MARCH 9TH 2011
Having yesterday evening sent a detailed complaint to Cressida Dick (Assistant Commissioner of the Met) about false accounting, fraud and possible breaches of electoral law, this afternoon I posted a copy of the complaint to the Crown Prosecution Service.
Having yesterday evening sent a detailed complaint to Cressida Dick (Assistant Commissioner of the Met) about false accounting, fraud and possible breaches of electoral law, this afternoon I posted a copy of the complaint to the Crown Prosecution Service.
On Monday I popped into Hereford Police Station giving them notice that I would also have to present my evidence to West Mercia Police: part of my complaint is that a fake invoice was printed and signed at Nth Herefordshire Conservative Assn offices in Leominster, which obviously falls within W. Mercia’s jurisdiction.
4 45pm, a call from Hereford station telling me there was a duty sergeant at Leo police station & I should go down there. I got to the station at 5, was met by a sergeant O’Reilly who took me to an interview room. I assume the 5 minute interview was recorded but here is, from fresh memory, the extraordinary exchange that took place there.
Sgt O’Reilly: I already know what this is about, expenses. I am not able to take any complaint from you about these matters
I TAKE OUT MY FOLDER OF EVIDENCE – THE SAME AS SENT TO THE MET & CPS. THE SGT LOOKS AS IF I’VE PRODUCED THE HEXED PIECE OF PAPER IN THE FILM “NIGHT OF THE DEMON”
Me: I just want to present evidence of what I believe is a serious offence committed in Herefordshire
Sgt: I can’t look at any of that. Listen, I’ve already investigated all this, it is all taken care of.
Me: Well, I’ve reported this potential crime to Cressida Dick at the Met and also to the CPS
Sgt O’Reilly: I know. I know all about that
(THIS IS STRANGE, AS I'D ONLY POSTED MY COMPLAINT TO THE CPS THAT AFTERNOON, TO THE ASST COMMISSIONER THE PREVIOUS EVENING EVENING.)
Sgt: Are you the victim of the alleged fraud?
Me: Not personally, but the public purse is.
Sgt O’Reilly: You cannot report a fraud unless you personally are the victim
Me: Really??!
Sgt: No one is allowed to report a crime “third person”. If you are not the victim you cannot report a crime. That’s it. I cannot look at your evidence you have to go now.
Me: you are refusing to look at evidence presented to you about a potential serious offence committed in Herefordshire?
AS HE SHOWS ME TO THE DOOR I REFLECT THAT IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE CPS OR THE MET TO YET HAVE CONTACTED HEREFORDSHIRE POLICE TO ALERT THEM THAT I MIGHT MAKE A COMPLAINT. BUT OF COURSE – I MADE IT CLEAR TO NHCA A WEEK AGO THAT, IF THEY COULD NOT ADEQUATELY EXPLAIN THE INVOICES, I WOULD HAVE NO OPTION BUT TO GO TO THE POLICE.
Perhaps NHCA had been talking to Herefordshire constabulary, alerting them of a possible complaint by me?
I’ll take this to the Chief Constable of West Mercia and, if necessary, the IPCC.
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ARCHIVE OF BLOGS (in progress)
This will initially seem haphazard as I blog in pieces from other websites I've posted on, and from my diaries, but hopefully in the end it'll be a decent record of the last year and a half of digging into my MP's - and my local councillors - outrageous behaviour! And with some laughs along the way...
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FEBRUARY 27TH 2011
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ARCHIVE OF BLOGS (in progress)
This will initially seem haphazard as I blog in pieces from other websites I've posted on, and from my diaries, but hopefully in the end it'll be a decent record of the last year and a half of digging into my MP's - and my local councillors - outrageous behaviour! And with some laughs along the way...
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FEBRUARY 27TH 2011
The morning of Kate's birthday and we are in her home-(and, in my view, England's finest) town: Liverpool.
We're staying on Hope Street exactly mid-way between the College where John Lennon studied Art, and the most gorgeous pub in Britain, The Phil. Paradise.
We're paying top dollar for the hotel so after breakfast I trouser an Observer & a Sunday Mirror (yes, I have been corrupted by all the expenses fiddling I've witnessed!)
Back in the hotel room and - oh 'allo, what have we here?
It appears that Mr Self was not merely a touch of cameo colour in an early episode of 'Life On Mars' after all...
http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/top-stories/2011/02/27/tory-mp-bill-wiggin-to-face-anti-sleaze-probe-115875-22952034/
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FEBRUARY 24TH 2011
The Sunday Mirror Always Rings Twice
I was up in the loft printing out my letter to the Commissioner for Standards when the doorbell rang. By the time I got down there was no-one there. But a tiny, ridiculous, 1970s silver sports car was parked outside.
Brian from next door poked his head out: "Said he was a journalist, and he'd be back". Kate came down. She'd managed a quick peek out of her window as the visitor left: "He looked like a bailliff" she commented. Well, she is a Scouser, and perhaps has more idea of what a bailliff looks like than I have.
A half hour later and I was there when he called again. As I opened the door he thrust a gnarly paw towards me.
"The name's Self. Alistair Self. Sunday Mirror. Believe you have a dodgy doc for me".
I looked at him in his leather blouson with upturned collar, an upraised eyebrow in a face furrowed by decades of booze'n'fags, and in front of that outrageous sports car, and thought: "This is the first time I've ever been in an episode of Department S".
"Saw a cool looking jazz cafe down the road, care for a coffee and a confab?"
"Yeah, I'll just nip up and get my coat. And the er, dodgy document"
Upstairs, Kate whispered: "It's okay he is a genuine journalist". She'd already googled Mr Self.
She's been fancying lately that local Tories might lure me to a lonely place and settle their issues with me out of court, as it were.
At the Bluenote Cafe we sit down to coffees (somehow I have paid for them).
Fellow local troublemaker Joe Cocker - who was already in there - and I stare at the seasoned pro as he unfolds the £5,000 invoice I have given to him.
"You see, Jim, what it says right there? 'For hire of room for constituency surgeries'. Yeah. Right there".
He looks me straight in the eye. There is a pause. then one word.
"Fraud".
He downs his coffee in one, rises.
"Good doing business with you, Jim". I grasp the gnarly paw.
"Gotta be in Brum within the hour. Story up there".
He pauses at the door.
"They say you're a writer, Jim. Working on anything?"
"Well, I've got an idea for a play, maybe telly drama"
"Got a title yet?"
"I was thinking of 'How to Bring Down Your MP'..."
"See you at the premiere, Jim"
And he was gone.
The ordinary punters of Leo gazed after him, at the alien who had landed, had a swift coffee, then taken off again.
I gazed along with them.
FEBRUARY 24TH 2011
