The Superintendents have their own association and magazine. They get to listen to the Home Secretary blarting on every year, the last a magnificently boring performance by some guy who once did a respectable job as a Postie or such. A more sensitive audience would have been Nulaboured to near death experience. The abolition of activity based costing has saved nearly a quarter of a million man hours and 600,000 more getting rid of some other backroom jiving. Performance targets, once ‘so necessary’ are to be replaced by the public confidence criterion droned on Blue-Nulabour-in-the-face. Public confidence in policing, if not cops personally, is so rock-bottom, they’d have to drill for it, and this only after Red Adair was hired to blow the fires of dissatisfaction out!
The poor Supernintendross (fairly obvious collective noun) have been surveyed and found to believe police culture is about as acceptable as sending anthrax through the mails. They find themselves ridiculed by even more senior officers and stressed to the gills by targets and hiding crime. ‘Damn it all’, they say, it’s spoiling their career prospects and ruining their health. They didn’t join the job just to get £70K a year and bonuses. How will they survive after they quit on the meagre pensions this entails? None of them seem to think fit to blow the whistle and get something done about the public they so routinely let down. Poor souls. Whistle blowing is a term from a much finer time in the British policing model.
Spare a thought for these poor, blighted souls, as you tell some MOP it’s better not to complain because their son has been beaten up by someone from a notorious thug family and it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie because there are not real resources to police the estate, or you wonder why they’ve issued you with Sooty’s Magic Wand as the same thugs start to crowd your single-manned patrol car.