STRANGER THAN FICTION

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I read novels and watch films and TV series of thrillers, murder mystery and 'Noir'. I'm obviously not alone in this as the genre is probably the biggest in all of those media.

Life can imitate art sometimes and I'm reasonably close to a real situation that is just or more gruesome than those depicted in the fiction that I indulge in.

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My brother's sister-in-law was murdered in 2002.

She was 34 years old. Her name was Bridgette Maclennan.

Her killer was Anthony Hardy.

Hardy was also known as The Camden Ripper. He's now, thankfully dead having died in 2020 of Covid. He was 69 years old.

The so-called Camden Ripper was given a life sentence for the murder of three women, Sally White, Elizabeth Valad and Bridgette. He had a 20-year history of mental illness, domestic violence, alcohol abuse and an obsession with prostitutes. Brigette, like the other two was a prostitute working in North London.

Psychiatric experts warned of the danger Hardy posed when he was freed from a mental hospital two months before he carried out the murders. While living in Tasmania 20 years before he tried to murder his wife by hitting her over the head with a bottle and submerging her in the bath. He spent two weeks in a psychiatric unit there. By the early 90s, in England, he was living in hostels, taking drugs and picking up prostitutes. He was known to police and considered a danger but - nothing was done. After being diagnosed with bipolar disorder, he was treated at a number of psychiatric hospitals across London for psychosis, alcohol abuse and depression. He had a record for theft and being drunk and disorderly. In 1998, he was arrested after a prostitute accused him of raping her but these charges were later dropped due to lack of evidence.

In January 2002 he was arrested after pouring battery acid through a neighbour's letterbox as part of a dispute, and police found the body of his first victim, Sally White when they searched his flat. 

Sally White,  was a 38-year-old prostitute who had been living in London. Despite the fact that she was found with cuts and bruises to her head, Hardy wasn't charged with her murder. Forensic pathologist Freddy Patel concluded that White had died from natural causes, namely a heart attack. (Patel's findings later came under scrutiny and he was eventually suspended from the government’s register of pathologists. In 2012, his name was removed from the medical register, meaning he can no longer practice medicine in the UK).

Hardy claimed that he had no knowledge of how White had come to be in his flat, due to his alcohol problem. He pleaded guilty to causing criminal damage to his neighbour’s door and was transferred to a psychiatric hospital, where he remained until November 2002. He was not charged with the murder of Sally White.

In December 2002, 11 months after White's death a homeless man made a grim discovery while scavenging for food in rubbish bins in Camden, near Hardy's flat. While searching for something to eat, he discovered the dismembered body parts of two women wrapped in black plastic bin-liners. They were later identified as Bridgette Maclennan and Elizabeth Valad, who had been brutally tortured and killed. 

Anthony Hardy, as a key suspect due to his past history and his close proximity to the scene of the crime was suspected by the police but he went on the run while his mugshot was plastered over London newspapers. He was spotted by an off-duty police officer a week later and a fight ensued as he attempted to avoid arrest, with two police officers being injured until he was detained, arrested and  charged with all three murders.

A search of his flat found evidence  that indicated that Maclennan and Valad had been killed over the Christmas holidays and dismembered at the property. It was suspected that Hardy was also responsible for other murders of sex workers but there was insufficient evidence to charge him.

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Bridgette Maclennan was the sister of my brother's ex wife and was born in New Zealand. I didn't know her but remember that she was at my brother's wedding in 1972 as a flower girl aged about 5. Apparently she moved to the UK when in her teens along with her parents (who were originally from the UK) and her brother. This must have been in the 1980s. She became involved with drugs and is understood to have had several convictions for drug offences and prostitution. 

Bridgette was no shrinking violet by all accounts but no-one deserves to be treated like that. She had two pre-teen children at the time of her death and was divorced from her husband ant their father. I can only recall her as the cute little kid with freckles and red curly hair.

I discovered three documentaries relating to the Camden Ripper that detail the crimes and the appalling responses from the police, health workers and the pathologist who failed the public by inefficiency and incompetence but - we're seeing similar things at home due to understaffing and the pressures on the system. This is only going to get worse with the government's hell-bent drive to reduce workers in police, health, education and government support institutions.

The documentaries pay scant attention to the victims though which is par for the course.

THE HUNT FOR THE CAMDEN RIPPER

THE CAMDEN RIPPER

THE CAMDEN RIPPER - HOW I CAUGHT THE KILLER

"DO IT AGAIN - I DARE YOU"

 

The old man sat alone on the park bench in the rose gardens. He always sat alone now ,in his favourite spots since his wife of 40 years passed two years ago. He stared at the patch of gravel in front of him where her life bled away after a mugging ended in her being stabbed multiple times while trying to hold on to her purse.

He sighed and took the cellphone from his pocket, turned it on and looked at the screen.

After his wife died he spent his days visiting their favourite locations but the rose gardens in the vast park was still the best, even with its haunting memory. When not out walking he spent time in his workshop tinkering with bits of wire and the things he bought from the web. The dark web.

He was aware of the three young guys in hoodies who appeared on the path to his left. They'd stopped to confer and then two walked along towards him while one stayed at the end of the path, looking around. As they approached, one of the youths kept walking further along the path and the other stopped to take out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. The old man pretended not to notice and kept looking at the cellphone screen.

"Got a light grandad?" the youth asked before snatching the cellphone and pressing a small but dangerous-looking knife against the old man's cheek.

"I'll take that" he hissed "and your wallet too you old fart."

The old man slumped in resignation and took out the battered leather wallet from his jacket and handed it over.

"Thanks grandad" the youth said and whooped to his lookouts, holding up the cellphone and wallet so that they could see while he pocketed the knife.

"You didn't see us right grandad." He said with menace as the youth who'd walked past returned and the two of them joined the third at the end of the path.

Keeping his slumped and dejected pose the old man quietly reached into his jacket and took out his cellphone, his normal one, and scrolled through to the call menu, finding the number he wanted and waited, watching the three youths. He waited until they gathered closely, looking in the old wallet that now contained an expired credit card, some never used shopper loyalty cards and a few dollar bills. The youth with the knife held the cellphone in his right hand which rang seconds after the old man pressed the number and selected 'call'.

A balloon of gas bulged from the phone before the explosion enveloped the three in fire and noise. The youth with the phone might have seen his right arm disappear as he fell face down on the path, his head in flames. The others' upper bodies were engulfed in fire and they screamed and staggered before falling next to their friend.

The old man smiled grimly and a favourite Steely Dan song popped into his head.

"You go back, Jack, do it again."

 

MAKING THE MOST (OUT) OF IT

Hi all. Long time no see.

TC asked me to step in to write a post on the opportunities that COVID-19 and Coronavirus in general can create for people with a bit of vision. He's good that way.

Normally I tend to take a bit of a dismal view of the world but I can see what TC is getting at.

Recently we at The Curmudgeons Incⓒ sold some fixed assets and freed up on mortgages to the point where we can spend some money again and even invest. Here are some investment ideas that should give you a good return.

LOCKDOWN SPECULATION

Sure, we all took advantage of the deals in supermarkets in the early days by buying up, in bulk: toilet paper, wet-wipes, hand sanitiser, flour, yeast, bleach, paper towels, rice, cereals, disposable gloves, face masks and baked beans.  I mean - who wouldn't? This was a pretty good investment and worked well until a whole lot of busy-bodies get into the act and reported us to the Commerce Commission when we on-sold our stock via Trade Me, Facebook, Neighbourly and other sales channels. We only priced what the market was prepared to pay but hey, you just can't help some people. The profits in this were pretty mediocre though, even given the ten-fold mark-ups so we all needed to move on to other things like:

GOLD

Gold is showing returns of plus 28% at present. Beauty! If you've got the wherewithal then an investment say of $300,000 can quickly realise a profit of nearly a hundred grand. You can sell off the stock, bank the profits and reinvest another couple of hundred grand because, sure as hell, there will be a lot of desperate late entrants willing to get in to this rort to ensure you of at least another 25% return in the short term before it all collapses like Bitcoin did.

COVID - 19 'REMEDIES'

If you haven't got on the remdesivir and hydroxychloroquine bandwagon yet by buying shares in the production companies then what the hell is wrong with you? FDA and international drug testing agencies will take years to uncover any uncomfortable truths about these. Meanwhile the world's number one salesperson, Donald Trump, has renewed his endorsements of these. My advice - get in quick. You can always bale out later after having made big profits on the stock if you sell before Trump gets the old heave-ho.

BLEACH

Now I know I included this in the supermarket speculation items but I'm talking here about investment in the manufacturing companies. I've noticed, in all of our local supermarkets that basic 2 litre packs of bleach have always run out and the shelves are empty. Trump's claims about ingesting bleach to counteract COVID-19 might have been disclaimed but you can never beat an old conspiracy racket. Bleach is where it's at my friends. The basic item costs a few cents to manufacture and it doesn't need fancy and expensive packaging to sell. Just create a bit of a panic like Trump and his cronies have done and the rest is history - profitable history. Buy bleach manufacturing company shares, trust me.

PROPERTY

Yes, property. While all of the worrywarts are out there agonsing about their houses, flats, baches etc. the real opportunities are to be had in good old, and safe New Zealand. Anyone, who's anyone from USA, UK, Europe, Middle East, China etc who has a bit of free cash and is wanting a bolt-hole could do worse than buying some property and housing in Central Otago, Coromandel, Waiheke Island, and even Wainuiomata. There are both long term and short term gains to be made. The best long term gain is available in little old Tarras in Central Otago at present where a new airport is being mooted. Fortunately we got wind of this a while ago and purchased a few homesteads in key locations.

These are just a few ideas.

Stay posted and we'll share some more.

MAKING PLANS aka 'MY RIDE'S HERE

Warren Zevon's last album was written and performed in 2002 shortly before his death in 2003. The title track from the album is 'My Ride's Here':  MY RIDE'S HERE - WARREN ZEVON
Zevon, like Johnny Cash, David Bowie and others knew that they were on the way out and their last albums were quite dark.

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I attended a funeral of an old friend last week.
It was a bit 'churchy' having been held in a High Anglican church with a vicar and all saying prayers and singing hymns but they did have a small music system and played a rock song at the start and one at the end as the coffin was taken out.
I don't recall the song at the start but do remember that the one at the end was U2's 'One Tree Hill'.
I suppose that it was Dave's choice or a favourite song although I seem to remember that Slade was his band of choice. Maybe this would have been more appropriate: FAR FAR AWAY - SLADE

Anyway, some time ago I made up a list of my funeral songs being striking and memorable songs and pieces of music that have meaning (for me). I don't know where I put it but with luck I'll find it to give it to The Old Girl before I pop my clogs.

The trouble is that the list is so long and while being meaningful to me will no doubt be boring to anyone else listening to it. Maybe The Old Girl or I could make some kind of loop collection that can be background noise for a farewell gathering.

The Old Girl won't see me off in a church - of that I'm certain. There won't be some anonymous priest, vicar or shaman mumbling incantations over me and misrepresenting my life. Hopefully a couple of people might say a few words - I don't mind if they say I was a cantankerous and lazy old bastard as long as they remember that I did have a couple of nice traits. The Old Girl will direct the 'service' and speak about me even though she will be upset. Maybe she will find a small hall to do it in or of course the crematorium. We have a nice little hall at the end of our street up here but it's a 'camel and a packed lunch' for most people I know to get here up north.



What I will do is leave instructions for The Old Girl that there are two songs I would like played at the 'official' part of my kick-off.  One at the start and one at the finish. I've selected these although this might change in time. My current selection is:

IN

'Cypress Avenue by Van Morrison, the studio version from the outstanding album Astral Weeks.

CYPRESS AVENUE - VAN MORRISSON

OUT

'It's All Over Now Baby Blue, the Bob Dylan song as interpreted by Graham Bonnet (1977), the Live in Hamburg 2000 version.

IT'S ALL OVER NOW BABY BLUE - GRAHAM BONNET

Have a nice day.

WHATTA YA GONNA DO?

Yes it's dark times we live in when a man can shoot children in the back and be prepared to crow about it putting forward a twisted philosophy based on hate. I'm so proud of our prime minister saying that he doesn't deserve to be named as this is what he wants - a platform from which to spout his filth like Hitler, Goebbels, Mussolini and other sick fucks did.

Talking of sick fucks are you aware of these two amongst the millions of others out there:

Josh Moon in the USA who runs websites supporting the scum of the earth and viciously attacks minority groups and the weak and infirm which attract bastards like the Christchurch shooter.

See what the odious little scrote is doing here:  KIWI FARM

And another shithead, Nick Rikieta who supports him. See: HERE


It's guys like these that are just as much to blame as the ones with the guns in their hands.
Hopefully we will see an international initiative to close down these sites. I just wish that there was some way they could be prosecuted but I guess we'll just have to rely on Karma.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RICHARD (OF RBB)

A CONFESSION

The Curmudgeon's Agony Aunt has been sniffing around trying to find out where Alexis Lichine's Encyclopaedia of Wines  and Spirits that a contributor to her column came from. I'm laying low but remember that I did lend it to some wine nutter recently.

It's an old book and the cover is a bit tatty but otherwise is still in good nick (don't mention 'nick').

I, er, borrowed this some years ago and forgot to return it:

ALIEN ENGINEERS

BELIEVE IT OR NOT

Well Robert believes in holy seagulls, deities in the sky and the Bible so why not believe that ancient aliens helped out in the creation of pyramids.

The above essay has a few good points but I wish that they'd actually tested the theory. Maybe we could get those guys on that TV programme Mythbusters to give it a go.

Meantime I think I'll keep wearing my tinfoil cap.

FOOT IN THE MOUTH

The Old Girl doesn't often make mistakes but when she does they can be real doozies.

These often take the form of indiscrete statements or 'Foot in the Mouth' comments.

"put your foot in your mouth"




To put Your Foot In Your Mouth ( say something embarrassing ... )

You "put your foot in your mouth" when you say something that makes a person feel embarrassed. Example: "Last night I was telling a joke, and I really put my foot in my mouth. I had no idea I was talking about Rob's wife." You can imagine how embarrassed you would feel and how funny you would look if you actually "put your foot in your mouth." Example: "I am so embarrassed. Are you sure he could hear me when I was talking in the next room?" Reply: "Yes. You really put your foot in your mouth." Note: The word "foot" is always singular when you say "foot in your mouth". Example: "Let's all be very careful what we say at the meeting tomorrow. I don't want anyone putting their foot in their mouth." When you say something which makes someone feel embarrassed or causes an embarrassing situation, you have "put your foot in your mouth."

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Here are some memorable ones that The Old Girl has come out with:

1. The work colleague.

Some time ago one of my executive colleagues was engaged to a real prat. This guy, the prat, was full of himself - a preening 'look at me' type - probably a narcissisist. At a company function in a very large venue, as The Old Girl and I were circulating and making polite conversation we spoke to my colleague who was on her own. We said "where's So and So (the fiancee)?". The Colleague put on a sad face and said "I've lost him". The Old Girl immediately said "never mind, he was a jerk, you're better off without him". The colleague looked at her quizzically and said "I've lost him in the room somewhere - he was over there before". We beat a hasty retreat with the Old Girl hiding her shamed face against my chest.

2. The business associates

A couple of years ago I was working on a project. The wife of the chairman of the project was a bit hoity-toity and The Old Girl didn't like her. At a dinner where all the people on the project were gathered we were sitting next to a project member and his wife. The Old Girl said to them "I'm pleased we're not sitting next to 'her highness' over there" pointing to the chairman's wife. I tried to kick her under the table but missed as I knew that these people were best friends of the chairman's wife.

3. The friend.

When having drinks with an old friend who has had some health problems, he told us that he was having some minor surgery to establish whether a lump was cancerous. The Old Girl said cheerfully "I guess the autopsy will show pretty quickly if it is clear or not". We all went quiet. She meant 'biopsy'.

Luckily our friend has a good sense of humour and we all laughed about the error.



The Old Girl. I love her and her quirks.

DARK CHRISTMAS

I don't really have much time for Christmas anymore. The fun has way gone out of it for me.
It's all about spending too much money, eating and drinking too much and spending time with people that you've managed perfectly well to avoid all year.

The 'Rules of Association' of CURMUDGEONS INC.ⓒ unfortunately dictate that I have to do what the other members are doing in the way of themes as set by THE CURMUDGEON.

Well, here's this.

Enjoy.

Or don't enjoy.

Whatever:


DARK CHRISTMAS

WELCOME TO THE MONKEYHOUSE

Governmental sanctioned euthanasia or ethical suicide is closer than you think.

Australia's Victoria State Upper House has passed a bill to legalise voluntary suicide.
The law will make it legal for doctors to assist in the death of the terminally ill and will return to the Lower House for a final vote.

In New Zealand 'End of Life Choice' polls have shown that Kiwis support the idea of the terminally ill having the choice to end their life although when bills have been presented to Parliament they have been defeated and as a consequence voluntary euthanasia is illegal in New Zealand.

The Netherlands and Belgium have had legalised assisted suicide for over 20 years and while it still spurs debate there is no evidence demonstrating that the Netherlands has a greater rate of non-voluntary or involuntary euthanasia than other Western countries. 

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In Vonnegut's short story Welcome To The Monkey House an Orwellian future society that has population problems has made birth control mandatory and in fact made taking drugs to eliminate the sex drive in total compulsory. The government also created voluntary suicide booths set up to offer a pleasant experience (in a non-pleasurable world) for those who took up the option. The resistance to this was a group who advocated birth control but wanted to eliminate the sex-drive suppression and get rid of the suicide booths. It was an OK story but bound up in the dodgy sexual mores of the 1970s.

***************

I don't have any moral objections to voluntary assisted suicide or, ethical suicide provided that all of the safeguards are in place ensuring that the choice is absolute and total and not influenced by mental illness or coercion. Most of the objections come from religious groups who claim that the individual doesn't have the right to end their life as their life doesn't belong to them but belongs to god. Well, what a lot of codswallop that is and is in line with all of the other arrogant and irrational thought and teachings that come from most religions.

If in the (increasingly near) future,  I have a debilitating and incurable illness and my physical and mental capabilities are to be severely limited then I reserve the right to choose when and how I 'pop my clogs'. No religious group and hopefully no government should stand in my way of that.

It has seemed that the legalisation and normalisation of this are way in the future in New Zealand but the Victorian Parliament's action last week might well be a breakthrough.

RETRIBUTION

Yes I've heard the news and no I won't talk about it.

Rest assured though that someone will pay for this. Pay dearly.

ROBERT AT MURRAY ROBERTS

Not quite the name and logo but almost

Richard of RBB, the custodian of that old blog RICHARD'S BASS BAG, in a recent comment on THE DARKER CURMUDGEON asked if there would be an expose of Robert in his days as a Murray Robert's delivery truck driver.

For those of you who are up to pace with modern media and who are followers of latest trends and the more fashionable side of social media, RICHARD'S BASS BAG is one of those old format blogs where the writer witters on about things he does during the day - gets up, goes to the toilet, drinks instant coffee, plays with himself plays solo music on his double bass etc. You get the picture. It's kind of like one of those old Smith's bookstore and stationers, the ones that have now closed down or like a shabby community library where only derelicts hang out in to keep warm and pee in the corner.

Anyway, I've wracked my brains to think of things that Robert did as a delivery driver - the memory is a bit fuzzy, but here goes:

Careless driving one

Once Robert was driving the small Bedford truck in Newtown, near the Winter show buildings.
He had just done a delivery to the John Street council flats and had to collect a lot of empty bottles in soggy cartons. He wasn't pleased and drove faster than he should have. when he hit a bump in the road several of the cartons 'jumped out' from the back of the truck and the contents smashed on the ground, scaring pedestrians. Robert hurriedly stopped the truck in the middle of the road and picked up the bigger pieces of glass and cardboard, threw them onto the back of the truck and drove on.

Careless driving two

Once Robert was driving the large flat-deck Bedford down from the Hataitai tunnel to the Basin Reserve. As the lights were green and just turning yellow he accelerated and took the turn left, mounting the footpath and scattering pedestrians. Robert drove on back to base in Adelaide Road.





Drinking and driving

On Saturday afternoons the biggest delivery was to the James Cook hotel where usually a full truckload of beer and some spirits and soft drink was delivered. The beer was always DB Export in cartons of 24 bottles. After unloading and carrying the cartons up stairs to the store room Robert would accept a free beer and sit down enjoying it knowing that his co-workers would be flat out back at base. Robert didn't care.

Tagging

Once Robert wrote "STEVE IS A BRIKEHEAD" on one of the the walls in the warehouse. Robert thought that he did this anonymously but every one knew it was him by the misspelling.


Vandalism

Robert used to throw the glass marker pens at the walls and celing of the warehouse to make 'Jackson Pollock' - like splashes.

Pinching

Bruce said to take a bottle of wine home to try with tea and learn about wine. Bruce meant a decent New Zealand or Australian wine. Willy, 2IC re-interpreted and instructed that as cheap New Zealand wine like Baco 22A (about 99c. a bottle). Robert ignored both of those instructions and took home Chateaux Margaux.

Skiving

Robert used to stop off during deliveries and do his washing at a laundromat in Hataitai. He used to sit and study his university books for about an hour and a half while the clothes were washing and drying. The delivery truck was parked outside on the yellow lines.


That's just from the 'top of the head'.
No doubt Richard could add some. We could actually ask Robert but I feel that his memory might be dodgy.