Boris Johnson and the Met

Boris has never missed an opportunity to dismiss legitimate criticisms of the police and to defend t

Two years ago, Boris Johnson's Policing Deputy declared that he and Boris had their "hands on the tiller" of the Metropolitan Police.

No longer would The Met be obsessed with managing media relations, he told the Guardian. No longer would they be obsessed with fighting headlines rather than fighting crime.

And yet on the very next day, another one of Boris's Deputy Mayors was charged with five counts of fraud.

Unable to keep his own deputy mayor's hands off the City Hall credit card, it is not surprising that Boris has also failed to get his hands around the far trickier problems at Scotland Yard.

Since then the Met has continued to blunder on from crisis to crisis, and since then Boris has actually loosened his shaky hold on the force.

Despite his election promise to exert greater power over the Met, Boris soon resigned his Chairmanship of the Metropolitan Police Authority, and handed it over to a man whose main crime-fighting concern so far has been to tell Londoners which breeds of dog they should own.

From the controversial policing of recent protests, to the abysmal investigation into phone hacking, Boris has never missed an opportunity to dismiss legitimate criticisms of the police, and to defend those that now look indefensible.

In the London Assembly and in his £250k Telegraph column, Boris described the phone hacking story as "a load of codswallop cooked up by the Labour Party," a "song and dance about nothing" and persuaded his readers that celebrities actually wanted their phones to be hacked.

Claims about phone hacking had, he told us, been "substantially investigated" and he was therefore "completely satisfied" that the Met had done a good job.

It is not clear whether Boris's dismissals were simply the "extraordinary and unwise" actions of a partisan politicians or whether they were informed by darker memories of his own time as a journalist.

But what is now clear is that the Met actually did the worst of all possible jobs investigating criminal activities at the News of the World. And even now as the second police commissioner in three years steps down, Boris is still pretending that any problems are merely superficial and the fault of at most a handful of corrupt officers.

Now with Sir Paul Stephenson gone there is an opportunity for somebody to finally get a steady hand on the shaky tiller of the Metropolitan Police.

But whoever the Home Office finds to do the job, Boris Johnson is somebody whose tiller-holding advice they can clearly manage to do without.

 

Adam Bienkov is a journalist and blogger covering London Politics. He writes a regular column and blog for Snipe London Magazine.

Adam Bienkov is a blogger and journalist covering London politics and the Mayoralty. He blogs mostly at AdamBienkov.com

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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism