One for the health conscious

Neigh-bourhood watch

Riding hats off to a sergeant in the Metropolitan Police, who is quoted in the Evening Standard after an operation to target vagrants in London. Commenting on the use of mounted cops, he says: 'Officers on horses mean increased visibility. They have a different viewpoint and can spot things we don't.'

My old friend Hoffy suggests that giraffes might provide an even better vantage point in the fight against crime.

But animals cost money. In these times of austerity, surely a few step ladders from B&Q would be a more appropriate investment?

A new take on the London property market

There are some ads that are just made for a semiotics seminar. Take this bewildering appeal below from London estate agent Douglas & Gordon, for instance.

We are treated to an elaborate illustration which speaks more of Bavaria than Barons Court. A chirpy young lad in lederhosen is centre stage alongside the agency's promotional boards. Behind him, some kind of emaciated wolf is sheepishly creeping past a flock of lambs. Does the unfortunate beast perhaps represent a rival agent, drummed out of the neighbourhood by the burghers of the picturesque Teutonic town that lies nearby?

The local populace certainly seems delighted. There appear to be numerous new instructions in the area and the townsfolk waltz gaily towards them, hoardings in hand. It's only a matter of time before every local property is sold, subject to contract. Well, all the ones laid to lawn and with off-street parking at least.

Inside the mind of the UKIP voter

I try very hard to think myself into the heads of UKIP supporters and understand what makes them tick. I really do. After all, about a quarter of the population now seems prepared to vote for this barmy army.

At a political level, all the stuff about disenfranchised protest voters is probably true. Some of the supporters are alienated from all the mainstream parties. Many are natural Tories and just feel that David Cameron is too wishy-washy. But plenty of the Tories who think Cameron's a sell-out still end up voting Conservative. The UKIP voter is a particular breed.

These are folks who like moaning and griping and feeling hard-done-by. There's nothing they enjoy more than being stuck in traffic queues, worrying about which station is going to give them the best-value petrol and which one is going to rip them off. Almost certainly they'd use a pound's worth of fuel to get to a particular Nigel Farage where unleaded was a penny cheaper per litre. They'd moan all day about the cost of living and spend a lot of time on price comparison sites making sure they weren't shafted when they bought insurance. But no expense is spared on their dogs, their Sunday roast and the occasional packet of fags.

They don't care much for metropolitan life full stop. It's not only the immigrants. Just as surely as they're suspicious of Poles and Bulgarians, they have an instinctive mistrust of Starbucks, bus lanes, hipsters and any meal served with 'jus' rather than gravy.

UKIP voters are nostalgic for a bygone world of course. Polls show us that 70% are over 50. It's tempting to see them as people with a romantic, mythical vision. John Major's old ladies bicycling past the cricket on a picturesque village green. The truth is they hanker after a very real and much more brutal world. It's a world of national service, of people with depression pulling themselves together, of smoke-filled pubs and birching on the Isle of Man.

Health and safety? Don't make them laugh.

The congestion charge? What a liberty.

And please don't get them started on speed cameras. Just an excuse for the government to make money.

These malcontents and whingers are easy to dismiss. But they represent a central part of British life. They are the kind of people who always believe themselves to be right, who never have a good word for others and prefer a good, traditional cup of tea to some fancy cappuccino.

You know people like this. I know people like this. Theirs is a world of fear, distrust and dislike. Of common-sense answers and black-and-white, cast-iron certainties. But can they really represent the future of the UK?

Their success is probably self-limiting. I don't say this out of complacency. They can certainly do real electoral damage because older people are more likely to turn out and vote. But their lasting legacy is likely to be the changes they force on the other parties. And possibly the toxic climate they build in the run-up to any referendum on British membership of the EU. The day we vote to detach ourselves from the rest of the world and retreat into our bunker.

Costume time, me hearties!

One has to feel a little sorry for the members of the Women's Institute in North Devon. When the ladies heard that a speaker was coming to address them on the subject of piracy, they entered into the spirit of the occasion by dressing up (http://m.thisisnorthdevon.co.uk/story.html?aid=18871181).

Shiver me timbers, though. If only the landlubbers realised the faux pas they were committing. For their guest wasn't coming to talk about the yo-ho-ho type of pirate. He was planning to recount his treatment at the hands of Somali brigands back in the year of our Lord 2008. Lol.

Luckily, the speaker had a sense of humour. According to reports, he helped judge the best-dressed attendee and revealed that he likes the WI circuit as it helps him to 'flog his book'.

Flogging was a common feature on pirate ships of yore as well, I'm sure.

Jesse's the guvnor when it comes to conspiracies

I’m on the brink of becoming addicted to Jesse Ventura’s Conspiracy Theory – a series produced by TruTV, in which the former wrestler, navy seal and governor of Minnesota investigates some of the kookiest ideas kicking around the darker corners of the web.

So far, I’ve seen the one about how the US government has been experimenting with time travel and another about a so-called ‘death ray’, inspired by ideas ‘stolen’ by the FBI from Serbian physicist Nikola Tesla. This sci-fi weapon was supposedly used to bump off various people involved in Ronald Reagan’s Star Wars programme, but by the end of the show, the eccentric Ventura is convinced that it also zapped the Twin Towers on 9/11. This bizarre assertion leads to a row with his son, who’s worried dad is losing credibility by abandoning whatever previous conspiracy theory he had advocated on the subject. Consistency is clearly important in this particular subculture. You can’t go around thinking that JFK was abducted by aliens, only to change your mind and say that he was shot by Lord Lucan.

It’s not so much the subject matter that makes Conspiracy Theory such gripping TV. It’s the absurd format, which is based around a kind of ‘ops room’ table where Ventura gathers together his trusted advisers and they update each other on investigative progress. Londoner June Sarpong is one of the team, although her CV reveals little in the way of forensic police experience. She presented T4, as well as WAGS Boutique on ITV2 and a programme in which she tried to track down the ghost of Michael Jackson. She has an MBE. There’s Tyrel – Jesse’s son – and also a guy who turns out to be the son of celebrated filmmaker Oliver Stone. When they’re together around the table, the rule is to be deadly earnest about whatever ridiculous idea they’re discussing.

A typical scene would go something like this:

VENTURA Sr: Someone has come to me with information suggesting that the moon doesn’t exist.

VENTURA Jr: What do you mean, the moon doesn’t exist? We can see it, right?

VENTURA Sr: The moon is an illusion. There’s this guy who used to work at Nasa. And he’s told me that we are being brainwashed into believing we see the moon.

SARPONG (looking serious and quizzical): Some kind of mass hypnosis?

VENTURA Sr: Could be. Hypnosis or brainwashing or call it what you will. But there’s something going on here and we need to get the bottom of it. I was sceptical at first. But have you noticed how sometimes the moon is there and other times it’s not?

STONE: I’m not sure I buy it. I mean why would they need to convince us the moon existed?

VENTURA Sr: Listen, my Nasa guy says he can prove it. He’s given me a name. Professor Signedoff Sickalot. If we can find this professor, we could be on to something big.


The next 40 minutes will be taken up with car journeys, knocking on doors and conducting interviews with some of the crankiest cranks ever to be given time in a broadcast medium.

It does have to be said, however, that the bloke who told the Governor about the death ray was dead within 48 hours of spilling the beans. The coroner said it was natural causes. But that’s the verdict that always gets returned in death-ray cases.

Common or garden texts

There are a couple of ads on South West Trains at the moment that are testament to the sheer power of the humble SMS.

'Birds need gardens,' reads one. 'Invite them to yours with a text.'

This bewildering appeal from the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds conjures up images of our feathered friends tapping their beaks on a Galaxy S4. When I want to get in touch with a sparrow or blackbird, I always tweet.

Sightsavers take the idea a stage further. 'This eye infection could blind him. Text the antibiotics that could save his sight.'

My phone is now seemingly linked to a 3D printer. We've certainly come a long way from wuu2 lolz.