“You turned Portsmouth Police! No more prancing around like last year!” was the encouraging verdict from one Fair Cop Twitter follower who, like us, had noted a decline in the number of  orchestrated dance moves from the boys in blue during Pride Month. Not that a demise in Superintendents seeking to catch the eye of the promotion board by channeling Tinkerbell in a disco helmet should be a cause for unfettered celebration, but these are unusual times, and we must take victories where we find them.  

June also brought us the mouth-watering prospect of a woke on woke turf war as Just Stop Oil turned its anger on its prodigal cousins, who twerk and fiddle as the world burns. Say what you like about Pride, the rainbow crowd know how to throw a party. By contrast, Just Stop Oil has a relationship to happiness that is akin to those old Plymouth Brethren types who remove the swing from a budgie’s cage on the Sabbath, just in case it enjoys itself. 

Where previously the Tarquins and Tamaras have been content to stave off Armageddon by gluing themselves to the occasional Van Gogh, this month Just Stop Oil reinvented itself as The Baader Meinhof Gang, albeit with none of the original group’s legendary Bavarian humour. “Come out of the fossil fuel closet by 4 pm… or the drag queen gets covered in naturally-sourced orange talcum powder!” is not quite the same as kidnapping Peter Tatchell, and Deliverooing his ear to Pride Headquarters, but it’s a start. 

Peter Tatchell, of course, is enjoying a renaissance. Having failed in his quest to convince people that not all sex between adults and children is damaging, he found a new role last month as spokesperson for The Met Police. Wearing a faded rainbow tie which appeared to have been ironed with the underside of a lukewarm kettle, Tatchell announced the reinstatement of an LGBTQI Police Task Force. One can only imagine how safe this will make the gender fluid community feel once the 999 service finally stops breaking down.  

“Galileo was wrong, my son,” will be the warning to the traditional homosexuals on Compton Street. “The world does in fact revolve around a person’s gender identity, and if you think different, you’re nicked. We’re the Stonewall Sweeney and we’ve not had our flaxseed and cinnamon protein balls yet.” 

Complaining about priorities and politicisation will be a waste of time

Complaining about priorities and politicisation will be a waste of time as the Met, in a psychotic act of self harm, has cancelled the Thin Blue Line at the behest of the Thin Pink one. Sir Mark Rowley, a man who in his personal capacity is one of us, but who wears the number of the beast for professional purposes, has banned the symbol from police uniforms on the basis that a similar emblem is popular amongst a handful of Neo Nazis operating from a compound in Montana. 

Where sane people associate this most dignified of emblems with officers who have given their life in the line of duty, the militant trans cuckoos will eject from the nest every last item that does not sparkle. Not a square inch of fabric shall be devoted to the dead.  And no place on a uniform shall be given up to where a trans flag might be stitched.  Before long, police officers will be indistinguishable from the flapping Pride regalia festooning Regent Street.

One might consider making representation to an independent arbiter, such as the IOPC. However, given the fondness its Head of Communication has for posting selfies in the loving embrace of Stonewall’s Nancy Kelley, claims to independence should be approached with caution. When someone shows you their alliances, it is wise to believe them. 

Similar might be said of The Crown Prosecution Service which, during the carnival atmosphere, has been caught blabbing like a drunk let loose with the truth juice. In an eyebrow-raising interview with Pink News, an officer from the CPS stated its reluctance to prosecute members of the trans community who steal women’s knickers from washing lines.  No matter that the theft of lingerie is a gateway crime to molestation, the CPS appears to want women to rejoice in the validating power of their purloined panties. 

However, it’s not all bad news. Having written last month about Hampshire Constabulary’s reluctant mea culpa with regard to my arrest in the Summer of 2022, I am happy to report that Pride Month ended with a financial settlement. The sum is small change compared to the 100K awarded to  Maya Forstater, but it does include a claim that is both fascinating and novel.  

I argued that the DNA sample being scraped from my mouth as a condition of release was given under an immediate threat of violence in that the alternative was to be pinned down by four squarely built coppers carrying tasers and have a hair sample pulled from my chest. I said that this met the criteria for armed robbery. Hampshire handed over an additional £2000 without a peep.