WE have been told to stop speculating on whether killer taxi driver Christopher Halliwell is responsible for any murders other than the two for which he has been convicted.

Okey dokey, mum’s the word, say no more.

However, the statement from Wiltshire Police’s chief constable Mike Veale this week has left me scratching my head.

On the surface of it, Chief Con Veale seems to be saying there is no evidence which links Halliwell to any other murders.

What he’s actually saying is there is no evidence.

He also says: “I’m sure that there may well be other women that have been murdered...”

Confused? Me too.

Now I’ve never worked as a police officer, I’ve never even contemplated joining the Specials, but I’ve watched enough police dramas to know that if a police officer reckons someone has murdered someone, he tends to.... oooh, what’s it called?... investigate.

You know the type of thing — it’s the crack of dawn, our hero cop is dishevelled and hungover and grouchy with his team, which is made up of the swotty do-things-by -the-book one, the renegade charmer who thinks he knows best, the handsome/beautiful misunderstood but hugely talented one and a bunch of rather dull ones to make up the numbers. There he is, coffee in hand, by the whiteboard, scribbling and circling clues, suspects and victims and drawing swooping arrows between key points.

The team have various instructions barked at them and off they go — to investigate.

Sooner or later there’s a break in the case, the villain is apprehended and the families of the victims are finally allowed to grieve.

If Chief Con Veale is right and Halliwell is responsible for other murders, the police don’t even have to apprehend the villain — they already have him behind bars.

But they could allow the families of any other victims their chance to grieve and find answers as to what happened to their loved ones.

So come on, Wiltshire Police, if you have the faintest suspicion there may be other victims, don’t let a lack of evidence put you off.

Get investigating and provide some justice and closure for any other devastated families out there.

Hide that street buffet

SO there we were, in the middle of the street, him chomping into a chocolate biscuit and me shouting ‘Gerroffit! Let it go!” and thrusting my hand into his mouth to get it off him.

No, it wasn’t a fight for the last Hobnob — it was a mercy mission.

You see, my companion had four legs and a waggy tail, and as you may or may not know, chocolate is poisonous to dogs.

Dogs, of course, treat our streets like a giant smorgasbord, stopping to nibble at discarded chips, lone Maltesers, stale pizza crusts and once — almost — a whole green chilli.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time wandering the streets of Old Town, canine in tow (or if it’s on the way to the park, way ahead of me, pulling me in the direction of freedom, squirrels and other pooches to play with) and I’ve taken to spending most of that time gazing at the pavements on red alert for hazards.

If it’s not the grizzled remains of someone’s drunken snack, it’s the shards of broken glass from someone’s drunken clumsiness. In short, our pavements are a mess.

Every morning, I see the street sweeper make his way past my house on a mission to clear away the detritus before most of us have even left our homes. He and his colleagues deserve a medal for performing this thankless task day in day out.

And far be it from me to want to put people out of work, but is it really that hard to use a bin? In the three streets between my house and the Lawns, there are at least eight to choose from.

If dog walkers have the common courtesy to pick up their dog’s poop and walk around with a smelly black bag until they find a bin, surely other people can hold on to their chocolate biscuit until they find one. Think how good you’d feel knowing you’d saved an animal a trip to the vet’s.

Why I’ve stopped watching you-know-what

I’VE had another run-in with The Channel Which Shall Go Unnamed (known henceforth as TCWSGU) but you know the one - it’s the one that insists we pay £140-odd a year if we want to watch telly.
I won’t name it because last time it did, the PR department in charge of the licence side of things flew into a right old tizzy.
Anyhoo. I got home the other day to find an angry-looking envelope threatening me with potential legal action because I haven’t paid up for the you-know-what.
I’m having a mini protest (as far as I know, I’m the only one involved at the moment) because I think £12 a month is too much to pay for the odd drama and a couple of history documentaries.
I fail to see why TCWSGU can’t cut down on the astronimical salaries of some of its stars and reduce the monthly rate. Also, if it were to charge monthly so students who perhaps don’t need a Piece of Paper during the long vacations or people going on holiday etc could pay when they used it and not when they didn’t, it would probably find fewer people avoiding coughing up altogether or watching illegally.
Perhaps it could have a series of rates — one cheaper one if you only want to watch TCWSGU on playback and one full price one if you want to watch live TV.
It’s the attitude I object to. I got home from work, opened my post and was made to feel like a fugutive from the law. If I don’t watch Netflix and cancel my subscription, enough said, they leave me alone. They don’t hound me and threaten me with home visits to make sure I’m not somehow cheating them.
A colleague mentioned that The People in Charge of the Licence can use anti-terrorism legislation to check if you’re watching illegally. A wise use of resources — watching TCWSGU is clearly akin to planning a bombing mission. 
So as much as the new series of The Apprentice is televisual catnip to me, I’m determined to stick to my boycott until TCWSGU modernises inline with other TV providers. For now, The Channel, you’re fired.