Skip to content

Tickets to the Policeman’s Ball

November 16, 2012

Well I didn’t expect to find meself posting about important grown up stuff this soon into this blog lark.  I was expecting it to be pointless drivel about toy soldiers and childish penis-related jokes for quite a while before politics reared its ugly head, but the recent PCC elections in the UK have really got my dander up.

Brief background in case anyone doesn’t know about this (and it would seem that few people do) – the gubberment wants US-style elected police commissioners to be in charge of our boys in blue, and wants us to get to polls to pick which one we want.  Except hardly anyone (relatively speaking) bothered to do so.  The figures for the turnout are ranging from 10-20%, which is frankly abysmal. So, what went wrong?

According to the news programs that I’ve seen the main problems are the lack of information about the candidates and the election being held in November.  They don’t seem to be addressing the elephant in the room however – maybe we don’t fucking want elected police commissioners.  Maybe the British public isn’t too pleased about the idea of taking administrative control of our police forces out of the hands of experienced chief constables (even though they can be pretty dire themselves at the time,  I admit) and handing it over to some wannabe or washed-up MP (in what is meant to be an independent position, even though most candidates were running under a party banner) who doesn’t know one end of an extendable steel baton from the other.  Maybe the British public doesn’t really like the idea of paying another bloody politician £75-100,000 plus expenses so he can spend 4 years pandering to whoever he thinks he needs to butter up in order to get re-elected next time round.  And maybe the British public doesn’t want to spend a cool hundred million quid to organise the whole sorry mess.

I was torn between spoiling my ballot and not voting.  The first can be dismissed as cack-handedness and the second as apathy, but there was no way I could have voted for one of the candidates and thereby endorsed this farce.  In the end it would have been awkward for me to find time to get down the polling station and still make the Blood Bowl game I arranged, so I opted to abstain.  In hindsight I think this was the right decision – I haven’t heard anyone reporting on the percentage of spoilt ballots yet, so it seems there may be some folk who’s prefer to keep it quiet – unsurprising really, as if (say) 15% of the case votes were spoilt and the turnout was only 15% to start with things look more and more ropey (incidentially, I have some purely anecdotal information from someone working the count locally that the number of spoiled ballots was really quite significant).

Now,  as I did not vote I’m faced with that old chestnut – “if you didn’t take part in the process you don’t have any right to complain about the result.”  There is only one way I can think to describe this particular argument in this instance – utter bollocks.  If a chap walks up to you in the street and offers you the choice of being punched in the face or in the cock you wouldn’t be too quick to choose.  You might even proffer the opinion that there was no need for you to be punched at all.  You’d certainly think it was unfair that if you ended up lying in the street holding your injured tallywhacker that your attacker went on to tell you that you’d no right to complain about the pain you were in because you opted not to take part in the decision-making process.

So what should have happened, according to me?  Simple.  If you are going to go ahead with the scheme, stick two questions on the vote.  The first, which would have applied at a national level, should have been “Do you want to have an elected police commissioner?”.  If the national vote was ‘yes’, then the second question comes into play on a local level – “which of the following would you want to do the job?”  And that kind of devastatingly insightful wisdom is why when I come to power in a bloody coup the country will be a much better place.  Well, it might not end up a better place but there’ll certainly be more Indian restaurants and I’d make sure the Millennium era Godzilla films get a decent UK release.  But anyway. I just hope that in 4 years time the electorate remembers this shambles, and when it comes time to re-elect these chaps we can give them an even bigger and clearer ‘piss off.’  We shall see.

Anyway, knob gags… so this guy walks past a wishing well and he sees another bloke standing there next to a tiny little man about a foot tall who’s playing a miniature piano… ah, fuck it.  I’m not in the mood.  Next week will be considerably lighter and geekier, I promise.  I’ll be exploring my love of Japanese monster movies, and I promise there’ll be some excellent genitalia related humour.  Honest.


From → Musings

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: