“Someone who smiles too much with you can sometime frown too much with you at your back.”
Michael Bassey Johnson
The child sexual exploitation (CSE) scandal that has mired Bradford for years was never going to go away, despite the efforts of those in leadership positions to deny and deceive.
Last weekend a whistleblower rose up from within the rank and file of the ruling Labour Party with a sixty-five page dossier of internal emails sent during 2021-22.
It is heavy going but I would recommend reading the first-page summary; if you want to pursue the rest you can find the documents here.
Coincidentally, only last week it was disclosed that the CEO of Bradford Council, Kersten England, was the top earning Council employee in Yorkshire…listed as earning £228,350 last year. See the full story here.
It is obscene that this is allowed to go on in the fantasy world of local government as ordinary people struggle from day to day. Perhaps it would be tolerable were Bradford a flying city not one mired in the failure to protect innocents.
England and Council leader, Hapless Hinchcliffe, have been found utterly wanting. Had they any shred of common decency they would have resigned a long time ago.
Tales From The Allotment
It was a bitterly cold Saturday afternoon as Greenfingers and I convened to assess the weekend tasks. Across the way, The Swamp had an icy sheen and George the Gregarious Greek was nowhere to be seen. We needed the warmth of conversation.
Bombastic eventually made his way, cursing at the weather, the blackbirds and just about anything he could point a finger at. Chairs were arranged and we sat, the three of us, not one feeling like any industry on this chilly day.
Somehow we got on to talk of crematoriums as Greenfingers mused what they did with all the ash; apparently, onions thrive on this “fertiliser”. Bombastic scratched a few whiskers on his chin, a builder by trade, several local buildings as evidence.
“Back in the day I used to do a bit o’ grave digging” he said, eyes lighting up at the topic. “If the building job was on it’s arse I went and dug ‘oles. Never short of work back in the day.”
As The Good Wife toiled on, The Lesser Spotted Fireman on another City away day to Northampton, the sun broke out only to be followed on its heels by a shower of biting sleet.
“‘ow can you grow ‘owt in this?” said Bombastic as we called it a day and lived for better days…which will surely come.
Abandoned
Still needing to sort some stuff out for the old folks, desperate to avoid The Abyss – Bradford city centre – I opted for Yeadon, up the road. The small branch was staffed by two experienced ladies but the queue summed up why these branches are closing.
A little old lady queued patiently with me outside waiting for her turn. She then deposited £3.87 in copper on behalf of a friend. It took the cashier a good ten minutes to realise, try as she might, she could not help.
Next, a deaf lady and the same cashier was brilliant in dealing patiently with the requests. Finally, a young lad came in with his carers for some money to buy a new television.
Delight at seeing the cashier and the obvious rapport she had with the customer was heart-warming. But where do these people go in a few weeks when the branch shuts? There has to be more to life than simply the bottom line?
Two days later I passed a Haliax billboard ad with the slogan “It’s all about a friendly face.” Where?
Bradford Clean Air Zone
This is from a Bradford Council email – the dopes just get dopier.
Compared to other authorities Bradford Council has managed to secure a more extensive exemptions and grants programme from Government, which means that most local householders and businesses will not have to pay. This is possible because around 85% of commercial vehicles that are expected to enter the CAZ will be from outside the District
Has anyone considered the effect of a percentage of the 85% deciding not to trade in Bradford? You could not make this up.
The End
I found myself driving again this week for the local dental tycoon as his usual stooge – Uncle Andy – was imitating Captain Pugwash on the Norfolk Broads. It was my 59th birthday and there I was in Barnsley; could it get any worse?
Several smiling dental nurses were awaiting me, perhaps news had travelled down the M1? Their smiles soon faded and I wondered why.
“We thought you were the Taco Bell man!”
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