Nick is watching this film at the party completely oblivious to what the film was about, and he sees a car like his, going through frame backwards then forwards, then backwards again, then kangaroo style, hazard lights on then indicating right and turning left. It was sooooooooooooo funny seeing his face , smiling at first then he saw the number plate, and he realised IT WAS HIS CAR, he he ha ha.
2 years later I still had my job, and he made me Deputy Editor, he he ha ha………..party time.
To be continued stay tuned to this channel,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
the story continues.........still BBC1 not BBC2 although this is number 2 following number 1, confused you will be……..
I got into the BBC because I had contacts as a former Trading Standards Officer and Investigative techniques. BBC does not really employ investigators so I was a unique animal. The change from having a team of officers to being on my jack jones took some getting used to. Also I no longer had a warrant card or statutory powers. But I soon learned that people would tell me things anyway. Sometimes it was in a brown paper envelope, other times they would be interviewed, even on camera. Of course everything had to be substantiated, else on the balance of probabilities I and Aunty Beeb could get sued for libel. But we had to show balance and did not have to prove beyond all reasonable doubt. Some stories came direct from the victim, others through the authorities who had drawn a blank. When you are in law enforcement, some things are wrong but not illegal, but the public don’t understand. When you are in TV the wrong things that are not illegal should be and hence the story.
One story I did about BSM was put on hold for a week after the BBC lawyers said I had to talk to more than 25 ex instructors. The following week we met and they asked me how many, I said 600 is that enough. They grinned. Those were the days my friend, BSM were very hostile, refused an interview, and were taking full page ads in the Telegraph, Times and Guardian about me and the Beeb saying it was all lies lies and more damn lies. The Editor David Lloyd and I went to stage our own Press conferences to counter the BSM propaganda. Lloydy was very happy, he had never had such a high profile. The ex public school boy with the same haircut was full or pomp and circumstance.
I even made his cricket team, that was the Beeb in those days, cucumber sandwiches, Pimms and Cricket, though they could not get me out, and I had to retire to let someone else bat, that was not cricket old chap to stay in for hours !!! It’s not the winning it’s the taking part, sod that for a game of soldiers even cricketers. When we fielded once the Deputy Editor hit me for six once, so next ball I charged down and put every ounce of effort in the delivery, and caught and bowled him to me great obvious delight. Now now Allan.
I remember a summer party at Frank Bough's house, we had a proper cricket match on his garden, yes it was that big on the banks of the river Thames. And when the cricket was over Sue Nix and I sat by the river, I always called her Sue no Knicks, she was beautiful.
What had BSM done I here you bib and sound your horn. Well the law allows driving instructors to learn their trade while they teach their pupils to drive. But they have to be supervised by qualified tutors. BSM in the mid eighties were masters at deception. They fooled Dept of Transport Inspectors into thinking dead instructors were still alive and not only kicking but driving.... out on a lesson, also instructors who had emigrated to Canada were still on the books and conducting lessons in Chiswick London W4 according to BSM. Well I have heard of commuting and getting on yer bike for a job, but really transatlantic flights for a one hour lesson, I don’t think so, never mind the jet lag sitting behind the dashboard of a Metro.
So for the 3 days before transmission I worked 22 hours a day, then the 6th Floor came to view the film that was making all, the headlines before it had been seen. The 6th Floor were the big BBC bosses and we all had to stand to attention. So the programme went out, and so did Jacobs the Chairman , who was also treasurer of the Liberal Party, whose Peers had blocked new legislation that BSM did not like. So BSM now closed down branches and became a franchise, and, oh the laws they were blocking got passed.
Pooped , yes I was, but adrenaline keeps you going.
Too pooped to party though, but the BBC did have some wonderful memorable parties where we would all sing Hey Jude for the final 30 minutes at some exotic location. I normally did the music which helped, as far as I was concerned, but these events were tremendous for loyalty, morale and camaraderie.
A film was always made for the Christmas party. These days I spend Christmas parties on my own with left hand pulling the cracker with my right hand. But at the Beeb, one film I made was about the Editor Nick Hayes on Watchdog. He was still a hippy in the 80s, curly hair that had not seen a brush since he was born and he was now 30 something. Beard too, floppy jumper and corduroy trousers and trainers.
So for the film I donned a wig a floppy jumper trainers and corduroys. I became Nick Hayes his double.
Now Nick had justgot his driving licence, late in life and to everyone’s astonishment he bought his first car and what was it…………..
that’s right a Porsche !! We went to Scarborough once, not for a fair but a conference. I felt every cat’s eye on the Motorway as passenger in the Porsche on its maiden voyage, bought with the proceeds from the divorce settlement. Not as bad as Sarah Spiller driving though, the wipers would be on double speed, and the SUN WAS SHINING. Lovely Sarah she used to put the wipers on to demist the windscreen, she didn’t realise they WERE ON THE OUTSIDE !!! You can see why I normally drove now can’t you. Another Spiller story she parks the hire car overnight in an NCP car park in Birmingham. Next morning at the hotel, “where is the car Sarah”. “Oh it’s at the NCP car park”, “Which one”, the multi-story one”, “they are all multi-story”. So for the next hour we wander around Birmingham City centre looking for a car park with a “twirly bit to get in”, then “what floor” “errrrrrr”, so 6 floors later we find it. Now you know why I generally drove !!!
So back to the plot………..Christmas time filming for the party premiere , the Nick double at the bus stop hand request goes out bus zooms passed, as they do.
But the funniest thing was we took his keys one day, drove his light blue Porsche with 87 learners plates stuck all over it, and in one scene Nick is watching this film at the party completely oblivious to what the film was about, and he sees a car like his, going through frame backwards then forwards, then backwards again, then kangaroo style, hazard lights on then indicating right and turning left. It was sooooooooooooo funny seeing his face , smiling at first then he saw the number plate, and he realised IT WAS HIS CAR, he he ha ha.
2 years later I still had my job, and he made me Deputy Editor, he he ha ha………..party time.
To be continued stay tuned to this channel,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Thursday, 23 April 2009
This is the BBC
I said before my happiest days were at the BBC. I felt I could influence things. In Trading Standards as an officer you dealt with local and national issues. Sometimes they made the newspapers, but often no one else knew what was going on and court cases took ages. True I gave the press a lot of stories, I appeared on TV as a Trading Standards Officer in the middle of things, even filmed during a "discussion" with a "don't point that camera at me sonny, I'll shove it down your throat" video pirate in Harrow Road Paddington. Yes nice chap not exactly membership potential for the round table. It was stories I could tell to journalist that helped sell their papers, and in the end I jumped the Trading Standards ship for investigative journalism.
Why, because it was obvious to me that naming and shaming had more impact than the courts of the land. I sad indictment, but true,
So life at Lime Grove Shepherds Bush in the mid 80's in the days of Breakfast TV and Thats Life. Room 601 right at the top, overcrowded but what harmony amongst a team all wanting to do well, all wanting Watchdog to be a success. A fantastic camaraderie, Watchdog had been a slot in Nationwide and when I joined it was beginning a life on its own, a programme in it's own right against the wishes of Esther Ranzen on That's Life, consumer competition.
I remember Kevin Sutcliffe joining. Nick Hayes. the editor, used to ask me to look after the new recruits. So Kevein was under my wing for a while. Lovely lad, from Blackpool so he spoke funny, and always dressed as a rocker, but had no motorbike and no crash helmet, so was past the sell by date by 20 years for no real reason of transport, he used the bus and the tube.
Kevin walked with me to a bakers in Goldhawk Road Shepherds Bush one lunch time, and asked the lady behind the counter for barn cakes, do what she said, I was in hysterics as Kevin tried to explain, so I acted as translator for my colleague, excuse him luv I said, he's from Blackpool. On the way back munching his jam doughnut I explained to Kevin that barn cakes in London meant you were mad. loopy, as opposed to a kind of oat biscuit. A nation divided by a common language. But Kev took it well. We were soon driving up to Manchester to make some enquiries about a story and as we passed Watford Gap Services on the M1 Kev said to me "Right from now on I do the talking, 'cos they won't bloody understand you".
Which is not untrue. I remember Steve Rose coming up to a Birmingham Pub once where I had tracked down some roofers who preyed on the elderly. You know the sort that drive round, look for a house that has all the signs of an old person living in. Then knocking on the door and frightening the old folk into parting with £150 to fix a loose roof tile which was not loose in the first place. Of course the old trusted the con artist and had to take his word for it, and could not see for themselves. "Better get it fixed luv quick , if it falls and hits someone you will be liable, and it is leaking now, haven't you noticed it". Some of these cowboy builders would even rin the old dear down to the Post Office to cash the giro.
Anyway on the basis of 3 letters of a number plate I found a roofers van matching a description parked in a Pub Car Park. So I then traced where the driver lived and the film crew would turn up the next morning to doorstep the Roofer and his boss. But during our observations in the pub, surveillance and blending in with the customers, some young girl came up to Steve and said "I know you , you're from the Cup Shop", Steve's face contorted as he could not understand a word she was saying, and again I was in hysterics, knowing that the girl thought the pub was going to be raided for under age drinking by the force from the cop shop.
The doorstep, well after a night in the Holiday Inn, no expense spared on these productions, it was snowing. So I said to Lynn Faulds Wood, put a scarf on to hide her hair knock on the roofer's front door and pretend she was new in the neighbourhood, but the snow has caused a collapse of a section of her roof. Meanwhile the film crew and I hid behind a hedge in some one's front garden. Why people don't come out and say oi amazes me, must be everyday they have a film crew squatting in their front garden. So matey buys hook line and sinker the damsel in distress story and as he and Lynn walk past the garden, up pops a cameraman and a sound man like a jack in a box and Lynn whips off her scarf to confront the rogue.
Wow, we used to laugh. We were the good guys and when you saw the eyes of the bad guys and their jaw hit the deck, well that was justice and comeback for their misdeeds. It gave me a real buzz. I had 3 priorities, we had to capture on camera the villains face, if he spoke that was better, if he engaged in an interview even better. But numero uno was his face on camera. The tricks we used to get up to to get them out of their houses or lay in wait at their offices. Of course the viewer never saw what the camera crew were up to laying in wait to turn the tables on the villain. All they saw was a street interview confrontation and the villain legging it slip sliding in the snow. Nor could we laugh until it was all over, so it was bite the lip, but it still makes me burst out laughing today when I think of what we did. The film crews loved it, they knew all the background work had been done, that a plan had been made and that justice was on their side. Those were the days my friend we thought they'd never end, we did sing and dance for ever and a day.
John form Kingston was a freelance stills cameraman that I often employed, for these tricky confrontations, he could take stills as back up for the moving camera. We did a lot together, even a couple of car chases in East London and up the M11. He was there when the customers of a cheap furniture retailer went bust, a group of them came up to me and said get your cameras rolling and watch this..... and they stormed the stage at the creditors meeting and beat up the delinquent directors.
But the best one was when we asked a road sweeper to borrow his donkey jacket and his road sweeping lorry in exchange for a cup of tea and egg on toast in the corner cafe. The plan then was for John with LB of Hounslow Donkey Jacket to knock on the door and say "Is that your car mate, we are doing road sweeping, with a mechanical road sweeper, can you move your car for a minute. Of course the crook comes out to move the brand new black Mercedes and hey presto guess whose on the road sweeping machine, its the BBC film crew, by jove, and you sir are a crook and a swindler.
Scuffles there were, mainly the cameraman got the attention 1st. Part of my Producer Director job was to protect him and the rest of the crew. hence I got the nick name Big Al. There was one job, a Mock Auction, where I asked for volunteers to film the event. I took a late call that this auction was happening that evening. It's illegal, but it's the sort of sale where the auctioneer shows something really good, they have stooges in the audience who pretend to but it. Everyone else ums and ars and wants a slice of the action and of course they get boxed and wrapped up tatty junk for their money. I was in the auction using a hidden camera and sound equipment and on my cue the film crew and Sarah the reporter were to come into the hall to confront the gang. So at the end of the sale I spoke into my microphone and in came the crew and suddenly their was a pitched battle. I had bullet proof Stevens as the cameraman, he had filmed in Vietnam hence the nickname and he was a big lad. 26 seconds he had hold of his camera, before it went airborne all filmed on my hidden camera in a bag, which I had to hand over to another crew member, so as I could wade into the gang attacking my crew, meanwhile Sarah who for vanity reasons never wore her glasses when filming, walked up to the auctioneer in bliss full ignorance of all hell letting loose in her wake. So the commentary went as such "The man in the black leather jacket squaring up and engaging in fisty cuffs with the gang is in fact our producer protecting the crew, and he uses himself as a barrier to stop the gang from shutting the doors as he shouts out and calls to me, so I can run and make my escape before the doors slam shut...bang".
It does bring a whole new meaning to "as seen on television". Those were the days and nights my friend, we thought they would never end.
Most of the time the crooks who were caught out let off steam, rant and swear, just occasionally it got really nasty. Lynn got 5 yards away from me once. We were at Ron Aylwards Cheshire mansion. He was the home improvement entrepreneur, whose Sunday Times Magazine glossy advertisements offered much, solar panels, the answer to flat roof leaks, a new prestigious driveway, luxurious central heating. Trouble was with Ron Aylward the only home he improved was his own. Every time the game was up, he would fold the latest venture and a phoenix operation would rise from the ashes fo the last. For instance his central heating was a series of electric fires plugged into a hole made in partition walls. Anyway Lynn got 5 yards away from me and Mrs Aylward lashed out with a dog chain right round Lynn's face as the camera rolled.
Another time 28 stone Mick was a transport manager of dangerous muck away lorries near the Blackwall Tunnel. I drove the Transit up to his portacabin door and from the van's side door the crew and Lynn could walk straight into his office. By the time I got in, the sound man was flying round the room as Mick grabbed the camera after throwing a pint of milk then a cup of tea at the cameraman, who now looked like the android in Aliens, covered in white milk. The sound man was still connected to the camera by the umbilical cord hence revolving around the room like a scene from the Exorcist. So I extracted the £25,000 camera from the guiness enhanced gut of the transport manager and gave it back to the besodden cameraman with the red recording light still illuminated. Mick then locked us IN his office as he waddled down the yard to get his drivers. Discretion now being the better part of valour, I kicked the door out and we all jumped into the Transit only for 2 lorries to bear down on us. Fortunately I can drive, fast and nippy. In fact I drove all the time because we always had to get somewhere in no time at all. Like Inverness airport 40 miles away in 40 minutes to catch the plane... and we did. So foot down I headed straight for the oncoming truck just as the one from the side missed us by inches in my acceleration, then at the last second I swung the transit hard left and then hard right and swerved round the oncoming truck, like a warship evades an Exocet missile, phew. So while the others stayed in a corner cafe, the cameraman came in my car and stood through the sunshine roof as we returned to the yard in a hired XR3i, a bit nippier to deal with any nasty lorry drivers, just to get some more footage and Mick shaking his fist through his office window. Those were the days my friend, they don't make them like they used to you know, when it was trouble up mill and tough at the bottom.
Last but not least for this chapter, I must narrate something slightly different but its not time for something completely different you will be glad to know.
Mike Embley was the reporter, the vegetarian that kept 450 passengers including me waiting on a Boston Runway in a 747 because he could not find any plums to eat for the flight. On the Wednesday I took a call in the Watchdog Office from an elderly man on holiday in Spain. He was complaining of the dreadful accommodation Airtours had put him and a lot of other old age pensioners during a winter break. That Friday we were on the way to the Costa Almeria and started filming that night. The pensioners had been put into a dump of an accommodation self catering block of apartments, next to a building site. So their walls were covered in mould, the swimming pool was green and dirty. The restaurant and dance hall had been demolished. All this we filmed, but we also decided to film a send up of the Airtours glossy brochure, including the facilities, with Mike reading from the brochure like a kitchen space for entertaining which in fact was not a kitchen but a cupboard with a fridge that did not work. Then Mike danced amongst the rubble of the former restaurant and dance hall, it was a real hoot. The next morning we doorstepped the local Airtours Office that had ignored the complaints for the last 3 weeks. The poor girl in charge telephoned Lancashire Head Quarters to tell them there was a BBC Watchdog film crew in their office and some disgruntled holiday makers and what should she do. You should have heard the gasp from the other end of the telephone line, I thought they guy had taken his last breath..."you got Watchdog, there, in your office, expletive deletive !!!!" "Get those people out of those apartments, just do it now whatever it takes do it now". And that is what happened,a happy ending. I got the Power, those poor people ignored for all that time, suddenly they have to pack their suit cases and board the coach to take them to the best 5* hotel in town at No extra charge. Next morning as we say our farewells we film their champagne breakfast, my hand nearly fell off it was shaken in gratitude by so many. I got the Power.....
I've got the power
He could break my heart
He could break my heaa-aa--art
He could break my heart
He could break my heaa-aa--art
He's got the power oh-oh-oh-oh
Why, because it was obvious to me that naming and shaming had more impact than the courts of the land. I sad indictment, but true,
So life at Lime Grove Shepherds Bush in the mid 80's in the days of Breakfast TV and Thats Life. Room 601 right at the top, overcrowded but what harmony amongst a team all wanting to do well, all wanting Watchdog to be a success. A fantastic camaraderie, Watchdog had been a slot in Nationwide and when I joined it was beginning a life on its own, a programme in it's own right against the wishes of Esther Ranzen on That's Life, consumer competition.
I remember Kevin Sutcliffe joining. Nick Hayes. the editor, used to ask me to look after the new recruits. So Kevein was under my wing for a while. Lovely lad, from Blackpool so he spoke funny, and always dressed as a rocker, but had no motorbike and no crash helmet, so was past the sell by date by 20 years for no real reason of transport, he used the bus and the tube.
Kevin walked with me to a bakers in Goldhawk Road Shepherds Bush one lunch time, and asked the lady behind the counter for barn cakes, do what she said, I was in hysterics as Kevin tried to explain, so I acted as translator for my colleague, excuse him luv I said, he's from Blackpool. On the way back munching his jam doughnut I explained to Kevin that barn cakes in London meant you were mad. loopy, as opposed to a kind of oat biscuit. A nation divided by a common language. But Kev took it well. We were soon driving up to Manchester to make some enquiries about a story and as we passed Watford Gap Services on the M1 Kev said to me "Right from now on I do the talking, 'cos they won't bloody understand you".
Which is not untrue. I remember Steve Rose coming up to a Birmingham Pub once where I had tracked down some roofers who preyed on the elderly. You know the sort that drive round, look for a house that has all the signs of an old person living in. Then knocking on the door and frightening the old folk into parting with £150 to fix a loose roof tile which was not loose in the first place. Of course the old trusted the con artist and had to take his word for it, and could not see for themselves. "Better get it fixed luv quick , if it falls and hits someone you will be liable, and it is leaking now, haven't you noticed it". Some of these cowboy builders would even rin the old dear down to the Post Office to cash the giro.
Anyway on the basis of 3 letters of a number plate I found a roofers van matching a description parked in a Pub Car Park. So I then traced where the driver lived and the film crew would turn up the next morning to doorstep the Roofer and his boss. But during our observations in the pub, surveillance and blending in with the customers, some young girl came up to Steve and said "I know you , you're from the Cup Shop", Steve's face contorted as he could not understand a word she was saying, and again I was in hysterics, knowing that the girl thought the pub was going to be raided for under age drinking by the force from the cop shop.
The doorstep, well after a night in the Holiday Inn, no expense spared on these productions, it was snowing. So I said to Lynn Faulds Wood, put a scarf on to hide her hair knock on the roofer's front door and pretend she was new in the neighbourhood, but the snow has caused a collapse of a section of her roof. Meanwhile the film crew and I hid behind a hedge in some one's front garden. Why people don't come out and say oi amazes me, must be everyday they have a film crew squatting in their front garden. So matey buys hook line and sinker the damsel in distress story and as he and Lynn walk past the garden, up pops a cameraman and a sound man like a jack in a box and Lynn whips off her scarf to confront the rogue.
Wow, we used to laugh. We were the good guys and when you saw the eyes of the bad guys and their jaw hit the deck, well that was justice and comeback for their misdeeds. It gave me a real buzz. I had 3 priorities, we had to capture on camera the villains face, if he spoke that was better, if he engaged in an interview even better. But numero uno was his face on camera. The tricks we used to get up to to get them out of their houses or lay in wait at their offices. Of course the viewer never saw what the camera crew were up to laying in wait to turn the tables on the villain. All they saw was a street interview confrontation and the villain legging it slip sliding in the snow. Nor could we laugh until it was all over, so it was bite the lip, but it still makes me burst out laughing today when I think of what we did. The film crews loved it, they knew all the background work had been done, that a plan had been made and that justice was on their side. Those were the days my friend we thought they'd never end, we did sing and dance for ever and a day.
John form Kingston was a freelance stills cameraman that I often employed, for these tricky confrontations, he could take stills as back up for the moving camera. We did a lot together, even a couple of car chases in East London and up the M11. He was there when the customers of a cheap furniture retailer went bust, a group of them came up to me and said get your cameras rolling and watch this..... and they stormed the stage at the creditors meeting and beat up the delinquent directors.
But the best one was when we asked a road sweeper to borrow his donkey jacket and his road sweeping lorry in exchange for a cup of tea and egg on toast in the corner cafe. The plan then was for John with LB of Hounslow Donkey Jacket to knock on the door and say "Is that your car mate, we are doing road sweeping, with a mechanical road sweeper, can you move your car for a minute. Of course the crook comes out to move the brand new black Mercedes and hey presto guess whose on the road sweeping machine, its the BBC film crew, by jove, and you sir are a crook and a swindler.
Scuffles there were, mainly the cameraman got the attention 1st. Part of my Producer Director job was to protect him and the rest of the crew. hence I got the nick name Big Al. There was one job, a Mock Auction, where I asked for volunteers to film the event. I took a late call that this auction was happening that evening. It's illegal, but it's the sort of sale where the auctioneer shows something really good, they have stooges in the audience who pretend to but it. Everyone else ums and ars and wants a slice of the action and of course they get boxed and wrapped up tatty junk for their money. I was in the auction using a hidden camera and sound equipment and on my cue the film crew and Sarah the reporter were to come into the hall to confront the gang. So at the end of the sale I spoke into my microphone and in came the crew and suddenly their was a pitched battle. I had bullet proof Stevens as the cameraman, he had filmed in Vietnam hence the nickname and he was a big lad. 26 seconds he had hold of his camera, before it went airborne all filmed on my hidden camera in a bag, which I had to hand over to another crew member, so as I could wade into the gang attacking my crew, meanwhile Sarah who for vanity reasons never wore her glasses when filming, walked up to the auctioneer in bliss full ignorance of all hell letting loose in her wake. So the commentary went as such "The man in the black leather jacket squaring up and engaging in fisty cuffs with the gang is in fact our producer protecting the crew, and he uses himself as a barrier to stop the gang from shutting the doors as he shouts out and calls to me, so I can run and make my escape before the doors slam shut...bang".
It does bring a whole new meaning to "as seen on television". Those were the days and nights my friend, we thought they would never end.
Most of the time the crooks who were caught out let off steam, rant and swear, just occasionally it got really nasty. Lynn got 5 yards away from me once. We were at Ron Aylwards Cheshire mansion. He was the home improvement entrepreneur, whose Sunday Times Magazine glossy advertisements offered much, solar panels, the answer to flat roof leaks, a new prestigious driveway, luxurious central heating. Trouble was with Ron Aylward the only home he improved was his own. Every time the game was up, he would fold the latest venture and a phoenix operation would rise from the ashes fo the last. For instance his central heating was a series of electric fires plugged into a hole made in partition walls. Anyway Lynn got 5 yards away from me and Mrs Aylward lashed out with a dog chain right round Lynn's face as the camera rolled.
Another time 28 stone Mick was a transport manager of dangerous muck away lorries near the Blackwall Tunnel. I drove the Transit up to his portacabin door and from the van's side door the crew and Lynn could walk straight into his office. By the time I got in, the sound man was flying round the room as Mick grabbed the camera after throwing a pint of milk then a cup of tea at the cameraman, who now looked like the android in Aliens, covered in white milk. The sound man was still connected to the camera by the umbilical cord hence revolving around the room like a scene from the Exorcist. So I extracted the £25,000 camera from the guiness enhanced gut of the transport manager and gave it back to the besodden cameraman with the red recording light still illuminated. Mick then locked us IN his office as he waddled down the yard to get his drivers. Discretion now being the better part of valour, I kicked the door out and we all jumped into the Transit only for 2 lorries to bear down on us. Fortunately I can drive, fast and nippy. In fact I drove all the time because we always had to get somewhere in no time at all. Like Inverness airport 40 miles away in 40 minutes to catch the plane... and we did. So foot down I headed straight for the oncoming truck just as the one from the side missed us by inches in my acceleration, then at the last second I swung the transit hard left and then hard right and swerved round the oncoming truck, like a warship evades an Exocet missile, phew. So while the others stayed in a corner cafe, the cameraman came in my car and stood through the sunshine roof as we returned to the yard in a hired XR3i, a bit nippier to deal with any nasty lorry drivers, just to get some more footage and Mick shaking his fist through his office window. Those were the days my friend, they don't make them like they used to you know, when it was trouble up mill and tough at the bottom.
Last but not least for this chapter, I must narrate something slightly different but its not time for something completely different you will be glad to know.
Mike Embley was the reporter, the vegetarian that kept 450 passengers including me waiting on a Boston Runway in a 747 because he could not find any plums to eat for the flight. On the Wednesday I took a call in the Watchdog Office from an elderly man on holiday in Spain. He was complaining of the dreadful accommodation Airtours had put him and a lot of other old age pensioners during a winter break. That Friday we were on the way to the Costa Almeria and started filming that night. The pensioners had been put into a dump of an accommodation self catering block of apartments, next to a building site. So their walls were covered in mould, the swimming pool was green and dirty. The restaurant and dance hall had been demolished. All this we filmed, but we also decided to film a send up of the Airtours glossy brochure, including the facilities, with Mike reading from the brochure like a kitchen space for entertaining which in fact was not a kitchen but a cupboard with a fridge that did not work. Then Mike danced amongst the rubble of the former restaurant and dance hall, it was a real hoot. The next morning we doorstepped the local Airtours Office that had ignored the complaints for the last 3 weeks. The poor girl in charge telephoned Lancashire Head Quarters to tell them there was a BBC Watchdog film crew in their office and some disgruntled holiday makers and what should she do. You should have heard the gasp from the other end of the telephone line, I thought they guy had taken his last breath..."you got Watchdog, there, in your office, expletive deletive !!!!" "Get those people out of those apartments, just do it now whatever it takes do it now". And that is what happened,a happy ending. I got the Power, those poor people ignored for all that time, suddenly they have to pack their suit cases and board the coach to take them to the best 5* hotel in town at No extra charge. Next morning as we say our farewells we film their champagne breakfast, my hand nearly fell off it was shaken in gratitude by so many. I got the Power.....
I've got the power
He could break my heart
He could break my heaa-aa--art
He could break my heart
He could break my heaa-aa--art
He's got the power oh-oh-oh-oh
Saturday, 21 March 2009
My Way
Ive lived a life thats full.
Ive traveled each and every highway;
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.
Regrets, Ive had a quite few;
But then again, too many to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.
I tried planningd each charted course;
Each big step along the byway,
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.
Yes, there were times, Im sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall;
And did it my way.
Ive loved, Ive laughed and cried.
Ive had my fill; my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all not so amusing.
To think I did all that;
And may I say - not in a shy way,
No, oh no not me,
I did it my way.
For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows -
And did it MY WAY
Ive traveled each and every highway;
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.
Regrets, Ive had a quite few;
But then again, too many to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.
I tried planningd each charted course;
Each big step along the byway,
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.
Yes, there were times, Im sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall;
And did it my way.
Ive loved, Ive laughed and cried.
Ive had my fill; my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all not so amusing.
To think I did all that;
And may I say - not in a shy way,
No, oh no not me,
I did it my way.
For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows -
And did it MY WAY
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
The Way We Were
If I come back in the next life, I want a bottle of the elixir of life and a double ration of hindsight the wonderful thing. Not that I believe there is an after life of souls, else it would be rather top heavy with all those Cavemen, Gladiators, Vikings and the Bosch up there in Valhalla. Maybe we recycle though and I was a shot down Spitfire pilot and a Centurion on Hadrian's Wall in former lives as we knew it. Like a full moon they both have some kind of strange influential mind pull on me.
No I am not a werewolf, but full moons influence the tides so why not my body, mind you these days its a case of I believe in miracles, where're you from you sexy thing.
So this chapter is about the downfall of mankind, including me, yes I did not get where I am today without women. In fact the rise and fall of Allan Sharpe is due to Allan Sharpe, snakes and ladders, river deep mountain high, and the dice he threw. He always got on better with females than males. With men he could talk about football, sport and women, but lots of men were seemingly jealous. Never being one to prop up a bar, but rather spending an elegant decadent time with a glass of dry white wine. Pinot Grigio was always at an affordable price, though the pricier Sancere did not touch the sides. Not that he did not like pubs, he just did not like the riff raff in them, yes he could be an arrogant snob, but he could also engage in banter, in conversation with any one, any class, any sex. He also liked a pint of real ale, though at age 18, the 8 pints each of us 3 of 4 (Ken, Keith, Kevin with a Consul Mk I parked outside) consumed in a Harefield PH is a distant memory. Where did we put the equivalent of a gallon of Duckhams 20/50 in our bodies, though truly most of it was dispensed of on porcelain walls and trees on the way back to Willesden.
Did I tell you I got banned from 3 dance halls in 3 weeks age 19, reason girls girls girls and their, unbeknown to me, boys boys boys who thought their name tag was round the girls neck, or finger.
So I could always chat and chat up. I always admired beauty, style, poise and grace, that hit my eyes not only across a crowded room, but could be in my face or could even be a sculptured piece of architecture, not only the Aphrodite female form.
But there are scattered pictures of the smiles I left behind, smiles we gave to one another, for the way we were. I learned as a 12 year old that demolition was easy, construction and reconstruction took much longer. In my love life, after learning to kiss, then eventually learning to please as opposed to being pleased, nod's as good as a wink to a blind man, I discovered to my cost that it took two to tango, but one to detonate and pull the plug. My mum said "fuck em and leave em" I don't think she got that from the Relate Manuals. My biological father was worse than me, at least I tried before giving up. My brother in law thought it was better they loved you, taking the easy route 66 to get his kicks. I guess my sister Pat has held that marriage together since the early sixties and Mick sat back in the armchair and watched TV.
That's what I always wanted, like Ken, like JT they married their child hood sweethearts and journeyed to the plateau of stability. Me, I was white water rafting.
I remember, Bill Butterfield at Westminster, coming in one day to work and saying over a lunch time pint, that his wife came into the room last night, he was watching TV feet on the coffee table and a can of lager in his hand. She said ok I am off then. He glanced down and saw there was a suitcase on the carpet. Where, he exclaimed in amazement. She said, the kids have grown up, I am not needed here anymore, I am off to get a life of my own, and woosh she was gone ....... blimey!!! Listening to that story was Chris Rogers, who had decided to shit on his own doorstep and have an affair with a gorgeous artist from ....next door ......blimey!!!
When my mum was a single parent society did not accept that situation. Women would be house wives and child minders. Hardly any married women worked outside the home and got paid for it. Husbands would drown their brains down the pub and come back for sex and fall asleep on the job. Sweeping generalisations are sometimes true, especially for a lad growing up in Willesden London NW10. Not that I was privy to the bedroom scenes of course, but it was generally known, that's what happened in Willesden life of the 50's. In the 60's that all changed, the mini was built, Britain's best selling car and the mini skirt arrived. Hail the permissive society, well in truth it was just more public rather than staying private. So girls would build up all that passion in boys which converted like potential energy into kinetic lust energy, only to discover that the mini was accompanied by the other new invention - tights, the ultimate passion killer, so near yet so far. E = mc2.
Some girls showed their bum as they walked along, but mind you that other great invention, the thong or gstring had not been invented as yet. On a Lambretta TV 175 with all the mirrors, chrome panels and front and rear racks, pulling was easy, pulling up by the law was also an habitual experience.
Dana was in the 4th year I was a prefect, she was too young for me, she was petite & stunning though, a pelmet for a skirt, as she sat pillion, her thighs wrapped around me, oh those were the days my friends, we thought they would never end.
I suppose I was always captivated, I went weak in the presence of beauty. Hilary Scarr was my 1st love, as I said before, she had an hour glass figure, trouble is all the boys could see what I saw. But its better to love than never loved at all, its just what becomes of the broken hearted, who had loved and now they were parted. Sometimes there are winners and losers. I would like to find these ex's now through the internet, but it is not easy. Only for curiosity reason, You spend time 24/7 with them, then time takes them away for ever, it is weird. They are out there somewhere just like life on Mars.
Helen Parry was my love after divorce, I should not have got married, but if I had not, Ian & Graeme would not be here and I am really glad they are. But Helen in truth could not cope with the young boys, even though she was not a surrogate mother and had no desire to be. She resented my time with them and holidays she had to share me with them. Sad that we drifted apart, both changed careers, both spent time at work and left notes on the fridge for each other, Compounded by my abject misery on the Sunday night drive home from dropping the boys back with their Mum.
BBCTV casting couch stories are true too. Sex was rampant. Girls chatted up boys now. Hold on I thought it was the caveman's role to stand around the edge of the dance floor and for girls to wiggle & giggle around their handbags in the centre of the dance floor. No, that was history, keep up with the changing times Allan, else you will end up like the manikins in a Co-Op shop window.
Monique, wow what a name, and a name that befitted what my eyes took in. I am sitting in the BBC Bar after the show with a few of the production team. Monique wiggles her way, target destination 3" from my left side. "Hello. you are Allan Sharpe, you are the Deputy Editor of Watchdog aren't you, I am Monique, I want to go to bed with you".
Now, believe it or not, this kind of every male fantasy and script for a lager TV commercial, was word for word fact. And as you all by now want to know......... we did spend a weekend in my bed. Unfortunately she was married, lived in Hemel Hempstead, to make matters worse he was an Arsenal supporter, and she could not get no satisfaction, so she thought, career status was an aphrodisiac and she would have the Deputy Editor of Watchdog. Fabulous dancer we had one special song "a real gone kid" by Deacon Blue. Just like Jesus and Mary Convent the BBC was a never ending production line of girl friends. In truth I was wanting longevity, in truth they were wanting fun, sometimes the two combined in more ways than one, but it was a roller coaster ride, short, expensive and not really value for credit card. They were all stunning, they all, Hazel, Arlene etc made me feel 10 feet tall with them on my arm. Richmond lifestyle was one of decadence, wining, dining, dancing, even eating in in front of the log fire and holidays abroad. Those were the days my friend we thought they would never end. But they did. I was trying to build a nest, they were there for their timeshare self allocated weeks, months even years but nothing lasts for ever. I also wonder why no relationships can never be 50 - 50. Some of mine have been 90 - 10, or even if it is 51- 49 and that goes on 24/7/365 it is not good enough for me, and its time to get Steve McQueen's motor bike out for the Great Escape. Despite the cost in human tragedy, in human resources and wallets. I have started again and again and rebuilt. They are lots of houses in West London that are still decorated the way I left them. I said to Ian once in the car, if I was Hugh Grant at a wedding reception, I would need more than a table for my ex's I would need the whole hall.
Both Natalia and Hazel walked out behind my back and stabbed me through the heart in doing so. Not enough just to stab me in the back. Yes I am no angel, but I do believe in negotiation, even compromise as I see it - all relative. Hazel left to see her parents on Boxing Day, we kissed at the airport, only for her never to return..................blimey !!!
Natalia did her trick in recent years while I was at work.................... words fail me !!!
A room is a still a room, even when there's nothin' there but gloom
But a room is not a house and a house is not a home
When the two of us are far apart
And one of us has a broken heart
Both renounced the home, support and love I had given them, and that was the way they paid me back..............not in continued love but in deceit, treason and treachery. How can someone make love to another only to leave and never see again a few hours later, it is cruel, callous and cowardly.
Women do like successful men, it is an aphrodisiac. But when you are at the top or even near the top there is only one way...........staying there is not a route, it is maintenance of the status quo. The only route is down, and then the rats leave the sinking ship. However, this memoirs is testimony that the Titanic has been raised, so has HMS Hood, still guns blazing to the last, we will never surrender.
to be contd..................
No I am not a werewolf, but full moons influence the tides so why not my body, mind you these days its a case of I believe in miracles, where're you from you sexy thing.
So this chapter is about the downfall of mankind, including me, yes I did not get where I am today without women. In fact the rise and fall of Allan Sharpe is due to Allan Sharpe, snakes and ladders, river deep mountain high, and the dice he threw. He always got on better with females than males. With men he could talk about football, sport and women, but lots of men were seemingly jealous. Never being one to prop up a bar, but rather spending an elegant decadent time with a glass of dry white wine. Pinot Grigio was always at an affordable price, though the pricier Sancere did not touch the sides. Not that he did not like pubs, he just did not like the riff raff in them, yes he could be an arrogant snob, but he could also engage in banter, in conversation with any one, any class, any sex. He also liked a pint of real ale, though at age 18, the 8 pints each of us 3 of 4 (Ken, Keith, Kevin with a Consul Mk I parked outside) consumed in a Harefield PH is a distant memory. Where did we put the equivalent of a gallon of Duckhams 20/50 in our bodies, though truly most of it was dispensed of on porcelain walls and trees on the way back to Willesden.
Did I tell you I got banned from 3 dance halls in 3 weeks age 19, reason girls girls girls and their, unbeknown to me, boys boys boys who thought their name tag was round the girls neck, or finger.
So I could always chat and chat up. I always admired beauty, style, poise and grace, that hit my eyes not only across a crowded room, but could be in my face or could even be a sculptured piece of architecture, not only the Aphrodite female form.
But there are scattered pictures of the smiles I left behind, smiles we gave to one another, for the way we were. I learned as a 12 year old that demolition was easy, construction and reconstruction took much longer. In my love life, after learning to kiss, then eventually learning to please as opposed to being pleased, nod's as good as a wink to a blind man, I discovered to my cost that it took two to tango, but one to detonate and pull the plug. My mum said "fuck em and leave em" I don't think she got that from the Relate Manuals. My biological father was worse than me, at least I tried before giving up. My brother in law thought it was better they loved you, taking the easy route 66 to get his kicks. I guess my sister Pat has held that marriage together since the early sixties and Mick sat back in the armchair and watched TV.
That's what I always wanted, like Ken, like JT they married their child hood sweethearts and journeyed to the plateau of stability. Me, I was white water rafting.
I remember, Bill Butterfield at Westminster, coming in one day to work and saying over a lunch time pint, that his wife came into the room last night, he was watching TV feet on the coffee table and a can of lager in his hand. She said ok I am off then. He glanced down and saw there was a suitcase on the carpet. Where, he exclaimed in amazement. She said, the kids have grown up, I am not needed here anymore, I am off to get a life of my own, and woosh she was gone ....... blimey!!! Listening to that story was Chris Rogers, who had decided to shit on his own doorstep and have an affair with a gorgeous artist from ....next door ......blimey!!!
When my mum was a single parent society did not accept that situation. Women would be house wives and child minders. Hardly any married women worked outside the home and got paid for it. Husbands would drown their brains down the pub and come back for sex and fall asleep on the job. Sweeping generalisations are sometimes true, especially for a lad growing up in Willesden London NW10. Not that I was privy to the bedroom scenes of course, but it was generally known, that's what happened in Willesden life of the 50's. In the 60's that all changed, the mini was built, Britain's best selling car and the mini skirt arrived. Hail the permissive society, well in truth it was just more public rather than staying private. So girls would build up all that passion in boys which converted like potential energy into kinetic lust energy, only to discover that the mini was accompanied by the other new invention - tights, the ultimate passion killer, so near yet so far. E = mc2.
Some girls showed their bum as they walked along, but mind you that other great invention, the thong or gstring had not been invented as yet. On a Lambretta TV 175 with all the mirrors, chrome panels and front and rear racks, pulling was easy, pulling up by the law was also an habitual experience.
Dana was in the 4th year I was a prefect, she was too young for me, she was petite & stunning though, a pelmet for a skirt, as she sat pillion, her thighs wrapped around me, oh those were the days my friends, we thought they would never end.
I suppose I was always captivated, I went weak in the presence of beauty. Hilary Scarr was my 1st love, as I said before, she had an hour glass figure, trouble is all the boys could see what I saw. But its better to love than never loved at all, its just what becomes of the broken hearted, who had loved and now they were parted. Sometimes there are winners and losers. I would like to find these ex's now through the internet, but it is not easy. Only for curiosity reason, You spend time 24/7 with them, then time takes them away for ever, it is weird. They are out there somewhere just like life on Mars.
Helen Parry was my love after divorce, I should not have got married, but if I had not, Ian & Graeme would not be here and I am really glad they are. But Helen in truth could not cope with the young boys, even though she was not a surrogate mother and had no desire to be. She resented my time with them and holidays she had to share me with them. Sad that we drifted apart, both changed careers, both spent time at work and left notes on the fridge for each other, Compounded by my abject misery on the Sunday night drive home from dropping the boys back with their Mum.
BBCTV casting couch stories are true too. Sex was rampant. Girls chatted up boys now. Hold on I thought it was the caveman's role to stand around the edge of the dance floor and for girls to wiggle & giggle around their handbags in the centre of the dance floor. No, that was history, keep up with the changing times Allan, else you will end up like the manikins in a Co-Op shop window.
Monique, wow what a name, and a name that befitted what my eyes took in. I am sitting in the BBC Bar after the show with a few of the production team. Monique wiggles her way, target destination 3" from my left side. "Hello. you are Allan Sharpe, you are the Deputy Editor of Watchdog aren't you, I am Monique, I want to go to bed with you".
Now, believe it or not, this kind of every male fantasy and script for a lager TV commercial, was word for word fact. And as you all by now want to know......... we did spend a weekend in my bed. Unfortunately she was married, lived in Hemel Hempstead, to make matters worse he was an Arsenal supporter, and she could not get no satisfaction, so she thought, career status was an aphrodisiac and she would have the Deputy Editor of Watchdog. Fabulous dancer we had one special song "a real gone kid" by Deacon Blue. Just like Jesus and Mary Convent the BBC was a never ending production line of girl friends. In truth I was wanting longevity, in truth they were wanting fun, sometimes the two combined in more ways than one, but it was a roller coaster ride, short, expensive and not really value for credit card. They were all stunning, they all, Hazel, Arlene etc made me feel 10 feet tall with them on my arm. Richmond lifestyle was one of decadence, wining, dining, dancing, even eating in in front of the log fire and holidays abroad. Those were the days my friend we thought they would never end. But they did. I was trying to build a nest, they were there for their timeshare self allocated weeks, months even years but nothing lasts for ever. I also wonder why no relationships can never be 50 - 50. Some of mine have been 90 - 10, or even if it is 51- 49 and that goes on 24/7/365 it is not good enough for me, and its time to get Steve McQueen's motor bike out for the Great Escape. Despite the cost in human tragedy, in human resources and wallets. I have started again and again and rebuilt. They are lots of houses in West London that are still decorated the way I left them. I said to Ian once in the car, if I was Hugh Grant at a wedding reception, I would need more than a table for my ex's I would need the whole hall.
Both Natalia and Hazel walked out behind my back and stabbed me through the heart in doing so. Not enough just to stab me in the back. Yes I am no angel, but I do believe in negotiation, even compromise as I see it - all relative. Hazel left to see her parents on Boxing Day, we kissed at the airport, only for her never to return..................blimey !!!
Natalia did her trick in recent years while I was at work.................... words fail me !!!
A room is a still a room, even when there's nothin' there but gloom
But a room is not a house and a house is not a home
When the two of us are far apart
And one of us has a broken heart
Both renounced the home, support and love I had given them, and that was the way they paid me back..............not in continued love but in deceit, treason and treachery. How can someone make love to another only to leave and never see again a few hours later, it is cruel, callous and cowardly.
Women do like successful men, it is an aphrodisiac. But when you are at the top or even near the top there is only one way...........staying there is not a route, it is maintenance of the status quo. The only route is down, and then the rats leave the sinking ship. However, this memoirs is testimony that the Titanic has been raised, so has HMS Hood, still guns blazing to the last, we will never surrender.
to be contd..................
Monday, 16 March 2009
Betrayal
All good stories have their essential ingredients to ensure the reader is on the edge of their seat and not sitting comfortably. Those ingredients include:- wit, intrigue, romance and betrayal.
People often view Allan Sharpe as a hard nosed, thick skinned character, who can mix it with the best of them. To a certain extent that is true, like the planet I stand on, I have an outer crust that can take abuse hurled at it. However I also have a liquid centre and an Achilles heel. Not many are allowed to see the inner sanctum, because of that vulnerability, deflector shields on maximum.
I was at Next Step again last week. I make her laugh with my life as I have known it. Like the compliment I got from Mohammad at Waltham Forest in about 2003, who said "Allan, you are the most politically incorrect person I have ever met".
I guess politics is the ultimate betrayal game. I always supported my staff, my team , often to consequences as the guns were re aimed at me as a result. Like when the Evil Woman, Nick Ross's wife, Sarah Caplan became editor of Watchdog and made the young girl reseachers cry if things went wrong...."its your finger pointing fault". But one has to do what's right. I am no angel, but as I have said before, I try to support good against evil. Another laugh from Mrs Next Step, was when I told her what the Doctor heard when he asked me about a prescription and was I allergic to anything, my retort was "yes incompetent management".
I have known the Ides of March at least 3 times at work, and at rest & play. So much for the theory of Rhino hide and off the duck's back. I didn't get where I am today by arse licking. In fact I can count on one hand people I have worked for that commanded my respect. The rest were ok, if they left me alone, did not interfere with their inadequate assessment of the situation and left me to get on with it and get results.
http://www.guardian-series.co.uk/search/254965.Fine_for_jailed_Del_Boy/
Like my brother in law who wanted to create a garage business so that his son's Neil and Barry could take it on in later years, and it never quite made it,I have regrets. Some like my brother in law. I created Sharper Image TV & Video Productions Ltd. In 1994 My back was still healing after the knives attack at BBCTV, and I thought I could start an acorn for my sons Ian & Graeme. Alas it lasted just 4 years. Really a one man band, it did start Ian in a career though, but I had thrown in the towel before I could help Graeme make a start. In its hay day Sharper Image had a No 2 in the charts only to be pipped on the shelves by Walt Disney. But in truth that said it all. Sharper Image could not compete globally with multinationals, who remembers 2nd, only me (and Ian).
The biggest act of betrayal, getting back to the plot of this chapter, was in September 2004. LB of Waltham Forest was a poor area. Poor people are less well educated in general. I was poor as a kid, and well educated, so there are exceptions. However Walthamstow & Chingford and Leyton were depressing areas to work in, yet alone live in, which I did not have to fortunately. However I did have to serve the community and make their life better and fairer. The Council was one of the worse performers too, a fact named and shamed by the Audit Commission. Managers like the Environmental Health Officer Garry Seal, sat in his Arsenal festooned memorabilia, sat in front of his computer on his big fat arse. He knew little of what was going on in the streets outside his window. He only came out of his closed door office to go home, go to a meeting, go for a wee, go for a cup of coffee. One day in the kitchen I sellotaped a pound coin to his Arsenal mug, and said "that was the closest his team would going to get to win a trophy" haha said the Spurs supporter. His ugly face was a picture, even redder like their shirts, than when later I was to call him a "wanker" in front of the rest of the staff who cheered. All he cared about was his saving his big fat arse. I lost 50% of my staff over the 6 years I was there trying to do the reverse of what management did. All that time we had more statutes to enforce, and more demands from the public. Garry Nero Seal rose up the ranks of incompetency , I mean Peter's principle of management, and I had to suffer the Billy Bunter look a like for 10 months. He was aided and abetted by Linda Wacey, as Head of the Department. A people hater, spinster, poodle lover, and plastic smile perfectionist. Both were not on the planet High St Walthamstow. They were on the planet, budgets and saving bacon. Everyone else could get stuffed as far as they were concerned.
Now silly naive me thought I had a Liberal Democrat Councillor Allie in Barry Smith. But as with Dame Shirley Porter in Westminster 1982, I became a political pawn, and there are no winners, just losers and I lost. The build up was Seal's interference. He even pulled the plug on a crown court case, that had taken me 2 years to investigate. We were in Snaresbrook when he said we can no longer afford to proceed. So this business that had lost half a million pounds to some fraudulent ex members of staff, were left hung out to dry. The directors actually spoke to the slimmy Seal, actually that was their description, and later complained to the inefffectual Ombudsman. However worse was to follow. I used to say it was hard enough catching con men outside the office, but the worse thing was trying to undo the knots the inside office management tied me up in.
Our Price windows had a customer non service since computer records began in 1992. I had represented complainants at the small claims court. I and they had won. Still no redress often about poor workmanship, it was their track record, along with phoenix companies rising from the ashes and receptionists made into directors as the bosses were banned by the Department of Trade & Industry. Yes really good to do business with huh !!! Not the sort of thing you admit to on your newspaper advertising.
When I turned Trading Standards Officer into Investigative Journalist in 1982, I had realised before, that the best consumer champion was not the courts but the media. So my old friend Lynn Faulds Wood was trying to resurrect a consumer slot on GMTV. I telephoned all the outstanding Our Price Window complainants to give them Lynn's telephone number. There was a successfull programme. The bosses were shown up on camera, they paid up people that had been in dispute for over 5 years.
The Labour Leader of the council wanted to know why Trading Standards was NOT mentioned and was Allan Sharpe behind all this. Got it in one, he was, that's why there was no mention. Waltham Forest council were scared of the press, they had every reason to be, they were inept, incompetent, and thay had all that and more to hide. A success story like this was not down to them to feature in any glory, it was a success story despite them. They had long disciplined me for talking to the media and tried to shut me up. Funny thing was in the summer of 1998, my first job was to track down the Good Restaurant Guide. I was temping and I got the job because the previous management hoped I could catch a guy that had been at it for 6 months. He had every Thompsons telephone directory in the country and wrote a letter to every restaurant listed. "Congratulations, our inspectors have visited you site as customers and you got 94% for service and quality of food" "Please pay £19 for a certificate, your name will be published in our guide in 3 months". He made £500,000. Alistair Leslie Woods was the Good Restaurant guide. The Police and Trading Standards had searched for him for 6 months. In the mean time he was busy. There were no inspectors or inspections. The restuarants who fell for the scam, got a worthless computer print out certificate that resembled my 100 yards breast stroke certificate that I never got at school. So I found ALW in 3 days, yes not 182 and a half days , 3 days. ALW was arrested all his directories , letters printers computers seized. The Newspapers ran the story. The boss congratulated me in front of the assembled staff for a glass of water and a turned up at the edges sarny, very nice. I worked with the Press Office and my team would feature regularly on local and national news. It was good for morale, and showed the community that something was being done, it is called banging the drum.
The new mangement were jealous, their testicals had no ego, they tried to put a lid on me. Eventually in September 2004 at the 3rd attempt, they sacked me, after all those people finally got their rights from the crooked Our Price Windows.
I did take the Council to the Employment Bureau. But employment law is not on the side of an employee who is just good at his job, rather it is on the side of employers who are not good at their job, but make the rules up as they go along, move goal posts and hold all the computer recorded evidence. At least it took a week the trial, at least I cost them £10,000 employing a barrister. At least I had 8 witnesses who supported my stand, they had 3 trumped up establishment. At least Terry Brady my old mate from Westminster turned up and gave evidence, and we went to the pub after, came home on the train and had a good laugh at old times. Those were the days.........ah yes, Life on Mars.
David lost to Goliath that day, since then he has been sent into exile, branded as a maverick , a trouble maker. Maybe one day he will return, like Dirty Harry.... yesterday is history, today is a gift, tomorrow.......well that is just a mystery..........to be contd.
People often view Allan Sharpe as a hard nosed, thick skinned character, who can mix it with the best of them. To a certain extent that is true, like the planet I stand on, I have an outer crust that can take abuse hurled at it. However I also have a liquid centre and an Achilles heel. Not many are allowed to see the inner sanctum, because of that vulnerability, deflector shields on maximum.
I was at Next Step again last week. I make her laugh with my life as I have known it. Like the compliment I got from Mohammad at Waltham Forest in about 2003, who said "Allan, you are the most politically incorrect person I have ever met".
I guess politics is the ultimate betrayal game. I always supported my staff, my team , often to consequences as the guns were re aimed at me as a result. Like when the Evil Woman, Nick Ross's wife, Sarah Caplan became editor of Watchdog and made the young girl reseachers cry if things went wrong...."its your finger pointing fault". But one has to do what's right. I am no angel, but as I have said before, I try to support good against evil. Another laugh from Mrs Next Step, was when I told her what the Doctor heard when he asked me about a prescription and was I allergic to anything, my retort was "yes incompetent management".
I have known the Ides of March at least 3 times at work, and at rest & play. So much for the theory of Rhino hide and off the duck's back. I didn't get where I am today by arse licking. In fact I can count on one hand people I have worked for that commanded my respect. The rest were ok, if they left me alone, did not interfere with their inadequate assessment of the situation and left me to get on with it and get results.
http://www.guardian-series.co.uk/search/254965.Fine_for_jailed_Del_Boy/
Like my brother in law who wanted to create a garage business so that his son's Neil and Barry could take it on in later years, and it never quite made it,I have regrets. Some like my brother in law. I created Sharper Image TV & Video Productions Ltd. In 1994 My back was still healing after the knives attack at BBCTV, and I thought I could start an acorn for my sons Ian & Graeme. Alas it lasted just 4 years. Really a one man band, it did start Ian in a career though, but I had thrown in the towel before I could help Graeme make a start. In its hay day Sharper Image had a No 2 in the charts only to be pipped on the shelves by Walt Disney. But in truth that said it all. Sharper Image could not compete globally with multinationals, who remembers 2nd, only me (and Ian).
The biggest act of betrayal, getting back to the plot of this chapter, was in September 2004. LB of Waltham Forest was a poor area. Poor people are less well educated in general. I was poor as a kid, and well educated, so there are exceptions. However Walthamstow & Chingford and Leyton were depressing areas to work in, yet alone live in, which I did not have to fortunately. However I did have to serve the community and make their life better and fairer. The Council was one of the worse performers too, a fact named and shamed by the Audit Commission. Managers like the Environmental Health Officer Garry Seal, sat in his Arsenal festooned memorabilia, sat in front of his computer on his big fat arse. He knew little of what was going on in the streets outside his window. He only came out of his closed door office to go home, go to a meeting, go for a wee, go for a cup of coffee. One day in the kitchen I sellotaped a pound coin to his Arsenal mug, and said "that was the closest his team would going to get to win a trophy" haha said the Spurs supporter. His ugly face was a picture, even redder like their shirts, than when later I was to call him a "wanker" in front of the rest of the staff who cheered. All he cared about was his saving his big fat arse. I lost 50% of my staff over the 6 years I was there trying to do the reverse of what management did. All that time we had more statutes to enforce, and more demands from the public. Garry Nero Seal rose up the ranks of incompetency , I mean Peter's principle of management, and I had to suffer the Billy Bunter look a like for 10 months. He was aided and abetted by Linda Wacey, as Head of the Department. A people hater, spinster, poodle lover, and plastic smile perfectionist. Both were not on the planet High St Walthamstow. They were on the planet, budgets and saving bacon. Everyone else could get stuffed as far as they were concerned.
Now silly naive me thought I had a Liberal Democrat Councillor Allie in Barry Smith. But as with Dame Shirley Porter in Westminster 1982, I became a political pawn, and there are no winners, just losers and I lost. The build up was Seal's interference. He even pulled the plug on a crown court case, that had taken me 2 years to investigate. We were in Snaresbrook when he said we can no longer afford to proceed. So this business that had lost half a million pounds to some fraudulent ex members of staff, were left hung out to dry. The directors actually spoke to the slimmy Seal, actually that was their description, and later complained to the inefffectual Ombudsman. However worse was to follow. I used to say it was hard enough catching con men outside the office, but the worse thing was trying to undo the knots the inside office management tied me up in.
Our Price windows had a customer non service since computer records began in 1992. I had represented complainants at the small claims court. I and they had won. Still no redress often about poor workmanship, it was their track record, along with phoenix companies rising from the ashes and receptionists made into directors as the bosses were banned by the Department of Trade & Industry. Yes really good to do business with huh !!! Not the sort of thing you admit to on your newspaper advertising.
When I turned Trading Standards Officer into Investigative Journalist in 1982, I had realised before, that the best consumer champion was not the courts but the media. So my old friend Lynn Faulds Wood was trying to resurrect a consumer slot on GMTV. I telephoned all the outstanding Our Price Window complainants to give them Lynn's telephone number. There was a successfull programme. The bosses were shown up on camera, they paid up people that had been in dispute for over 5 years.
The Labour Leader of the council wanted to know why Trading Standards was NOT mentioned and was Allan Sharpe behind all this. Got it in one, he was, that's why there was no mention. Waltham Forest council were scared of the press, they had every reason to be, they were inept, incompetent, and thay had all that and more to hide. A success story like this was not down to them to feature in any glory, it was a success story despite them. They had long disciplined me for talking to the media and tried to shut me up. Funny thing was in the summer of 1998, my first job was to track down the Good Restaurant Guide. I was temping and I got the job because the previous management hoped I could catch a guy that had been at it for 6 months. He had every Thompsons telephone directory in the country and wrote a letter to every restaurant listed. "Congratulations, our inspectors have visited you site as customers and you got 94% for service and quality of food" "Please pay £19 for a certificate, your name will be published in our guide in 3 months". He made £500,000. Alistair Leslie Woods was the Good Restaurant guide. The Police and Trading Standards had searched for him for 6 months. In the mean time he was busy. There were no inspectors or inspections. The restuarants who fell for the scam, got a worthless computer print out certificate that resembled my 100 yards breast stroke certificate that I never got at school. So I found ALW in 3 days, yes not 182 and a half days , 3 days. ALW was arrested all his directories , letters printers computers seized. The Newspapers ran the story. The boss congratulated me in front of the assembled staff for a glass of water and a turned up at the edges sarny, very nice. I worked with the Press Office and my team would feature regularly on local and national news. It was good for morale, and showed the community that something was being done, it is called banging the drum.
The new mangement were jealous, their testicals had no ego, they tried to put a lid on me. Eventually in September 2004 at the 3rd attempt, they sacked me, after all those people finally got their rights from the crooked Our Price Windows.
I did take the Council to the Employment Bureau. But employment law is not on the side of an employee who is just good at his job, rather it is on the side of employers who are not good at their job, but make the rules up as they go along, move goal posts and hold all the computer recorded evidence. At least it took a week the trial, at least I cost them £10,000 employing a barrister. At least I had 8 witnesses who supported my stand, they had 3 trumped up establishment. At least Terry Brady my old mate from Westminster turned up and gave evidence, and we went to the pub after, came home on the train and had a good laugh at old times. Those were the days.........ah yes, Life on Mars.
David lost to Goliath that day, since then he has been sent into exile, branded as a maverick , a trouble maker. Maybe one day he will return, like Dirty Harry.... yesterday is history, today is a gift, tomorrow.......well that is just a mystery..........to be contd.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Gissa Job 21st Century
Most of my working life was spent trying to get fairness and justice for others. Ordinary people who were in a David and Goliath struggle. In these last few years it is now me in that David sling shot position.
I tried to right wrongs, and today in England's green and not so pleasant land, there are a lot of things wrong, like litter, energy waste, a tardiness to incorporate alternative energy sources, and a great waste of experience and education by this country. Strong stuff, but it is no wonder people just rely on the state and drift along. Why should they bother when the country, government and society does not bother about it's citizens. The Government pump billions of pounds into a black hole of banking institutions and watch from the balcony playing a fiddle as countless companies go bankrupt with no support from government or the banks. So the unemployed swell in numbers me included.
Today I go to Job Centre Minus to sign on again. £73 a week. They will say have you worked - No, are you looking for work - yes, I will say have you got any jobs , they will say no. I have argued 3 times about sending me on a Career Development Course which places the individual in a job at the end, by fine tuning skills that are transferable. All this funded by EU grants. I am waiting to hear, after trying all manner of routes to by pass Job Centre Minus who are an obstacle to progression. I even wrote to my MP, but that was a waste of time too. At the Government's Job Centre Minus they fail to put people back to work, as I sit there my bum hardly makes an impression in the seat, my question and answer period with an officer laughingly called an advisor, last for about 60 seconds. This is what is has come to after a couple of yearss working through private employment agancies as a lorry driver, apart from the year I worked fixed term to introduce the smoking controls in public places. So to resort to being a Job Centre Minus statistic is a true last resort.
I have sort advice from other non government organisations like Next Step and Jobsmaites. They have warned me about age discimination, so on my CV 30 years plus of dealing with the public, is not a selling point - delete 30 years. So sad.
It is a far cry from when I left school. I was still working at my Friday night Saturday job in Woolworths Harlesden on the delicatessen counter. I had a Lambretta TV175, £££, no tax as a student, and a job which was a source of girlfreinds too. I was ok. BUT, the Youth Employment Bureau thought otherwise. They told me off in their Pound Lane Offices. I told them I looked in the newspapers and applied for jobs, I had 3 A levels and 11 O levels. Not good enough. Go for these 6 jobs. OK.
Well the highest paid was in what was to become Trading Standards but in those days was still Weights & Measures, working for a local council but run by the Board of Trade. £19 a week, trainee assistant, checking up on factories and shops, sounded good to me.
It was a mile and a half to work. I started by going on the bus. I even made a girlfriend at the bus stop, a hairdresser, very pretty, lasted a week.
I had to drive a van when we checked petrol forecourts and factories, One inspector 2 assistants. Sometimes I drove the inspectors cars when just 2 went to check retailers. I still lived with Mum in Essex Road, but we worked in Ealing, Brent and Harrow, so we travelled to the edge of London and the countryside like Elstree and Stanmore. It was interetsing stuff. One of the best jobs was acting like a customer. I would go into a shop and buy something, then we would check it for correct weight and price back at the car parked round the corner. I often caught the shops. I had some knack of pretence innocence. So much so that Harry Stanton said once " Bloody hell, every time you go into a shop I get another case". Good old red faced, grey haired Harry, he never got promoted. He looked like an old Colonel Blimp, a Knight of St Columbus, got drunk every lunch time, so to keep death off the roads the assistant would drive in the afternoon. Else if he drove we would be swerving in a silver grey Singer Vogue Estate with the rotund Harry clutching the steering wheel but leaning on the curves with the wheel, TT Isle of Man style, pass the roseary beads Harry !!!
We had ex Kenya inspectors too. They were ex British Colonials, fluent in Swahili which came in handy in Southall, as the African Asians were being booted out of Africa to land at Heathrow Airport.
The Trade Descriptions Act November 14th 1968 changed the job overnight. Lots of people telephoned to complain for the first time. The car had broken down, the artist impression hotel in the holiday brochure had not been built in time, the special offers were over priced. The Harold Wilson Labour Government tried to protect the consumer, whereas today it is left to Brussels. We had counter inflation measures to stop traders making instant profit as they did in 1971 with decimalisation. Then a pint of Watneys Red Barrel went up overnight from one shilling and ten pence to twelve and a half p = to 2 shillings and sixpence in old money. Old Money that had served the anglo saxons well, so it was an excuse to profit and inflate prices. Lessons were learned and I was so good at getting prices down, I took over all the counter inflation complaints in 1973. One extremely camp gay ladies hairdresser in Ealing said to me after I had taken the red pen to his price list on the introduction of VAT.......... *Oooooooooo you are ruthless, you have taken me to the cleaners".
I was qualified by now, it took 4 years to pass a Government Professional series of exams on law and technology. I used to get lots of stories that I could dine out on. Only because I seemed to have a knack of finding trouble. My jealous counterparts would say I was a trouble maker, a maverick, a loose canon. I would counter and say I knew exactly where I was aiming. I did not need artificial targets. I did not want to tick boxes. My self motivation was about deterrence, and making the place fairer for all, a level playing field , where cheats did not prosper. Hard sometimes when you are in your early twenties and the only thing younger than you is a Page 3 girl in the Sun.
Coal men were always on the fiddle. We would roam the streets in residential areas in a specially equipped van with a big sliding scale in the back. Sacks of coal would be weighed and often they were well short of the cwt. So the lorry would be escorted back to the yard it had come from and the whole load reweighed.
One day in Northolt, I was still a trainee with John Taylor who had just passed. We used to go to day release college together. He had married his child hood sweet heart. He went on to be the Chief Officer in later years, never working outside Brent. We got on professionally, but I cannnot say we liked each other. So one day Mr Burns the coal man is in Carr Road Northolt delivering, his bags turn out to be light. Taylor tells him to go back to Charringtons in Neasden by that bridge I walked over after my tonsils were removed 17 years before. Burns tries to make a run for it, he drives a huge detour up through Harrow, even Stanmore, with me in a Comma Van at the wheel pinned behind him, even when he goes through red lights, even crossing the North Circular. Then in the yard after this chase, he stops on the weighbridge, goes into revers and before I can select reverse he has rammed us. The whole front of the cab is now in bits all around me. The steering column saved me, Taylor had leeped over the passenger seat into the back. The van was a write off, no windsreen, no doors, no grill. Burns sped off, the engine was still running on the Comma because the passengers sat on it, so I sped off after him, Sweaney eat your heart out. Bits of metal and glass fell off as I drove with the wind in my face. Burns jumped up on the back of his lorry tipping the sacks destroying the evidence. I drove back to the offices to get Masters the manager, he sat in the remnants of a passenger seat, and barked at Burns that he was fired Alan Sugar style.
In truth cases like this were unusual but the outcome was always the same, crime paid, the offender walked away from court laughing, the do gooder Magistrates were hopelessly out of touch. It was also safe not risk. If the first offender was fined £25 then the rest, all that day were fined the same, regardless of what they did.
For those sort of reasons, when I found myself on the front pages or the TV screen because of my job, I generally told it as it was, popular with some but deeply and jealously unpopular with others. Later I would make the transition and become an investigative journalist and the outcome would be more significant than the law of our land. Public shame would achieve more than judicial sentencing, alas.
Cynical yes, the life made you like it. I would catch all the west end hotels for short measure drinks and overcharging. I would catch all the petrol attendants in the west end for fraud. In certain trades conning the customer was trade practice. Management never wondered why their lowly paid staff would turn up for work in a brand new sports car !!!
One Fine Fare manager in Northwood Hills, had the old prices on the shelves and the special offers in the window and in the Daily Mirror advertisement. The result, the sales till staff overcharged everyone. He was petrified when I turned up, sometimes the job had that effect when they had something more to hide than their brown underwear. I think I got 3 cases that day on just routine visits, no complaints from the unknowing public that I was duty bound to protect. I got out of the van with Dave Smith and thought those punnets of strawberries were never 8 ozs. Guess what they weren't. One Greengrocer Case. Next Fine Fare, where the manager later had a heart attack (3 weeks later) and died. The Supermarket bosses were cruel to their staff if Trading Standards caught them out. Next a car dealer turning the mileage and therefore the history of the vehicle back on the odometer. One Christmas time, a Butcher's turkeys in the window were all £2 over priced. Because of the scale of the problem, a queue developed of his customers even queuing down the road. One customer mouthed off at me, saying leave the butcher alone, he had been a customer for 25 years it was the butcher down the road I should be checking up on. I could not tell this guy the truth. The Butcher, under caution, his excuse was "trade practice".
That was the day in the life of...........not every day, but not an untypical day. It was rare to find no trouble to deal with, not to make , but to deal with.
Of course all the troubles had to be written up. At least we had typists in those days to write up our reports, at least we had a team to go out with and do the job. Nowadays like most jobs its one man bands, no help, no corroboration. In fact if I knew at 18, what I know now, I would have never joined the service. Since the Thatcher years it has been decimated. More statutes given by Parliament to police and less manpower and financial budgets. Consumer protection these days is caveat emptor, buyer beware, and self assistance for the majority of the time. That is ok as quality of the product has improved, but the standard of service and the desire to make a fast buck remains the same as it always was. Other things like education and social work takes presidence, and the consumer has to watch out for himself more and more, but still pay his taxes.
to be cont'd ......................
I tried to right wrongs, and today in England's green and not so pleasant land, there are a lot of things wrong, like litter, energy waste, a tardiness to incorporate alternative energy sources, and a great waste of experience and education by this country. Strong stuff, but it is no wonder people just rely on the state and drift along. Why should they bother when the country, government and society does not bother about it's citizens. The Government pump billions of pounds into a black hole of banking institutions and watch from the balcony playing a fiddle as countless companies go bankrupt with no support from government or the banks. So the unemployed swell in numbers me included.
Today I go to Job Centre Minus to sign on again. £73 a week. They will say have you worked - No, are you looking for work - yes, I will say have you got any jobs , they will say no. I have argued 3 times about sending me on a Career Development Course which places the individual in a job at the end, by fine tuning skills that are transferable. All this funded by EU grants. I am waiting to hear, after trying all manner of routes to by pass Job Centre Minus who are an obstacle to progression. I even wrote to my MP, but that was a waste of time too. At the Government's Job Centre Minus they fail to put people back to work, as I sit there my bum hardly makes an impression in the seat, my question and answer period with an officer laughingly called an advisor, last for about 60 seconds. This is what is has come to after a couple of yearss working through private employment agancies as a lorry driver, apart from the year I worked fixed term to introduce the smoking controls in public places. So to resort to being a Job Centre Minus statistic is a true last resort.
I have sort advice from other non government organisations like Next Step and Jobsmaites. They have warned me about age discimination, so on my CV 30 years plus of dealing with the public, is not a selling point - delete 30 years. So sad.
It is a far cry from when I left school. I was still working at my Friday night Saturday job in Woolworths Harlesden on the delicatessen counter. I had a Lambretta TV175, £££, no tax as a student, and a job which was a source of girlfreinds too. I was ok. BUT, the Youth Employment Bureau thought otherwise. They told me off in their Pound Lane Offices. I told them I looked in the newspapers and applied for jobs, I had 3 A levels and 11 O levels. Not good enough. Go for these 6 jobs. OK.
Well the highest paid was in what was to become Trading Standards but in those days was still Weights & Measures, working for a local council but run by the Board of Trade. £19 a week, trainee assistant, checking up on factories and shops, sounded good to me.
It was a mile and a half to work. I started by going on the bus. I even made a girlfriend at the bus stop, a hairdresser, very pretty, lasted a week.
I had to drive a van when we checked petrol forecourts and factories, One inspector 2 assistants. Sometimes I drove the inspectors cars when just 2 went to check retailers. I still lived with Mum in Essex Road, but we worked in Ealing, Brent and Harrow, so we travelled to the edge of London and the countryside like Elstree and Stanmore. It was interetsing stuff. One of the best jobs was acting like a customer. I would go into a shop and buy something, then we would check it for correct weight and price back at the car parked round the corner. I often caught the shops. I had some knack of pretence innocence. So much so that Harry Stanton said once " Bloody hell, every time you go into a shop I get another case". Good old red faced, grey haired Harry, he never got promoted. He looked like an old Colonel Blimp, a Knight of St Columbus, got drunk every lunch time, so to keep death off the roads the assistant would drive in the afternoon. Else if he drove we would be swerving in a silver grey Singer Vogue Estate with the rotund Harry clutching the steering wheel but leaning on the curves with the wheel, TT Isle of Man style, pass the roseary beads Harry !!!
We had ex Kenya inspectors too. They were ex British Colonials, fluent in Swahili which came in handy in Southall, as the African Asians were being booted out of Africa to land at Heathrow Airport.
The Trade Descriptions Act November 14th 1968 changed the job overnight. Lots of people telephoned to complain for the first time. The car had broken down, the artist impression hotel in the holiday brochure had not been built in time, the special offers were over priced. The Harold Wilson Labour Government tried to protect the consumer, whereas today it is left to Brussels. We had counter inflation measures to stop traders making instant profit as they did in 1971 with decimalisation. Then a pint of Watneys Red Barrel went up overnight from one shilling and ten pence to twelve and a half p = to 2 shillings and sixpence in old money. Old Money that had served the anglo saxons well, so it was an excuse to profit and inflate prices. Lessons were learned and I was so good at getting prices down, I took over all the counter inflation complaints in 1973. One extremely camp gay ladies hairdresser in Ealing said to me after I had taken the red pen to his price list on the introduction of VAT.......... *Oooooooooo you are ruthless, you have taken me to the cleaners".
I was qualified by now, it took 4 years to pass a Government Professional series of exams on law and technology. I used to get lots of stories that I could dine out on. Only because I seemed to have a knack of finding trouble. My jealous counterparts would say I was a trouble maker, a maverick, a loose canon. I would counter and say I knew exactly where I was aiming. I did not need artificial targets. I did not want to tick boxes. My self motivation was about deterrence, and making the place fairer for all, a level playing field , where cheats did not prosper. Hard sometimes when you are in your early twenties and the only thing younger than you is a Page 3 girl in the Sun.
Coal men were always on the fiddle. We would roam the streets in residential areas in a specially equipped van with a big sliding scale in the back. Sacks of coal would be weighed and often they were well short of the cwt. So the lorry would be escorted back to the yard it had come from and the whole load reweighed.
One day in Northolt, I was still a trainee with John Taylor who had just passed. We used to go to day release college together. He had married his child hood sweet heart. He went on to be the Chief Officer in later years, never working outside Brent. We got on professionally, but I cannnot say we liked each other. So one day Mr Burns the coal man is in Carr Road Northolt delivering, his bags turn out to be light. Taylor tells him to go back to Charringtons in Neasden by that bridge I walked over after my tonsils were removed 17 years before. Burns tries to make a run for it, he drives a huge detour up through Harrow, even Stanmore, with me in a Comma Van at the wheel pinned behind him, even when he goes through red lights, even crossing the North Circular. Then in the yard after this chase, he stops on the weighbridge, goes into revers and before I can select reverse he has rammed us. The whole front of the cab is now in bits all around me. The steering column saved me, Taylor had leeped over the passenger seat into the back. The van was a write off, no windsreen, no doors, no grill. Burns sped off, the engine was still running on the Comma because the passengers sat on it, so I sped off after him, Sweaney eat your heart out. Bits of metal and glass fell off as I drove with the wind in my face. Burns jumped up on the back of his lorry tipping the sacks destroying the evidence. I drove back to the offices to get Masters the manager, he sat in the remnants of a passenger seat, and barked at Burns that he was fired Alan Sugar style.
In truth cases like this were unusual but the outcome was always the same, crime paid, the offender walked away from court laughing, the do gooder Magistrates were hopelessly out of touch. It was also safe not risk. If the first offender was fined £25 then the rest, all that day were fined the same, regardless of what they did.
For those sort of reasons, when I found myself on the front pages or the TV screen because of my job, I generally told it as it was, popular with some but deeply and jealously unpopular with others. Later I would make the transition and become an investigative journalist and the outcome would be more significant than the law of our land. Public shame would achieve more than judicial sentencing, alas.
Cynical yes, the life made you like it. I would catch all the west end hotels for short measure drinks and overcharging. I would catch all the petrol attendants in the west end for fraud. In certain trades conning the customer was trade practice. Management never wondered why their lowly paid staff would turn up for work in a brand new sports car !!!
One Fine Fare manager in Northwood Hills, had the old prices on the shelves and the special offers in the window and in the Daily Mirror advertisement. The result, the sales till staff overcharged everyone. He was petrified when I turned up, sometimes the job had that effect when they had something more to hide than their brown underwear. I think I got 3 cases that day on just routine visits, no complaints from the unknowing public that I was duty bound to protect. I got out of the van with Dave Smith and thought those punnets of strawberries were never 8 ozs. Guess what they weren't. One Greengrocer Case. Next Fine Fare, where the manager later had a heart attack (3 weeks later) and died. The Supermarket bosses were cruel to their staff if Trading Standards caught them out. Next a car dealer turning the mileage and therefore the history of the vehicle back on the odometer. One Christmas time, a Butcher's turkeys in the window were all £2 over priced. Because of the scale of the problem, a queue developed of his customers even queuing down the road. One customer mouthed off at me, saying leave the butcher alone, he had been a customer for 25 years it was the butcher down the road I should be checking up on. I could not tell this guy the truth. The Butcher, under caution, his excuse was "trade practice".
That was the day in the life of...........not every day, but not an untypical day. It was rare to find no trouble to deal with, not to make , but to deal with.
Of course all the troubles had to be written up. At least we had typists in those days to write up our reports, at least we had a team to go out with and do the job. Nowadays like most jobs its one man bands, no help, no corroboration. In fact if I knew at 18, what I know now, I would have never joined the service. Since the Thatcher years it has been decimated. More statutes given by Parliament to police and less manpower and financial budgets. Consumer protection these days is caveat emptor, buyer beware, and self assistance for the majority of the time. That is ok as quality of the product has improved, but the standard of service and the desire to make a fast buck remains the same as it always was. Other things like education and social work takes presidence, and the consumer has to watch out for himself more and more, but still pay his taxes.
to be cont'd ......................
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