Roll up for the frenzied Nazi spank orgy
WITH ALL these toddlers stabbing each other to death in nurseries in London, you’d think that the Metropolitan Police would want to spend their money where it matters – in getting bobbies on the beat.
Instead they seem to have this weird obsession with paying one member of their own staff hundreds of thousands of pounds in compensation on a fairly regular basis.
The chap concerned is Detective Sergeant Gurpal Virdi, who joined the Met as a constable in 1982. Since that date, he has thrice brought assorted claims against the force and has pocketed more than £300,000 in compo. Given his history of litigation, and my blood pressure problem, we should quickly point out that Mr Virdi has done nothing wrong at all and has at every point acted properly and within the law. The problem is not his; it is that of his employers.
The saga begins in August 2000 when Mr Virdi was awarded £150,000 by an employment tribunal for racial discrimination after he was unfairly dismissed after being accused of sending hate mail to black and Asian officers at his police station.
He was re-instated in February 2002 and awarded another £90,000 in an out-of-court settlement for “injury to his feelings”.
In 2005 Mr Virdi applied for promotion, but was turned down by a review panel despite having the backing of his senior officers. This week, that snub cost the Met another £70,400 after a tribunal decided that the promotion process was “shoddily operated”. As we speak, Mr Virdi still has two claims outstanding against the force; one claiming victimisation and another alleging bullying.
I understand that Mr Virdi is 49 years old. He can therefore retire in three years time. Is it too much to ask that his bosses might just bite the bullet and be nice to him until then? It might not only be the right thing to do, but it would certainly be cost effective as well.
WHILE WE’RE talking about employment matters, just what exactly does it take for you to get you sacked these days? I know you’re not allowed to grope the staff or tell dodgy jokes - or even, it seems, to ask them to actually do a bit of work - but since when was it permissible to organise a frenzied Nazi spank orgy (and that’s a phrase you’ll not often see in this newspaper) and still be allowed to clock on the next morning?
Yet Max Mosely, 68-year-old president of the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (the governing body of motorsport) and son of fascist leader Sir Oswald Mosely, remains in post after surviving a vote of confidence by the impressive margin of 103-55 despite being caught on video cavorting with a number of ‘escort girls’, some of whom were dressed in a manner which will shortly be the subject of a libel case.
Mr Mosely insists that such shenanigans were purely a private matter. But that begs the question of what kind of behaviour would tip the balance from private to public? Maybe if Max had worn a little Hitler moustache and sang the Horst Wessel song while being spanked, it might have swung the balance. Other than that, one can only imagine that engaging in foreplay with a farmyard animal in the pit lane five minutes before kick-off would get him the push.
I’VE WARNED you before that once the Nanny State stigmatised smoking, they would turn their unwelcome attentions to the supposed evils of drink. Now we are assailed on a daily basis with dire warnings that the odd glass of wine will condemn us to an early grave (at the same time as some scientists urge us all to enjoy a couple of glasses of red wine a day to help prolong our lives).
But what I find quite extraordinary is Public Health Minister Dawn Primarola’s decision to issue “advice” to each and every family in the country on how much their children should drink.
Well call me a sadomasochistic blackshirt, but from the birth of my first child, I kind of realised that it might not be a great idea to feed her alcopops instead of Farley’s rusks. She didn’t drink Guinness at primary school; she wasn’t necking cider during her GCSEs. (Well actually she might have been, but let’s not go there.)
She was allowed half a glass of wine with Sunday lunch from the age of 14. That seemed reasonable, sensible and suitable preparation for later life. Mind you, she still went out and got bladdered at the first opportunity, so maybe dear Dawn is right and I was wrong.
The other issue I have with the government’s latest anti-drink campaign are the ads in the national press. One shows an ice-cold pint of lager; another a bottle of fine wine; a third a tinkling glass of gin and tonic – each and every one of them sends me running to the fridge for a livener. They might want to think this through again.
SEEING THOSE pictures of the lost Amazonian tribe shooting at a passing plane with bows and arrows definitely reminded me of something, but I just couldn’t place it.
Then I remembered. I’d been in Cornwall the day the first Ryanair plane flew into Newquay Airport.
Instead they seem to have this weird obsession with paying one member of their own staff hundreds of thousands of pounds in compensation on a fairly regular basis.
The chap concerned is Detective Sergeant Gurpal Virdi, who joined the Met as a constable in 1982. Since that date, he has thrice brought assorted claims against the force and has pocketed more than £300,000 in compo. Given his history of litigation, and my blood pressure problem, we should quickly point out that Mr Virdi has done nothing wrong at all and has at every point acted properly and within the law. The problem is not his; it is that of his employers.
The saga begins in August 2000 when Mr Virdi was awarded £150,000 by an employment tribunal for racial discrimination after he was unfairly dismissed after being accused of sending hate mail to black and Asian officers at his police station.
He was re-instated in February 2002 and awarded another £90,000 in an out-of-court settlement for “injury to his feelings”.
In 2005 Mr Virdi applied for promotion, but was turned down by a review panel despite having the backing of his senior officers. This week, that snub cost the Met another £70,400 after a tribunal decided that the promotion process was “shoddily operated”. As we speak, Mr Virdi still has two claims outstanding against the force; one claiming victimisation and another alleging bullying.
I understand that Mr Virdi is 49 years old. He can therefore retire in three years time. Is it too much to ask that his bosses might just bite the bullet and be nice to him until then? It might not only be the right thing to do, but it would certainly be cost effective as well.
WHILE WE’RE talking about employment matters, just what exactly does it take for you to get you sacked these days? I know you’re not allowed to grope the staff or tell dodgy jokes - or even, it seems, to ask them to actually do a bit of work - but since when was it permissible to organise a frenzied Nazi spank orgy (and that’s a phrase you’ll not often see in this newspaper) and still be allowed to clock on the next morning?
Yet Max Mosely, 68-year-old president of the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (the governing body of motorsport) and son of fascist leader Sir Oswald Mosely, remains in post after surviving a vote of confidence by the impressive margin of 103-55 despite being caught on video cavorting with a number of ‘escort girls’, some of whom were dressed in a manner which will shortly be the subject of a libel case.
Mr Mosely insists that such shenanigans were purely a private matter. But that begs the question of what kind of behaviour would tip the balance from private to public? Maybe if Max had worn a little Hitler moustache and sang the Horst Wessel song while being spanked, it might have swung the balance. Other than that, one can only imagine that engaging in foreplay with a farmyard animal in the pit lane five minutes before kick-off would get him the push.
I’VE WARNED you before that once the Nanny State stigmatised smoking, they would turn their unwelcome attentions to the supposed evils of drink. Now we are assailed on a daily basis with dire warnings that the odd glass of wine will condemn us to an early grave (at the same time as some scientists urge us all to enjoy a couple of glasses of red wine a day to help prolong our lives).
But what I find quite extraordinary is Public Health Minister Dawn Primarola’s decision to issue “advice” to each and every family in the country on how much their children should drink.
Well call me a sadomasochistic blackshirt, but from the birth of my first child, I kind of realised that it might not be a great idea to feed her alcopops instead of Farley’s rusks. She didn’t drink Guinness at primary school; she wasn’t necking cider during her GCSEs. (Well actually she might have been, but let’s not go there.)
She was allowed half a glass of wine with Sunday lunch from the age of 14. That seemed reasonable, sensible and suitable preparation for later life. Mind you, she still went out and got bladdered at the first opportunity, so maybe dear Dawn is right and I was wrong.
The other issue I have with the government’s latest anti-drink campaign are the ads in the national press. One shows an ice-cold pint of lager; another a bottle of fine wine; a third a tinkling glass of gin and tonic – each and every one of them sends me running to the fridge for a livener. They might want to think this through again.
SEEING THOSE pictures of the lost Amazonian tribe shooting at a passing plane with bows and arrows definitely reminded me of something, but I just couldn’t place it.
Then I remembered. I’d been in Cornwall the day the first Ryanair plane flew into Newquay Airport.
posted by BarryBeelzebub @ 3:02 PM
10 Comments:
Is it too much to ask that his bosses might just bite the bullet and be nice to him until then? It might not only be the right thing to do, but it would certainly be cost effective as well.
Why should they? It is not as if it is their money they are losing, right?
Given that DS Virdi is £300,000 richer than his colleagues, as well as having had 2 years paid holiday, it's hardly surprising that he's suffering victimisation and bullying.
Bite the bullet?
If he moved the Greater Manchester force he could have a colleague polish him off with live rounds whilst playing cops and robbers as part of a 'training exercise'.
No doubt it was risk assessed, and therefore safe to play these games without body armour.
"No doubt it was risk assessed, and therefore safe to play these games without body armour."
You'd think so, wouldn't you...?
Or perhaps risk assessment is only used in cases of council hanging baskets, child's play swings and other vital areas, and not to activities with guns, high-speed vehicles and CS gas canisters.
Not all the Cornish are inbred, slack-jawed, blank-eyed dipsticks with shit for brains. I once met one who could count past 10 without taking his shoes and socks off.
6 digits on each hand, eh?
I understand that Mr Virdi is 49 years old. He can therefore retire in three years time. Is it too much to ask that his bosses might just bite the bullet and be nice to him until then?
You have got to be fucking joking!!
What is it (that you obviously haven't told us about in this story) that makes you believe he is so naive he'd consider retiring from this gravy train?
My money is on him still being in there well past retiral age claiming compo because his air conditioned office is causing his zimmer to prematurely rust!
just in case he reads your column maybe we should aspire to assist the (poor) bloke by researching & advising if they're giving out motability panda cars these days - I've no doubt he will be sick enough to merit at least one of them!!
It's not related to this post, but it's something that sincerely deserves some attention. The MENACE OF THE PLASTIC BAG. It has to be written in capital letters because it's Just So Scary(tm). And it really annoyed me today, returning to the UK after a few months away.
Marks and Spencer, that fine British institution, is leading the way in "banning bags from the high street". That's right folks, for the privilege of shopping in their store and buying their goods you have to pay an additional 5pence per carrier bag you use. Ask why, and you're told the money goes to charity. Ask what charity, and the slack-jawed college student mumbles something about polar bears. Ahhhh, gotta love those bears.
Okay, so I can understand the sentiment. We're told plastic bags from the UK wash up in the Bahamas all the time (note to self, float luggage in plastic bags before departing from Terminal 5), so stopping that happening makes sense. I agree.
What I don't agree with is being financially penalised for not explicitly planning every minute of my day. If I just nip into Marks for a sandwich and a carton of juice, I want to be able to put it in a carrier bag and take it with me. I don't want to have to perform a great impression of a homeless individual by walking around with plastic bags in my pockets on the off-chance I might need to buy a little something from the Gastropub range. It's ridiculous, and 5p is only the start.
But wait. The hipocrisy continues. Marks will charge you 5p for a normal plastic bag in a save-the-environment tax. But they will give you, ABSOLUTELY FREE, a slightly smaller - you guessed it - PLASTIC CARRIER BAG.
Oh yes. Marks are now charging 5p for normal carriers and shouting about how this will help save the polar bears, but at the exact same time they are still giving out slightly smaller bags for free.
These smaller bags are precisely sized to be extremely inconvenient to use. You can only fit a couple of items in them, so to highlight the absurdity I now like to make sure I spend many long, drawn out minutes tying up a checkout queue whilst trying to balance a Healthy Option meal on top of a strawberry trifle.
The "war" on plastic bags is absurd. It's even more so when you consider someone has discovered a bacteria that can break down the plastic into harmless byproducts:
http://www.theregister.co.uk/2008/06/11/anton_wylie_phages/
And who is this genius of biochemical engineering, this captain of industry and shining light of science? You guessed it again, he's a high school kid.
Yep. It took a high school kid a year or so to come up with a safe, clean method of disposing of plastic bags.
So show Marks exactly what you think. Fill a trolley with random goods, take it to a checkout, stack all the items on the conveyor then refuse to pay for the plastic bags. They'll either cave in, or have to waste time returning all the items to the shelves. It's a small gesture, but if they're going to force me to carry plastic bags around all day they've got it coming.
Absolutely engrossing, all this plastic bag stuff. But what I really wanted to say was how much I agree with you re the Stop Drinking Immediately adverts. The very SIGHT of the chilled glass, the SOUND of the ice meeting the liquid .... within seconds I have a corkscrew in my hand and a devil-may-care attitude. So what if it's Monday tea-time, I cry. The message isn't even subliminal; it's the most gorgeous reminder that true happiness can be found in the fridge. Or under the stairs. Wherever. Greetings from the Thames Valley, cordially, Mrs P
Cough up the 5p you tight wad or carry a reusable hemp bag. Or even shop somewhere else if it means that much to you. How difficult is that?
If that's all you have to worry about in this life then you've never lived.
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