I would like, if I may, to offer a little more insight into a story that has been in the Manchester Evening News 3 times in the last week, as well as attracting compassionate and supportive commentary from the bigots who read the Daily Mail. The case involves a 20 year old student called Melissa Massey, who had assaulted a paramedic treating her after a pissed-up New Years Eve in Manchester.

When Massey went to Court, she pleaded guilty at the first opportunity and the Probation Service prepared a report to discuss sentencing options for the Court. A District Judge then reviewed this, before ignoring it and imposing an 8 week sentence. This caused outrage amongst tabloid readers who said it was too short, and mild disapproval with anyone who knows what they are talking about who felt that the sentence was a bit harsh.

It should be emphasised that unlike most people who commit offences like this, Massey had no previous convictions, is a final year university student, and appears to be little miss perfect.

Then, much to the absolute rage of Joe Public, the defendant had the gall to appeal against her sentence. She went to the Crown Court on Friday (4 days after being sent to HMP Styal), and was duly released having had her prison sentence suspended.

Inevitably, this has caused criticism of her, the Crown Court Judge, and the criminal justice system itself. Strangely, Massey’s solicitor hasn’t been singled out, which is a shame as there’s no such thing as bad publicity, and he’d probably enjoy telling people that he’s a legend.

The problem it seems is that no-one understands that a suspended sentence is more serious than a community penalty. The truth is that if, during the next 2 years, Massey commits any offence, or fails to do the unpaid work she has been ordered to complete by the Court, she will almost inevitably be sent to prison for 8 weeks.

I am not trying to excuse or justify anything that Massey did, and there are certain jobs that put people at risk of being the victim of violent crimes. People like paramedics, taxi drivers, firemen, or pub landlords do deserve greater protection and that can only be given by dealing with offences against them more severely. In fact, if Massey had randomly hit a complete stranger in the street, she would never have been charged in the first place. The police would have given her a caution, and she’d never have had to declare a conviction let alone a custodial sentence.

However, the purpose of the Court is not to simply punish for an offence. A bench, or a Judge should always punish the offender. An offence can justify a prison sentence, but it is crucial that the circumstances of an offender are considered to pass a just sentence. If for example you have a defendant with a chronic drug problem, or they need intervention to deal with alcoholism, the Courts should consider whether simply locking someone up will actually do anything to prevent further offences in the future. By taking a long-term view, and placing the criminal under the supervision of the Probation Service (with the threat of prison hanging over them if necessary), the Courts actually have the potential to protect the public from future offences, rather than to beat someone for past transgressions.

In Massey’s case, she had no underlying problems with drink, drugs, or her mental state. She was apparently a hard working student, on course for great things etc. The implications and long-term effects of her conviction are impossible to assess now, but you can bet your life this is not going to help her get a job, particularly given the fact she’s photogenic enough to have her face splashed all over the papers. When you consider the damage that a moment of pissed-up madness has done to her ambitions for the last 5+ years, perhaps you can see why she deserved some leniency and not have to face an immediate prison term.

This case also goes to show that if you have a choice, always get sentenced by a Crown Court Judge. They deal with far worse stuff than you’ve probably done, and will see your crime as comparitively minor, compared to the mini-tyrants that fill so many of the Magistrates Courts who seem to view the Mail as liberal media.

District Judge Berg has gone on to retire, and given a long diatribe to the Manchester Evening News about how people getting pissed and getting in fights is a plague on the streets of modern Britain. In many ways he’s right, and I’ve previously commented how alcohol is certainly no better than criminalised drugs. Unfortunately though, Judicial office isn’t the place to preach or comment on society, particularly when it shows you are too prejudiced about a certain class of offence at the expense of an individual’s just desserts.

For the record I am not endorsing, recommending, or condoning drug use at all. If you want to drink, smoke, snort, inject or otherwise ingest chemicals that alter your mood and physiological wellbeing, that’s your decision. All I ask is that you do it in an informed manner, and don’t come crying to me if you end up being used on the front page of the Daily Mail as a warning to others about the risks of your chosen poison.

Right, now that’s out of the way we can begin. Although if the Mail did stumble across this site it would be entertaining to be criticised and publicised on such a national scale. Maybe one day… it’s good to have an ambition!

I have a suggestion, and it’s slightly controversial. Let’s decriminalise heroin.

At the moment, the majority of the heroin that is coming into the UK comes from Turkey, Afghanistan, and other Baltic/central asian states. There is a lot of concern that now the US and UK armies have destabalised the Taliban in Afghanistan, the production of opium will escalate leading to a massive flood of cheap smack hitting the streets. At the same time, money is tight for Government, and they need a really good way of saving existing costs and ideally bringing in new revenues. My plan is flawless… kinda.

The current law on drugs is like alcohol prohibition in the US. People still want what they’re told they can’t have, and so turn to criminals to help with their curiosities. As a result, some very unpleasant people make a massive amount of money. Everyone involved breaks the law, and if they are ever caught the state stumps of for police time, solicitors (cheap at twice the price if you ask me), Court time, and potentially prison funding.

And does this “threat” of prison actually stop people who really want to take drugs? Of course not. It just puts them in danger of having tainted drugs, puts them in contact with some of the nastyest bastards on the planet, and takes money out of the pot that could be spent better elsewhere. Not only that, but heroin dependency leads so many people to repeated offending to fund their habit, which just adds more and more to the cost involved.

Now I’m not suggesting we quite go back to the Victorian days where, in the manner of Sherlock Holmes, you could more or less go to your local pharmacist and buy laudanum or opium. Boots the Chemist really doesn’t need the increase in profits, and why let private business take the money that could all go to HM Treasury?

Even the Royal College of Nursing thinks that a change is needed, and that it’s much better for addicts to be able to get their fix in a safe environment, with medical supervision. This takes the users off the streets more effectively than the police ever could, and who wouldn’t rather have streets, stairwells, or playgrounds free of dirty syringes?

Who would gain from this?

1- Well the users wouldn’t get more gear, but they wouldn’t have to pay dealers for the privaledge. They would be closely monitored and have better support with a system in place that can be designed to help rehabilitation through the NHS rather than inneffectively through the prisons.
2- There will be an immediate reduction in shoplifting, as smackheads don’t then have to go out grafting to scrimp enough cans of tuna or boxes of chewing gum together to pay for a £10 wrap.
3- The police can focus on other stuff, saving them time and money
4- The Government can slash the criminal legal aid budget (see, I’m not doing this out of self interest) and save money…
5- The Government can also generate money by buying up all the opium from Afghan tribesmen (thus making friends with them in the process), using that to create heroin as well as numerous other pharmacuticals, and selling it on at reasonable prices through the clinics.
6- Communities who no longer have to worry about street dealers and street users.

And who loses out?
1- The dealers, importers, trafficers, and anyone else who is currently making billions each year thanks to an inneffective prohibition that allows demand to flourish and supply to be resitricted by armed cartels. Why pay these scumbags for contaminated shite, when instead you can pay a fraction of the price for clean, medical grade diamorphine?
2- Defence lawyers like me, who will all know at least one client who’s a 1 man shoplifting industry because he’s a pathetic, sweating addict.

Seems like an obvious solution doesn’t it? I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s not as insane as it first sounds either.

I know this will still leave the drugs like cocaine, speed, ecstacy etc, which are seen as more recreational than the addiction of heroin. It’d take real guts for these to be legalised… but it would also generate real money if they were made available like other addictive and dangerous chemicals like alcohol and tobacco, and taxed in similar ways.

The argument for keeping these drugs illegal is always talking about the risk of harm. Well let me clarify one thing- alcohol makes people more aggressive and dangerous than any of the substances I’ve mentioned. Alcohol causes more breakdown of society, more domestic abuse, more fights on a saturday night than drugs ever will. Drug-related violence is down to rival gangs competing for market share, but I think I’ve already explained how that will be affected. In reality, if the Government was truly looking to protect the public from danger, fags and vodka would be treated like crack. I’m sure the tax revenues generated by British American Tobacco or Diagio has absolutely no baring on the argument of why these substances are both legitimate and sociable permissible.

If people are stupid enough to want to take these drugs, let them… but why should the country pay to pick up the pieces if we’ve not had our slice of the pie to begin with? Put the warnings on there like with booze and fags, and let people maked informed decisions. Treat them like grown ups, stop stygmatising and criminalising an industry that will never go away, and make a fortune in the process.

Simple

(I will settle for 1% of money raised as my fee for this idea)

Ok, so I will try and do some detailed proper posts soon as i feel like mouthing off a bit about drugs and Government. Let’s face it, the internet and wider world have been on pause waiting for me to pass comment on the new world of British politics. Fear not brave readers, I will provide a definitive appraisal of this all when I get my arse in gear.

I am also going to be working on a new blog site, dedicated to my professional life. This means that I can divide my writing between legal ramblings, and the mature correspondence such as my Um Bongo observations.

I may even make it mandatory that I have to post at least once a week… but we’ll see about that for now.

It all becomes clear. All those tree-hugging-hippy-anarchist-wannabe-tosspots who smash up windows in anti-capitalist demonstrations might actually be onto something. I have seen the devastating impact corporations are having on Third World countries first hand, and it makes me sick to my stomach. It’s like taking the blue pill and waking up from the Matrix.

Which sick bastard changed Um Bongo?

For those who may not know about Um Bongo, allow me to explain. Or even better, watch the video below and allow Youtube to explain more eloquantly than I ever could. I don’t think it’s sold outside the UK, but I make no apologies for sounding parochial.

Um Bongo is more than simply a juice drink, and it’s not simply nostalgia either. It was a perfectly blended cocktail of apricots, guavas, mangos, passion fruits, and mandarins. It was also a rare employment opportunity for the diverse wildlife of hippos, pythons, marmosets, and parrots.

And when you mixed it with Blavod (black vodka), it created an astounding colour/taste sensation.

But imagine my horror when the other day TechnoScouse returned from a supermarket that doesn’t deserve naming, to find that my memories of childhood have been pillaged by the adulterated felch-juice now being called Um Bongo!

This picture of a serving suggestion from wikipedia would be perfect if it was the old stuff with it’s charming packaging (painted by parrots remember), and contained what afficionadoes refer to as “the good shit.” As it is, look at the poxy, human-designed carton and recoil in horror at the rancid spluff that is contained therein:

I mean that orangutan (a primate that lives in Sumatra in Asia, as opposed to the Congo in Africa) looks like it’s been given rohypnol and has had those fruit items mercilessly inserted into it’s furry pocket of happiness!

And what fruits are they? Orange, pineapple, and banana. Vile. I loathe bananas. They are the staple food of geriatrics and monkeys who don’t smoke. You can’t get a smoothie half the time (and I don’t even bother trying 90% of the time) which doesn’t have a banana rammed into it like a hooker dating a grocer. Just look at a banana with fresh eyes. They look like the fetid todger of a jaundiced clown. And I’d imagine the taste isn’t far off either. Yet some absolute shithawk had to dip his into the juicebox.

Hanging’s too good for some people.

And so it is time to act. We must take to the streets to spread the word on this dispicable outrage. The people walk in darkness, unaware that there are hippos out of work, watching Trisha (well, the Congo equivalent), and living a hollow existance. Pythons used to have a job for life in the passion fruit picking plantations, now they spend all day smacked of their tits listening to Libertines records. As for the poor parrot, well life as an artist is always tough and regrettably they all died out recreating the absinthe excesses of Toulouse Lautrec.

It’s no wonder the Democratic Republic of Congo fell into civil war. That’s not just because they have French as their official language you know (though the risk was increased because of this).

Don’t be fooled by any other campaign to Bring Back Um Bongo. If you see these pages, you’ll discover that they are actually being done by the producer of the new filth itself! Clicking on www.umbongo.com will actually take you to the petition. They lure you in with their old-chool images, but they still have that abused ape on their boxes. You can’t trust anyone these days.

So, I need you dear readers to suggest ways to reclaim what is rightfully ours. If anyone has anything we can use to blackmail heads of state to put international pressure on these bastards, let me know. That’s the level of action we’ll need to overcome the corporations on this.

To arms Comrades! You have nothing to lose but your cordials!

Anyway, in light of my earlier post about fulfilling my wish of getting a bespoke suit online (for about the price of a 2 piece glued together combo from TopMan), I thought I would share other deep-seated ambitions with you. Because that’s the caring sharing guy I am. I am going to bore the living snot out of you by imparting little snippets of aspiration. I should start charging for this you know.

Now before you all close the page and go to look at Cambodian midgets wrestling a lion on Youtube or something, let me reassure you this is not going to be the usual list of swimming with dolphins or pissing into the Grand Canyon. Most writers (by which I mean ones who get paid for this stuff) tend to vomit a list of the most self-absorbed crap as a way of subtley pointing out all the pretentious wonderful things they have already done. That’s right, these sneaky hacks are trying to tell you they have lived the most thrilling life and that unless you emulate it to the finest degree, you are a disgrace to humanity and have nullified all evolution since the development of the opposable thumb.

Well I would never be as patronising as that with you. I am patronising in a different way, but I find that people who have to cling on to triumphs of the past so much have sod all imagination or originality for the future. Believe me, some of my ideas are not going to appear in any column of a Daily Mail travel writer!

As ever, please feel free to comment or add your own. Doesn’t matter how mundane or extreme your idea (see below for examples!). Oh, and just because I put these down it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to make them happen (just in case Jamie Oliver’s lawyers are reading this):

Get a tattoo: Simple enough, find a nice man or woman with poster paint, needles, and ideally the ability to draw things that look like they are meant to (so not me). But it’s not that simple. Admittedly tattoos as an idea are cool, pure and simple. However, I can not think of something I want branded onto my body for evermore, or even where on my body I’d want it. It’s all well and good getting something on the inside of your forearm so you look like you have been indoctrinated into a secret society of assassins (can’t believe that isn’t on my draft list), but what about when I’m in the office with it showing through my white shirt in front of a client. Will they judge me differently depending on what they can see? How about when I’m 87 and have got bored of seeing some random tribal squiggle every time I put my watch on.?

Life’s not easy. Too many choices, it’s the Western curse. And on top of that you have what I’ll refer to as Sporty Spice Syndrome. When I was a younger version of me, I liked the idea of a Celtic band round my arm. I was very into Celtic stuff in my youth, but more of that another time. What would initially have seemed like a pretty solid choice would have instantly turned to regret once Mel C got this done.

Let’s face it, forever more you’ll be compared to some scrawny Scouse bint who couldn’t even pull a footballer when she was in the most successful pop group ever. You just can’t predict which random numpty will somehow copy you and turn the most ornate and impressive ink-blot into the body-art equivalent of a smiley face. Cunning bastards, all out to get you!

Next up, I want to Lose some weight. Not much detail needed here. Wii fit says I’m obese. I don’t agree, but there’s no disputing that I’m definitely overweight. I’ve already had suit trousers let out at the waist before the arse-seam splits like the San Andreas fault line and reveals my arse to a District Judge. So far, my gym attendance has left a bit to be desired, but I blame work (like every other fat bastard with a job). Measuring myself up for my suit has highlighted the fact I’m no longer fit enough to outrun the Japanese whaling fleets though, to think it’s time to shed the pounds before they harpoon me in my sleep.

On a more humanitarian note, and believe me this is for the greater good of humanity, I would like to Torture Jamie Oliver. Ignoring the fact he’s married with kids, he’s still a smug git famous for cookery. He’s a gobby little herbert (and the fact he’s an Essex boy really doesn’t do him any favours here) whose use of the words “pukka” or “bish-bosh” have marked him for pain and possible death. I have a genuine allergic reaction to him. Anytime his curly-haired pumpkin of a head appears on televisiong I can’t help but swear. This is a problem if I’m at my parents’ place, but if you listen quietly enough you will here the word “twat” being muttered over and over again. Suffice to say, I am boycotting Sainsbury’s.

Torture is a strong word, but I know what I’m doing. Firstly I need to abduct him. No small task, so there’s time to plan whether to go for the Mr Blonde/Reservoir Dogs approach and demonstrate my razor skills, or to browse the Saw series of films for inspiration. Time is on my side!

Moving away from sociopathic tendancies, at least for a little while, I would like to try my hand at Stand-up Comedy. Admittedly this is a bit of an ego trip, but there’s a real appeal to being in front of a group of random strangers with the sole purpose of making them laugh. On here, the aim is more or less the same, but this is anonymous… none of you can yell anything at me mid sentence with the specific intention of belittling me and making me cry. I haven’t got a problem with standing up and trying to get my point approach across to people, as it’s part of my daily life. But in stand-up, it’s people who have paid to come and watch you, and who demand to be amused. Right Now!

Moving back to giving the general impression that I pose a risk to the gentle public, I would like to Get revenge. Unlike the Jamie Oliver thing above, there is a prospect of this happening so best not to go into details as it could be used in evidence. Let’s just say there is a former friend who let me down in the worst ways, and despite my efforts the fat git has chosen where his loyalties lie. Not a problem, or at least it won’t be if I plant my fist in his face. Live and let die, as Paul McCartney once said!

Changing tack a little, and putting a bit of distance between myself and a criminal conviction, and onto something that should definitely happen in 2010. I will be working towards getting my Higher Rights of Audience. This will mean virtually nothing to most readers, so I’ll try and sum it up as efficiently as possible. I am a solicitor, which means I do not have “rights of audience” to conduct advocacy in the Crown Court (where all the more serious offences are dealt with in the English legal system). If I get my Higher Rights, I get to do this.

This should (eventually) lead to more money, and continue my jedi-like progression to being the greatest criminal lawyer in Manchester. It also means I’ll have to shell out a significant amount of cash on a black gown and horsehair wig, so I am able to properly address the Crown Court Judges without being dismissed as an unqualified interloper!

When I do get a wig, I will need a name for it. Given the cost of the little fury bastard, I’m going to treat it like some sort of pet. Feel free to submit suggestions well in advance.

Next, I should probably aim to finish off a number of half-drafted posts on this site, as well as regularly updating the site.  No matter how hard I try, I often struggle to keep even the horoscopes updated. Let’s all hope that 2010 is the year in which I get my arse in gear!

And finally, I would like this site to gain some sort of national notoriety. I want there to be some form of campaign to identify the SmokingMonkey. I shall become a crusader, battling for what’s right and good in the world. A bit like Noel’s HQ, but without being such a preening arrogant plum-sack, who looks like a skinny version of the Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase (reference for the teenegers there)

and I may already have the perfect campaign in mind…

Anyway, I should really wish you all a Happy New Year. So I will.

Pip-pip!