Category: Crime

In a Galaxy Far, Far Away

I’ve never understood the enduring, almost religious appeal of sci-fi and superhero stuff – the comics, the blockbusters, the video games, the whole alternative universe. Ok, I admit I did enjoy the original Star Wars trilogy and loved the sixties Batman with Adam West as the camp caped crusader in budgie smugglers (I wonder why?). But that was back when I was young and easily aroused. These days, I much prefer a whodunnit – even better if it’s set in a quintessential caramel-coloured English village with a mad vicar with murder in mind.

But we were reminded how big the ‘super-verse’ has become when the circus came to town for Comic Con 2025 at the Excel Centre in London’s Docklands. Our East End digs for my 65th birthday extravaganza were occupied by a battalion of young superhero lookee-likees. A trio of dressed-up Star Wars jedheads joined us in the lift. As the doors began to close, one cried out, ‘Shit, I’ve left my light sabre behind!’ Down in the lobby, we were faced with a speeding bullet of supermen in full caped garb, rushing – though not flying – out the door, with Captain America and Darth Vader bringing up the rear.

Still, I guess it’s all good clean fun for the young and the young at heart. Much healthier than being seduced by the dark side of cybercrime, county lines, street gangs or religious fruitcakes.

Off With His Head!

I’ve received a summons. No, I haven’t been caught with my trousers down, at least not recently. I’ve been called for jury service at Norwich Crown Court. The reaction from most people seems to be either “bloody Hell, how can I get out of it?” (generally, you can’t) or “wow, I’d love to do that”. My reaction was “oh no, not again”.

Because it’s my third time. Yes, my third. Most people I know have never been called at all.

As a veteran juror, I know the drill. It can be fascinating – the theatricals in the court, the drama in the jury room with random jurors drawn from all and sundry, and personal prejudices laid bare. But there’s a lot of sitting around in the jury pool between trials. At least these days technology can help relieve the boredom, so I’ll be twiddling with my tablet rather than my thumbs. All my other digits will be crossed, hoping I don’t get put on a trial that goes on and on.

Gossiping about an ongoing case with anyone – including with him indoors – is strictly verboten, so my lips will be sealed before sealing the fate of the defendant. To cut short the proceedings, I’m thinking of yelling “off with his head” as the accused is brought up from the cells. Or maybe not.

When I served before, I sat on a series of short trials. The one that sticks in my mind the most is the case of an ex-British Rail manager in a cheap suit who was up before the beak for fiddling his business expenses. He was caught charging the amorous services of certain ladies of the night to the company account. We found him guilty. I hope the jollies were worth it.

I’ll do my civic duty. of course, partly because I have no choice but mostly because I think it’s probably the fairest system on offer. As it says on t’interweb…

Trial by jury, where a group of ordinary citizens decide a case, has a rich history evolving from ancient legal practices to modern legal systems. The origins can be traced back to Germanic tribes and the use of juries to investigate crimes and judge the accused. In the 12th century, Henry II in England established juries to settle land disputes, marking a key step in the development of the modern jury system. Today, the jury system is a cornerstone of legal systems in many countries, ensuring a fair and impartial verdict by laypersons. 

And it certainly beats ‘trial by ordeal’ – torture by any other name – once zealously promoted by the Church, with The Almighty deciding. Flipping a coin would have been fairer. It’s just a pity some traditional forms of punishment have also gone out of fashion. There are a few people I’d cheerfully strap to a ducking stool.

It’s a Fair Cop, Guv’nor

As my regulars know, I love an old-fashioned whodunnit. I’m still grieving over the loss of Vera. I’ll get over it eventually, as the pain fades with time. Besides, I can always rekindle my ardour by watching the repeats on a loop. My fondness for crime shows may stem from my brief but passionate dalliance with a cute detective sergeant from Greater Manchester Police many moons ago. Our eyes met across a smoky gay bar on Gran Canaria. But that’s another story.

However, one must-have aspect of a murder mystery has always baffled me. Those mugshots pinned to the incident board. Where the hell do the bobbies in blue get them from? It’s not like the prime suspect is likely to pop their best swipe right pic in the post with a note attached saying It’s a fair cop, guv’nor. It’s the biggest mystery of all.

Image courtesy of ‘The Bay’
Image courtesy of ‘Murder in Paradise’

Money with Menaces

From time to time the odd genuine email drops into my spam folder by mistake, so I check it regularly. Spam-wise, I get targeted with a load of old crap. We all do – it’s the price we pay for being plugged in and switched on. They’re a mixed economy, often amusing and frequently daft. If I wanted Viagra, I’d buy it over the counter from Boots. And why would I need dodgy cut-price US car insurance or bargain-bucket bullets?

Sometimes, though, my scam spam turns more threatening. Recently, some pond life with terrible, often pompous, English calling himself ‘Fergus Bateman’ claimed to have hacked into my devices. Allegedly, he’d been monitoring my activity.

Fergus wrote…

“I found that you’ve been a frequent patron to erotic websites. It seems you have quite a bold side when it comes to finding satisfaction through these platforms.”

And that he’s…

“… come across some adult recordings featuring you, displaying intimate interactions I have that you might not want publicly shared.”

Erotic websites? My bold side? Intimate interactions? Oh no, has Fergus uncovered my saucy seventies Polaroids? And, he says he’s also stolen my address book and social media IDs so I’d better pay him the ‘trivial amount’ of $12,000 within 24 hours* or else.

Twelve grand? Trivial?

Well, Fergus, the bedroom blackmailer, social misfit and all round shit with your silly big words like ‘cognizant’ (US spelling) and ‘elucidate’, extortion may be the name of your game but the only money game I play is Monopoly.

So do your worst. Or better still, get a job.

All joking aside, there’s a serious point to all this. Scammers scam just like muggers mug because there’s money in it. Online or on the streets, theft is as old as the hills. And with social media becoming increasingly toxic, who knows who the good guys are anymore? Maybe it’s time to unplug and switch off?

*Of course, the 24 hour deadline came and went and still no one’s had the dubious pleasure of seeing my wee willy on screen. But I do sometimes wonder what happened to those old Polaroids.

From Social Outcasts to National Treasures

London is a gloriously haphazard, jumbled up kind of place where the rich and the ragged sometimes co-exist cheek by jowl. The Boltons in West London is an address for the seriously loaded, thought to be the second most expensive street* in the land – you won’t get much change out of £23 million. Famous former residents include Douglas Fairbanks Jnr, Jenny Lind and Madonna – the queen of pop that is, not of Heaven. And yet, close by is an entirely different Boltons, an imposing late-Victorian pub. It’s a building with a chequered, ever so slightly sleazy history. From the mid-fifties until the early nineties it was a gay bar. But then time was called on the boozy cruising and it was flogged off to be reborn as a faux Oirish theme pub as part of the O’Neill’s chain. Finally, it morphed into a trendy, overpriced gastropub called The Bolton. That didn’t last either. Nowadays, the boozer is down on its uppers – boarded up, forlorn and flaking; the only punters at the bar are squatters.

Back in the late seventies when I was a fresh-faced young gay-about-London Town, I sometimes drank in Boltons. It was a smoke-filled and deliciously seedy den of vice frequented by assorted ne’er-do-wells – rent boys, drunks, druggies, pimps, peddlers and petty thieves – a place to keep a tight hold of your wallet, if not your virtue. Not that I ever rented out, peddled or picked pockets, of course. It was just fun to watch the action, like feeding time at the zoo.

Now I hear that the worthy burghers of Kensington and Chelsea – the local council and my former bosses – have granted the building protected status because as Councillor Cem Kemahli said…

“The recognition of this historic pub as a listed site stands not just as a tribute to its architectural importance but also celebrates its role as a cherished hub within the LGBTQ+ community. The preservation of buildings like this one echoes our history and diverse communities in the borough.”

Blimey. It’s not that long ago when the worthy burghers were trying to get all the local gay venues closed down. From social outcasts to national treasures in just 40 years.

*the UK’s most expensive street is Kensington Palace Gardens in the same London borough, not far away from the Boltons.

Must Try Harder

QuickBooks is a handy accountancy package used by many small businesses and sole traders like me so it’s not that surprising that scammers target their users. Scamming is a highly profitable business – a digital plague bringing ruin and misery to so many. But really, when it plummets to this level of stupidity, it’s a miracle that anyone gets conned.

0/10 for language, spelling, grammar, punctuation and the wrong currency. Must try harder.

Right on Target, Right on Price

It’s well known that these little islands have some of the toughest gun laws this side of the Milky Way. It’s possible to legally own a gun but for very specific reasons only – down on the farm, for example. There’s pretty much universal consensus in support of strict gun control. People don’t want to see nutters and ne’er-do-wells wandering around their local supermarket with semi-automatic weapons. As a result, gun-crime is mercifully negligible. But this doesn’t stop lazy spammers targeting me with this:

I realise the message was auto-generated from a dodgy mailing list with my name on it – there’s no actual person thinking “I wonder if Jack fancies some bargain bucket bullets today?” What really alarms me is that, if I did keep an illicit pistol under my pillow, I could massacre 50 people for the princely sum of just 21 pence a shot. Frightening.

Another Day, Another Silly Scam

Spam is just like tax and death – unavoidable. Crafty spammers, scammers and crooks, enhanced by even craftier AI, are at it night and day finding even more ingenious ways to get us to part with our pennies. Sometimes, though, the attempts are just silly. I recently received this email from ‘Weebly’, a website hosting service. For a split second, it sounded plausible – I use Weebly for several websites. But then I looked more closely at the sender’s email address: sillysocklady@aol.com. What a silly lady.

Spoof and Spam

I remember the days when spoof meant imitate for a laugh and spam was cheap tinned meat of dubious nutritional value popular with students. Now I’m plagued with spoof and spam telling me my PayPal and Amazon accounts have been suspended and warnings of dire consequences. The latest wheeze comes from fake couriers with their ‘pay up or else’ mantra. It’s easy to be taken in. Many of the emails look genuine enough, professionally written and with all the right branding. But some fraudsters are just a little bit thick and couldn’t pull the wool over a trained monkey. Take this one (allegedly) from the Royal Mail, a UK company.

Here’s a clue: on this side of the pond ‘center’ is spelt ‘centre’. Likewise it’s theatre and metre (unless it’s a device for measuring usage). I know some non-Brits don’t get it but there it is. So listen up ‘Royal Mail’ – supposedly of Tucson Arizona of all unlikely places – 0 out of 10 for effort. Must try harder (as my final school report said).

Is That a Gun in Your Pocket…?

Let’s face it, if you’re plugged into the modern world your privacy will get compromised all over the place. It doesn’t seem to matter what privacy settings you tick on Faceache, the Tweety thing, Instapout or those endlessly annoying cookie notices, your personal information will leak like a rotting condom and sold on to the highest bidder. I’ve got used to the tedious online ads for stuff I’ve already bought, pointless cold calls from India, threatening emails from crooks, futile come-ons from ladies of the night, blah, blah, blah. But then this popped into my mailbox.

Is this for real?

It’s bad enough some trigger happy redneck is selling dodgy gun licences without the boring bits getting in the way like proper training or checks, but the failure to spell ‘amendment’ correctly is just criminal. Tut! Tut!