bobby47

Right! I've listened to it all and I honestly believe that Cardin, the Menace to Wirral Council, was outstandingly good. That said, my judgement on Cardin is tainted by a belief that he can do no wrong. That was a good listen and I'm glad I took the time to listen to the transmission.

I'm not in the least bit surprised to read this horror story. Not one little tiny bit. First and foremost Amanda I'm guessing that at some stage after you'd composed your piece and pressed the 'submit' button you may have thought, 'is this the right thing to do. Am I making things worse'. The answer is of course you've done the right thing and you are only making things more difficult for the bully who's done this thing to you and your man. There is nothing wrong in ever asking why and by simply asking why should not result in one getting dragged from their car, cuffed and hauled into a Police Station to be met by humiliation, distress and the behaviour you'd expect to see in some far away horror of a Country that places no value on our precious Law. Here's my help and it's completely good, valid and worthy of your consideration when your man faces this trumped up nonsense of a charge. Firstly, under normal circumstances, when physical aggression is not used by a suspect in a public place or in a private one, the arresting officer must tell the suspect he's being arrested in clear and unambiguous words, Cautioned of course and then restrained by handcuffs. In this case it seems as though Julian was cuffed and then arrested. This is completely wrong and if the Officers notebooks show that he was cuffed before being verbally told, 'you are nicked', then that's an avenue of argument for you to pursue. If Julian was arrested for Obstruction. A catch all tool used by the Police to simply buggar your day up, then the Obstruction must be an obstruction that prevents the Constable, or in this case, the bully, from carrying out his or her lawful duty. In a nutshell, it has to be Lawful for the charge of Obstruction to stand, hold water and get through the scrutiny of the Crown Prosecution case. Now, judging by your piece there is no obstruction to a lawful duty and by simply questioning their actions is not in itself grounds to show that Julian was being obstructive in relation to his misty bloody window. This is an avenue you should pursue and it's very likely that when the CPS peruse the file of evidence a subsequent 'advice' note from them to the arresting officer will highlight this problem area that this bully has helped to create. In the custody suite where your man met the fool of a custody officer, the entire chain of events are both audio and video recorded and this footage should show your man being treated well, being spoken to well and after the period of documentation, it should show Julian being asked if he wanted to make a phone call, wanted a Solicitor and most importantly, being asked whether or not he wished to read the very boring book titled PACE The Codes Of Practice. When you make your complaint, and you must, you insist that the matter is investigated and you are not persuaded to allow this affair to be Informally Resolved. And here's the one question you ask that'll never be disclosed to you but they must address. 'Can you tell me whether or not this Officer has an unusually high arrest rate for offences of Obstruct Police, Public Order and other incidents that place him in conflict with members of the public'. You'll never get the answer Amanda and it really doesn't matter. As for the stripping and searching of your man, unless they are of the opinion that Julian 'may' be in possession of a Class A controlled drug, he's suicidal or he may be a clear and present threat to them, himself or others then they are buggared. Quite simply Julian has been punished and humiliated by those who hold the power. The good news is Amanda that despite the predicament you and Julian now find yourselves in, you both now have the power. Yes, as silly as it sounds you do. This bully of an Officer now has to sit back and worry. And worry he will. Lots of sleepless nights hoping and praying that you let go, accept his version of the Law and give up. What you now do is fight back. You take a quick glance at Paul Cardin of Wirral In it Together, take a leaf from his book and dig your teeth into this bully and refuse to let go. Yes! You bite, snarl and wriggle away until you get someone to step forward and say,'what was done was very wrong and we are sorry'. My warmest regards girl.

'So', said the Psychiatrist, 'pop your clothes off, get naked so that all your emotional barriers can come a tumbling down and let me use an excellent psychiatric tool gifted to my profession by the late and great Carl Jung'. And I did, and whilst I wasn't entirely comfortable that this Trick Cyclist was also naked and in a clear state of arousal I quickly went along with it in the hope that I could receive the diagnosis and embrace the healing. 'First up' he said, 'Ink Blots'. I produce images of Ink Blots and you tell me what you see. Here's the first. What do you see?' I said, 'Bill Norman, Geoff Hughes and Alistair Neil beating the Council Whistleblower with huge chunks of wood and pointy sticks'. 'And this one?', he enquired. I responded, 'Bill bloody Norman and Geoff bloody Hughes being gifted huge wads of money because they were caused hurt, angst and stress by the Whistleblower, who it had been established was the cause of all the bullying'. 'This one'? 'That'll be Bill Norman and the Unison Rep discussing how to rid themselves of the Whistleblower. 'Excellent', he said, 'we're making excellent progress. What about this Ink Blot. What do you see you delightful fully grown man?'. I said, ' Me, tied, tethered and bound to a bed while three buxom wanton wenches violate my body howling, 'Bill Norman fixed all this up and we've got The Syphillis '. 'Right', he said, 'my guess is you don't like the Council. Am I right?' I said, 'good God you're good. Spot on. What about the healing?' 'Sadly for you there isn't one. You've either gotta smash your keyboard up and stay off line or become a little more pragmatic and grasp the reality that public services are infested by psychopaths and narcissistic sociopaths and there's nothing anyone can do to stop them behaving perfectly naturally.

Dan, Colin and Glenda, my sincere apologies, something cropped up and I was unable to attend.

I'll be attending.

Roger, And when you reach that junction of College Road and Penn Grove, glance a little to your left and toward the City and look in awe and wonder at the once beautiful avenue of trees. They ain't so beautiful now. Just as the branches were bearing new buds and provide us all with a fine example of natures beauty and a habitat for all our wildlife, the Council have directed a team of tree surgeons to hack them all into dreadful pieces. Any of you who travel this way, take a look and ask yourselves, 'was this a good thing to do to some wonderful trees'?

William, brilliant piece of work pal. Simply wonderful.

This is what happens when you, me or an organisation begin to dance on the edge of legality. The lines become blurred, personal judgement goes array, others follow the lead and before you know it, you get Unison losing sight of what's right and what's wrong. Many Councils, ours included, up and down the Country have now crossed the line and the only sensible conclusion is, someone, somewhere who operates in this fashion will one day fall from grace. And when that happens, just like the MP expense scandal, there'll be a huge cultural change in attitude between us and them and heads will roll. Course, this is of little consolation to the Hereford Council whistleblower and all the many others who've paid the price in trying to hold their ground, not shift it and slide with all the others to that blurred place that is the edge of legality. As for the audio tapes, one thing I'm certain of, if the Whistleblower has audio tapes then you can bet the Council have gathered a great deal of covert intelligence that'll further demonstrate their slide and place themselves in an extremely difficult position. My guess is, as this sad chapter in Herefordshire public service history nears its conclusion, there'll be lots of shredding, lots of worrying, lots of face to face conversations that might mitigate a past email exchange between one person and another and a great deal of deleting.

And so, as there is no confusion here, let me tell you that I'm voting for Its Our County. Yes! Not withstanding the warmth, respect and high regard I hold for our Glenda Vaughan Powell and Chris Chappell, I'm going into that Polling Booth and placing my 'Cross' alongside the IOC Candidate that represents my locality within our once fine City. Nothing will stop me. Nothing! On the day of the local election I intend to remain sober, I'll abstain from administering myself my two medically prescribed single dose units of Diazepam, I'll not chew away on any Psylocybin that 'may' be dried, shredded and prepared for consumption and secreted beneath my mattress and for once, just once in my life that's become a pointless excercise in waking up, breathing in and out, staggering into the Ale House, getting blasted and returning home only to collapse upon my bed and thus end the regular cycle of my day that says, 'he's still alive', I'm going to vote for Its Our County. I'll be damned if I don't and I ain't for changing my mind. Never! They can send a gaggle of other party candidates around to my hovel of a home, bang on my window and demand I read their manifesto and at least listen to what they have to say, and I'll tell them, 'clear off. Go bother someone else. I'm an IOC man'. Yes! And that's loyalty! Loyalty to a noble cause of change that we in Hereford so desperately need. Mind, loyalty only stretches so far. If ever John Harrington and Amanda Martin ever creep round my dwelling in the dead of night, climb up my drainpipe, open the window, burst in and empty the contents of my recycling bin all over me whilst I'm in bed trying to get some sleep, I'm going to seriously consider not voting for Its Our County. Why? There's nothing worse than having vast bags of rubbish tipped all over you while your in your bed minding your own business and if ever IOC start doing that I will not vote for them. Other than that, and being violated in me own bloody bed, I'm voting for Its Our County and I'll be damned if I change my mind!

Now if the Council hierarchy really wanted to get to the bottom of this chain of events they'd scroll through all the electronic email communications between all those communicating with one another and quickly resolve this issue. But they won't! That'll be the last thing they do and if, for some reason they've already had a peep, nothing they've found will ever be disclosed to anyone who might benefit from the evidence. They certainly will not disclose it to the pour soul who's still sat there waiting to learn their fate after taking the decision to blow the whistle. I'd urge the Whistleblower, if he or she has had the good sense to audio record meetings, to fully disclose their existence to those who want, need and thirst to see the back end of them. If it's not disclosed they may consider it to be not admissible because of the rules of evidence relating to audio recordings.

Seventh paragraph...after 'tiny island nation', should have been read as 'by accident'.

Now your Pedigree dog is what it's says it is. It's a breed that's bloodline has not been tainted by any other species of dog. Your pedigree dog, let's say its a Labrador, is cute, loyal, pretty thick lacking any creativity and for the most part all it wants from life is to be fed, watered, be able to lick its own testicles. It's only problem in life is its back and forth from the Vets, it's back legs start to go when it reaches eight and the poor creature often drops down dead before it celebrates its ninth birthday. Now, your Mongrel dog is an entirely different proposition. Coming from its parents, who's ancestors were highly promiscuous beasts, it's DNA contains the traces of dozens of breeds and its development has been very different from its snooty pedigree Labrador that's not mixed with others of its species. Your Mongrel is very clever, highly creative, resourceful and it's only commonality with its pedigree cousin is, it likes to lick its own testicles as well. Unlike the pedigree, the Mongrel is extremely healthy, it rarely visits the Vet unless it's infested with fleas and it lives for near on twenty years. And that then pilgrims is why we in the British Isles are the way we are. We are by nature an extremely fortunate race of people. Invaded by the Scandinavian Viking horde, the Romans and the Normans we, the indigenous people of the British Isles are a nation of Mongrels. Highly creative in the Sciences, the Arts and a huge raft of influences we've gifted the World, we are the way we are because of immigration. In modern day Britain we are still reaping the rewards of immigration following the arrival and influences from Africa, the Sub Continent and the Carribean and it's this and our English Language that sees us at the top of the league of global creativity. It's no accident that wherever you are in the World you will listen to British music on the radio. None of it, whether it's music, a film, a play, a book or anything else that captures the imagination emerges from this tiny island nation and it's all achieved because of immigration. The current wave of immigration that sees near on two million people originally from East and Central Europe now living and settled here? Well, like all the other passages in our history it'll eventually be good for us. The people from behind the Old Iron Curtain are highly educated, highly motivated to have a better life, they work and they work and they work and they are extremely tough and resilient and these traits in their national psyche will in time have a huge and positive benefit to us. It's inevitable because this is the way of things. This latest, and often bludgeoning movement of people from there to us will only ever help us and that's why I know that immigration is a great thing. Course, people like me who are still intent on voting UKIP ain't tending to think, 'Hoorah! Thank you to the European Union. Hallelujah and Lord be praised! In about fifty years time we're really going to appreciate this'. Moreoften than not they're worried about the 'now' and why it is that our social housing, our public services and our way of life cannot cope with this onslaught of free movement of people. Yep! Despite it all. Despite the obvious that immigration is a good thing for the prosperity, creativity and mental and physical health of a Nation, I still want out of this bloody European Union!

The latest? Well strap yourself down and read on. The very next time you are walking or driving around the City and you see a Bus in your close proximity, have a peep at its back end. There you'll see a huge advertisement banner alerting all to the wonders of Taurus. Yep! And it's public funding and you are paying. Happy? We'll suck on this little cutie. This weekend the entire Taurus Healthcare Team, and it's now huge, are away for the weekend Go Karting. Yes! That good old public service tool designed to create happiness, create wealth, save us all millions that they amongst the hierarchy like to describe as a Team Building Excercise. Ain't it lovely. A couple of days in Wales and it's all being funded by us. Well, that's not strictly true because they'll quite rightly say, 'we are an arms length independent private company and whilst we are funded by the NHS its money that belongs to the PLC and is beyond public scrutiny. Now, they've made a corporate decision to only treat ailments that have Governmental Financial Incentives. In are Well Man and Woman Health cheques, Chronic Heart and Respiratory Illness, INR Warfarin and Diabetes. The other stuff, like a dressing, an injection, a joint injury, cough, cold, sickness or any other bloody thing that you can think of, ain't going to be treated by them because there's no funding. And if there ain't funding they ain't doing it. The next item on their wish list is Prime Care where you can be sure that Taurus will win the bid. Why do they want it? Yes, because it's funded by the NHS. It's all about the money isn't it! Oh, and one more thing; because Nursing staff from the NHS are joining Taurus and becoming strategic thinkers, planners and far removed and distant from ever seeing another patient again because they are helping to build this new Empire of Dirt, a bunch of staff from WVHT have left Blighty for the Phillipines. Why? To recruit Nurses. Who's paying? Us of Course. It's all madness! And on and on we go slipping and sliding toward privatisation of huge chunks of the NHS.

Dear Harry, Your post is an excellent one. There's nothing wrong with it and there's nothing wrong with you. What's actually wrong is me because I'm about to p.is.s on this notion that a University is great news for our City. It's a gimmick. It's no different to that 'halleluzah' moment when some fool stepped forward and suggested that Hereford should aim to be the Capital of Culture. Yes, it's a dog. Not only is it a dog. It's a dog with fleas and I'll be damned if I join this chorus of, ' Wonderful News'. For starters, students have little or no disposable income which, given our already desperate fiscal situation, ain't going to do much to raise any funds through financial transactions that then get recycled within our own communities. I've stood behind students in the Chippy queue and most of them pay by bloody cheque. By bloody cheque! Good Lord! Throw that in with our desperately low housing stock that's failed to house thousands of migrants and indigenous people and which has created a vast number of ***'s that never contribute fully to the Council's revenue and you've got yet another ingredient that'll create more problems to our dysfunctional economy. All that will be achieved is more Homes of Multi Occupancy, more strain on our public services and even more demand to share a room with several others who are all in the same boat of poverty and hopelessness. And yes, it'll raise the private sector rents even higher which'll create even more chaos for all who've chosen to either stay here in Hereford or have chosen to settle here and work hard for low pay and unintentionally help to drive down the weekly wages levels. Then, there's the bloody infra structure! What more can I say about that little knotty conundrum. No sensible and joined up public transport programme, debts created by the Council that we'll never pay off and no bloody sane and sensible manufacturing base that just might ensure a job that pays more than plucking a chicken or picking some fruit. Do I think its a good idea? No I bloody don't. It's a terrible idea that'll have only two groups of people rubbing their hands. Private sector landlords and neighbouring County economies who'll be more than happy to take our highly qualified kids because we ain't got any bloody jobs for them.

There's no needle manufactured by bloody man that's long enough, strong enough and bloody sharp enough to burst the skin of that bladder of a bubble that's bopping about surrounding the machinery that drives the Council madness. If there was one such rotten needle that'd do the job, I'd be the first to grab a hold of it, hurtle across High Town, up Whitecross Road and thrust it into the side of this bureaucratic beast of burden. I'd do it, I'd happily do it and I'd happily face the consequences if the point of my needle happened to pin just one unlucky 'suit' to the bloody wall and rid us of one single over eight thousand pound yearly salary. But.....it ain't going to happen. If it were ever going to happen it'd have occurred several years ago just after 2008 when it became obvious to any observer and political commentator that this model of public service was not fit for purpose and we'd all been fooled into believing that paying the best got us the best. It's all been a lie peddled out by fools who reached their own personal level of incompetence before they ever began their feeding frenzy upon us here in Hereford. If, for one single moment in time I actually believed that this bloody bubble would burst I'd be with the lads in The Commercial making plans to get my bloody handcart and me bloody drinks cabinet set up outside Plough bloody Lane ready to take my place at the top table where I'd begin the culling the suits and starting the destruction of whatever it is that pis.ses me off every single bloody day. But it ain't going to happen! We are, in short, bloody buggared!

It's wonderful isn't it. Remarkable achievement. They've quickly gone from 'Abnormal' to better than 'Good'.

Bloody hand breaks! I didn't know that. Nobody told me about that little bucket of pleasure. Bloody European Union! Nothing! Not one single thing has landed on my lap from that Godforsaken place that's made me mutter, 'lovely. Just what I needed'. Even their rotten musics awful. What have they gifted us in recent times that's pleasing on the ear and makes you clap your hands, stamp your feet and jump up and down all over my fat face? Bloody Conchita Wurst, the bearded lady who won that accursed Eurovision Contest and those despicable Transylvanian Twins who gifted the planet with 'We are the Cheeky Girls'. Bloody Cheeky Girls! If ever that unholy pair ever pop into the Commercial and begin their sultry dance gyrating their bodies anywhere near me and lads, I'm going to tell one of them, and I've no idea which one it is to, 'Clear off. Go bother Lembit Opik you dreadful example of Mainland European taste in music'. There ain't anything that they've got that I want and if I did want it, this'd be the last place I'd use to bloody ask for it!

Yes 'H', I agree with you. Very recently I was supping ale in a local battle cruiser and my friend who was not intoxicated became I'll and an Ambulance was called to take my friend to Hospital. Happily, he/she was ok and was quickly discharged. The following day I took a call from the staff at this battle cruiser who were pleased to hear my friend was well. The tragedy is that the good people from this licensed establishment were frightened to death that this occurrence was in some way their fault and it would be brought to the attention of the Council and the Police. To think that publicans and their staff are driven to fear the consequences of selling someone a pint of ale and have to worry so much that their trade could be disrupted by these zealots who see our social lives in a very different way to normal people who simply want to gather together, sup ale, have a natter, laugh and weave their way home after a lovely night out. Our society, in so many many ways has become hysterical, irrational and driven by fools who've simply no idea. Sadly for us, the fools who fund this madness, we've got absolutely no control of this 'someone's to blame. Nothing is an accident. Someone must be punished' ethos that's dug itself into the daily working philosophy of public service.

I bloody hate the European Union. I do! Bloody hate ain't to stronger word to describe the deep loathing I hold for this arrangement that allows their madness, both social and economic, to hold us all in its death grip. Like me, some of you might think, 'I hate the EU as well'. Well you bloody don't! If you hate them, it, and all it represents as much as I hate them, it, and every bloody thing they bloody represent, then you are sick and unwell and you should throw yourself at the feet of your General Practitioner and demand some immediate healing. That's right! You ain't bloody well! I know I ain't and it's all because of this bloody European Union that buggars about with just about everything that I hold dear. Now they're Buggaring about with Cider. The barstards! I don't drink Cider. Hate the bloody stuff, but I'll defend anyone's right to drink it without bloody Brussels interfering with their supping of this very British drink. Bloody European Union! I challenge any man or woman who taps upon these pages to offer me up one good thing that the European Union has done for me, you and our Country since it's rotten inception.

Bloody public services! In their thirst to create a risk free environment that allows them to apply their light touch and watch from a distance operational stance, they are all destroying our culture and our way of life. Quite simply they ain't doing anything. Unless it's some major event or some unexpected serious occurrence there is no getting them out of their offices or out of their cars and dealing with it themselves. Every bloody place you go where the public gather they ain't there. They're invisible because of all the things that they've out in place that allows them to be disconnected from any public disturbance. They've achieved this many years ago when public services were fat and bloated because of the creation of a boat load of pointless jobs and now, now the times are very different they still remain distant because of all the things they've done and put in place. Whether its a bloody Supermarket, the Job Centre, a public event or in this case a battle cruiser, they are expected to Police it themselves. And Police it themselves they do because every bloody single piece of the jigsaw is designed by them to make our pubs and clubs Police it themselves. These poor traders that serve me with ale are up to their necks in security staff. Not only that, the security staff have to be kitted out with equipment that allows them to communicate with one another. Then there's their training. That don't come cheap. Then there's their authority to act out their role on the pub door that's supposed to reduce risk and allow the Police to be no where near where the possible action might be. And that ain't enough. There's the security cameras. Not for the Police and the Council some low cost bit of recording software that'll record the event but leaves you scratching your head wondering who it might be because the image is grainy and the elevated position of the camera points downwards toward the top of some fools head. No! Urged on by the Council and the Police who are still sat indoors watching from a distance, these businesses are forced to upgrade their software so that when the Officer comes a calling to view the disturbance that they really ain't interested in investigating, through the power of digital recording they can save themselves time sitting in the pub in harms way, immediately lift the interesting footage and take it away for further examination. And all this and a whole lot more eats away at the profit margin of these places that are essential to our way of life and mixing and conversing with one another. It's no bloody wonder so many pubs and clubs are closing. Not only is it highly expensive to maintain, mostly thanks to the bludgeoning mass of hoops the Police and Council make the publicans jump through, it's also a huge burden for them ensuring that they never have to pick up the bloody phone and ask for help because if they bloody do, the Police and the Council will lift their plea for help off their database, throw it in the pile of documents that are titled, 'this licensed premise is a problem and a risk to the public' and off they go again, relentlessly shoving and pushing the proprietor to a place where he or she simply thinks, 'F.u.c.k it. I've had enough. Let's close the place and enjoy a good nights kip'.

Chasing Funds!!!.......I'd like to chase him or rather, I'd like to see him chased. Yes, chased by a huge and starving deranged eight stone, mange ridden satanic looking Alsation dog hell bent on locking its jaws around his buttocks. Chasing funds my neighbours left nut! Let's see how he gets on when 'the people' round him and all the other guilty ones up, give the beast a good sniff of the crotch from his underpants and howl, 'off you go lad. You've a three minute start before the chase begins'. Yes, we'd all see some proper chasing then and most certainly we'd see how effective Roger was trying to raise enough funds from passers bye as he desperately tries to raise the bus fare that'd get him out of High Town and onto the Putson Express and out of harms way from this beastly creation of Nature. Bloody arrogance! 'Im away to chase funds'. What a thing to say. If Roger is our salvation and it's him and only him who'll deliver us from this fast approaching fiscal abyss then I'm Lobby Ludd and anyone who taps my shoulder and says, 'I claim my packet of Scratchings', gets me to sit on an umpires chair in High Town munching a custard slice as I slowly masturbate before a crowd of shoppers who insist upon me singing Lena Martell's version of The Old Rugged Cross as I gradually, over two hours, reach my climax and ejaculate to public cries of 'call the Constable. The mans a menace. We didn't stagger into High Town to witness this low form of depravity. Remove him, his umpires chair and stop him slaughtering that wonderful and much loved hymn that celebrates our love for Jesus.' Chasing funding!!! You can be sure of one thing. When he empties his pockets and produces the cash he's managed to extract begging his way across the United Kingdom and Europe it'll be considerably less than the expenses he's claimed from the ratepayers who funded this gimmick of a crusade.

I'd urge everyone to visit Wirral Leaks and read this piece. The author is a guy called Julian Justice and for writing talent, he's out of my league and I strongly suspect he's in a very different league to his target The Right Honourable Frank Field. This guy is one very talented writer and he can spot an idiot from afar which probably explains why he decided not to allow me to write for Wirral Leaks. Seriously 'tappers', read this mans work. He's extraordinarily good and though the subject matter is The Wirral, much of his work could quite easily be about our clique of leaders who hold sway over all we have in Herefordshire.

Correct Greenknight! As a matter of principle I will not entrust my future recovery, if one is required, by this Council. I'd sooner tap on the door of Kenny The Kilo and beg him to dull my urges and arrest my cravings than ever stagger into Plough Lane and beg for help. It's all a matter of principle and I am a man of principle. I refuse to take part in this Programme!

They're bloody at it again. Bloody Council! They've hoovered up yet another 'interesting' area of business at the expense of something less bloody interesting that'll soon find its way into the outsourcing tray. Well I've had enough! That's it for me. To think what the Council will do with this little slice of joy frightens the life out of me. Good bloody grief! Well I for one ain't going to have anything to do with them and their programme that'll be sure to attract more pointless jobs, more management tiers, endless bloody meetings, and the loss of half a bloody acre of wood destroyed to create the bludgeoning bilge of paperwork that'll be flying around Plough Lane. They can get stuffed. On principle I refuse to have anything to do with it. I'll be damned if I do. If, for some strange reason I suddenly wake up and decide to buy a bag of 'smack' cook it up on my wife's stew spoon mixed in with me blood and I jack it directly into my loin and within days I become addicted to Heroin, I will not, under any circumstances hurtle down Plough Lane and beg Geoff bloody Hughes for a forty milligram slug of their delightful Methadone. Never! I'd sooner say to my loved ones, 'tether me to the bed, lock the door and no matter the dreadful sounds of wailing and begging you hear, do not release me.' Yes! That's the limits of my cooperation with the Council and their Needle Exchange and Methadone Programme. I will never, ever sit in Hughes Office, listen to him preaching on telling me why it was unwise to inject this dreadful opiate into my and beg him for a quick swig from his bucket of Methadone. I'd sooner buy it off the streets. Yes, even if I had to pay for it. I'll be damned if Geoff Hughes is given the golden opportunity to look down his nose at me as I crouch between his legs begging him to put me out of my misery and allow my senses to be dimmed by his opiate substitute. The whole bucket of sludge is now completely out of control. Not satisfied with the many other areas of Health Care they've managed to latch onto, they've now grabbed hold of the needles and the Methadone. They've no business involving themselves in any of this and I refuse to have anything to do with them and bloody it!

Well I'm pleased our Denise has said it first. I think the University is a deeply flawed idea, we are in no position to afford it and if this bloody Council are driving this scheme then, given what they've done thus far, chances are it'll all end up as a bucket of sludge. Course, saying something like this is near heresy. Afterall, there's nothing wrong in Education, Education, Education. An entirely good thing as long as an economy is in a position to afford it, take advantage of it and use it to drive up the local and recycleable disposable income levels. And therein lies our problem. We've the second lowest disposable income levels in the Country, we've little or no infra structure, no high paying and highly technical industrial manufacturing base, we've an economy driven by a vast lowly paid but highly expensive to maintain workforce, we've an over reliance upon the public sector and worse, all our kids are leaving and those that are staying put are being required by the Job Centre, or as they now like to think of themselves, Job Creators, to dumb down their qualifications and enable themselves to compete with the fruit puckers, the chicken pluckers and the car washers. No! I think its a terrible idea driven by 'that's a good idea, let's run with that' and as is always the case, no real thought has gone into it. It's a gimmick and like Denise has stated, a few hundred youngsters ain't going to provide and wealth 'now'. And let's face it, it's the bloody 'now' we now need to deal with and scattering a bunch of youngsters all over the City with no hope at the end of their Course ain't going to help anyone other than the property developers and the landlords who continue to strip away the flesh upon our brittle economic bones.