Stacey’s on the stalkers ’case so why can’t the police do more?

MORE than half the murders of women in the UK begin with stalking. The killers, often former partners, bombard their victims with intimidating messages before the crimes escalate.

As she followed the work of a helpline in Portsmouth and a specialist police unit in Stalkers (BBC1), Stacey Dooley learned that one in five women have been subjected to stalking — as have one in ten men.

Katie dated a personal trainer from her gym for five months before she dumped him when she discovered he was being unfaithful. His twisted revenge included beating himself up and reporting her to the police for assault.

He was eventually sentenced to two years in prison, but was able to apply for parole after serving less than half his sentence. Though his request was denied, the police could offer Katie no assurances.

They advised her to pack a suitcase with essentials, in case she needed to flee her home. They also asked her to keep a log of every time her abuser made contact — which sounds as though she was expected to assist in the investigation of her own future murder.

Stacey could have pressed the police harder to find out why forces don’t take the crime more seriously. She set up no difficult questions, let alone confrontations with chief constables or other senior officers.

One woman after another came forward to say she and her family had suffered endless psychological torment and manipulation. Yet the offenders were able to continue with their campaigns of fear for years before the police finally intervened.

‘People say love makes you do crazy things and in my case it definitely does,’ declared one deranged man, his face hidden by his hoodie.

Recruitment consultant Sabrina was bombarded with abusive messages and pictures from a disguised phone number for three years. Her stalker photographed her house and claimed to know where her daughter went to school.

Eventually, by obtaining CCTV footage from a local pub, Sabrina was able to discover the creep was a former boyfriend.

But she had to turn detective herself before the police began taking the case seriously.

The intimidation was driving her to despair. ‘Is it actually ever going to end?’ she wept.

This was grim viewing, with a bleak conclusion. Once a stalker targets you, Stacey warned: ‘You are never truly free.’

Last week I worried that Wednesday telly was getting so bleak that I’d be forced to watch Gregg Wallace on Inside The Factory (BBC2). My fears came true . . . and it really wasn’t as bad as I’d expected.

Gregg was inspecting the Doc Martens factory in the northamptonshire village of Wollaston. ‘We Brits are mad for boots,’ he yelled, bobbing along with his arms spread wide and his head wobbling, like a toy on a car dashboard.

As he trundled around the shop floor, he got an education not only in boot-making but in the fascinating origin of cobblers’ slang. Take ‘skiving’, to describe the work-shy. Skiving, Gregg learned, means shaving down the edges of leather, to make it easier to stitch. Most boot-making is done standing up, but skivers have to sit down at their machine. It’s a cushy job.

The ‘vamp’ is the front of a boot, which gets scuffed. When that piece of leather is replaced, the boot is ‘revamped’! Fancy that.

And when the footwear is shaped around a wooden foot or ‘last’ (because this is the last stage), it should be so tight that the bootmaker can ‘knock on wood’.

Apologies to Gregg for all previous sarkiness, because I enjoyed this. As it turns out, he’s most interesting when he’s talking cobblers.