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CHEERS FOR NEW LEADER JOURNALIST.

At Hawarden Community Council, Monday night, a young woman slipped in and started taking notes. I sincerely hope that she publishes what she heard as without exception, cllrs are sick of being given the proverbial “two fingers” by the Chief Constable who together with his officers have let us down. The elected members are now on a collision course as every request to ask officers to attend the occasional council meeting is just ignored. For 18 months we’ve tried every tack to keep a dialogue going with our local police. Months ago, a community support officer would attend which always led to a useful exchange of information between cllrs and cops but not now.

I’ve tried to stick up for them, saying that their time is too precious to meet every month and let’s try a regular email exchange or meeting with us. So often over the months, the police’s grand promises of improved communications have just fizzled out.

The best North Wales police can do is to delegate a temporary inspector( sergeant) to drop us a line. We’ve invited the Police Commissioner to address us but that produced a vague letter from his CE that has promised nothing. Our Council Chair, a very decent and committed Ve Amos has been badly snubbed twice when a meeting had been arranged at a police station but nobody bothered to turn up or just cancelled without letting her know.

The local high school has lost it’s regular link with local officers and the previously useful meeting of minds that resolve problems before they escalated no longer happens. Mark Tami, has honestly admitted he gets the “bog off” treatment too and his letters are frequently ignored. Shocking. If NWP won’t acknowledge it’s elected representatives what hope is there for the public?

It’s a drastic step but seems we have no option but to make a formal complaint against our arrogant chief. He’s subject to the police discipline code like all bobbies. This could get interesting. If the Independent Police complaints authority actually accept our complaint who will oversee the investigation? Step forward the NW Police PCC, Winston Roddick.

As the chief and the commissioner now seem to be bosom pals, your community councillors could find themselves ‘goosed’ with no means of redress.

I met the lady with the notebook when leaving. She told us she was the new Leader reporter. “I like your blog”, she cheerfully announced. I was impressed. “Thought no one read it: had decided to ditch it,” I replied. So, dear reader, blame the new Flintshire Leader journalist for this change of mind. All is not well at County hall, a High Court judge is still thwarting my demand for the perjury allegation to be investigated by NWP and in truth many important topics are being buried. The chief constable’ s remarkable behaviour is just such a case. Hawarden cllrs are in no mood to walk away from any further disrespect and wanton arrogance from the servants whose wages we pay! We could be in for quite a battle.

FAREWELL TO THE IRON LADY.

No. 10 when Harold Wilson was PM hosted a bash to celebrate the year of the woman many moons ago. As a chief inspector at Tottenham Court Road, I was rung by a very plummy voice who said, “Treasury here, come to No 10 and bring a friend”. I thought it was a spoof & stopped myself in the nick of time from telling the voice to bugger off. “May I ring you back please” I cooed. Voice was from the treasury and the reception invitation was accepted. I took my boss, the Commander. Wise move. He could help my promotion but more useful still, he had a chauffeur driven car.

I was happily hoovering up the bubbly and fingering the No 10 curtains when Mrs T arrived late and rather breathless. The plonk was stronger than I realised. “You’ re late,”, I said pointedly, She looked flustered. “I’m terribly sorry”, she replied at once, “I’m afraid I was detained at the house”. She must have known at once that I was a no-mark, champers swilling nerd as she gave me a withering look and shot away to find her host. She was smaller than anticipated and dressed immaculately in black. I hurried to find my boss, (he with the car). He was almost eye level with the magnificent bust of actress Diana Rigg and was revelling in their conversation. His eyes were shining & bulging in excitement. So close to the ’embonpoints’ of a huge TV star, pleased him greatly. The bash for women reception helped my career no end.

When battling with the forces of evil during my stressful quest for equality, in the 90’s, I got a lovely letter & Christmas card from Dr MO Molem MP that was signed by all women MP’s bar one. I was over the moon at such a kind gesture. Only one signature was missing. Margaret Thatcher’s achievements are legendary but I don’t think giving a helping hand along the road to equality was one of them. Maybe I was unfair but I saw her as “the Queen Bee”. Having struggled so hard herself to make it to the top, she saw no need to help other women struggling to make progress too. Maybe she was right.

My final Mrs T anecdote was courtesy of a splendid documentary commissioned by the BBC who asked various “mini celebrities” to choose a character in a powerful position and decide on two wishes or causes that could be made into law. I was first. I was to play the role of Mrs T and from what I can now remember, I wanted to make Freemasons come out of their closets and admit lodge membership. My other wish was something to do with affordable child care.

No expense was spared by the Beeb & I found myself with my PA on a train being briefed. First class tickets were bought to Peterborough, PA, director, camera crew and me all piled aboard and hogged the carriage and corridor whilst the camera clicked. Next was to Holborn, to the heart of Freemasonry where I was filmed seated in the Grand Lodge hall and inspecting the show cases bursting with Freemason paraphernalia. Discovered that royalty was the big cheese with piccies of him in his pinny and clutching a big trowel.

After that, a limousine took me as Mrs T to a spoof audience with the Queen. With camera crew poised, we circled round the Victoria monument outside the palace a dozen times with me and faithful PA briefing me in the back of the limousine. Finally, the director was happy with the shots and then on to a children’s play area were I was obliged to spout on the changes I would make as the Prime Minister on affordable health care. Then to the bowels of the British Library to thumb through files was next. My poor memory was severely tested as no crib sheet was allowed to speak my lines. I staggered through the script again at the final scene which was to be a mock up of Mrs T’s office at No 10.

Every thing looked authentic even down to the mantelpiece clock and the casually placed small bottle of whiskey on her desk. A door had been already identified somewhere near Hampstead which closely resembled that real No 10 door. With careful camera angles to capture the arch. What fun and they allowed me to drink the whiskey and I got paid too.

Cheers Mrs Thatcher! It was a remarkable experience. I still have the tape of my Mrs T antics and I thought it was the best in the series. I would say that wouldn’t I?

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