RICHARD LITTLEJOHN: Operation Hillman? No wonder the wheels have come off at Scotland Yard 

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Operation Hillman. Where do they get these names from? Why not Operation Boris, or Operation Carrie Antoinette, or Operation Prosecco?

Who thought it was a good idea to christen the investigation into alleged breaches of lockdown restrictions in Downing Street after a car marque phased out in 1976?

Actually, come to think of it, why does every police inquiry have to be given a stupid, cod military title?

Operation Midland, for instance. That was the monicker of the truly shocking Nonces In High Places fiasco, which ruined the lives and reputations of blameless men falsely accused of ‘historic’ sex crimes by a known fantasist.

Sounds a bit like Operation Mincemeat, the new movie about the clandestine mission which changed the course of World War II, to which this column referred recently.

That obviously inspired Operation Red Meat, the Save Boris mission launched by Johnson loyalists in the wake of attempts to bring down the PM over a slew of so-called ‘scandals’.

Now BoJo finds himself on the wrong end of a ridiculously expensive Scotland Yard inquiry into who ate all the birthday cake at No 10. I’ve been trying to imagine the top-level meeting at headquarters summoned to set up the Prosecco Squad, the outgoing Dick of Dock Green presiding.

‘Now pay attention. You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you here today.’

‘Actually, guv, yes. We’re supposed to be serving a Full English breakfast to the Insulate Britain gang who have glued themselves to the South Mimms roundabout under the M25. We thought about calling it Operation Bacon Banjos.’

That’s the spirit. Never mind knife crime, terrorism, drug dealing, burglaries or bank robberies.

Our mission, should we choose to accept it, is to investigate thoroughly allegations that the staff at 10 Downing Street have been having the odd can of lager at the end of a long day.’

‘Put your trousers on, Boris, you’re bleedin’ nicked!’

‘Precisely, superintendent. But first we need a name for the operation. Any thoughts?’

‘How about Operation Weeting?’

‘Nah, we used that for phone hacking.’

‘Operation Bridger, after the Noel Coward character in The Italian Job? We are the self-preservation societ-eeee!’

‘Been there, done that.’

‘How about Operation Consul, after the original motor in The Sweeney?’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

‘Operation Hillman?’

‘Brilliant. My dad used to have a two-tone Hillman Minx in the 1960s. Perfect . . .’

We can only guess as to how they came up with that one. But it immediately put me in mind of the Hillman Imp, a truly dreadful death trap produced by the Rootes Group between 1963 and 1976, until it was killed off after the takeover by Chrysler.

It should have been built in Coventry, but because of Tony Benn’s regional industrial strategy, they decided to screw it together in Scotland, at Linwood, outside Glasgow, where the workforce of ex-dockers, miners and redundant Upper Clyde shipbuilders celebrated their good fortune by spending most of their time on strike. 

A bit like the rest of Britain in the mid-1970s.

The Imp was supposed to be a rival for BMC’s revolutionary Mini, but laboured under the disadvantage of having its engine in the back, VW Beetle style.

My much-missed mate Aggro, aka Ian Smith, formerly the deputy sports editor of the Biggleswade Chronicle, made the mistake of buying one on his Access Card when we were both on a Journalism For Dummies course at Harlow Technical College, around the time Rod Stewart was at number one with You Wear It Well.

Talk about tail-heavy. Once it got above 30mph it would lift off like a Harrier jump jet, especially when he was racing home from the boozer, ten pints to the good.

He eventually consulted a mechanic who advised him to put a couple of bags of cement in the boot, which was at the front. It wasn’t a perfect solution.

A few months later he took off spectacularly after attempting to negotiate a notorious hump-back bridge on the old A1 in Bedfordshire at about 75mph and crashed into the front of a pub in Sandy, where he abandoned what was left of the car and legged it before Plod turned up with the breathalyser.

Still, today the idea of Operation Hillman seems like the perfect metaphor for the Metropolitan Police, under the soon-to-be-gone Dick of Dock Green.

For the past few years, the Yard has been all over the road, like a Hillman Imp, sans bags of cement as ballast.

The tenure of Dick, of whom we hoped better, has been an unmitigated shambles following the disgraceful Bernard Hyphen-Howe years.

You don’t need me to revisit every cough and spit of the chaos, which has been brilliantly and extensively documented by Stephen Wright and Neil Darbyshire in these pages.

Like the death of Little Nell, it would take a heart of stone not to laugh at the demise of Dick courtesy of Genghis Khan, the two-bob chancer of a Labour mayor who has turned London into an open sewer of crime.

Hilariously, she’s being sacked for not being woke enough.

Khan is nominally police commissioner, but has presided over a stabbing epidemic and now proposes converting most of South London into an open-air drugs bazaar, modelled on ‘Hamsterdam’ in The Wire, the wonderful HBO police series based in Baltimore, which fell under the control of so-called ‘liberal’ politicians with predictably appalling consequences.

Meanwhile, Dick is crawling from the wreckage with a pay-off of half a mill and a pension worth 160 grand a year. Seat in the Lords to follow, no doubt. Nice work, etc.

Incredibly, she looks like remaining in office until the Downing Street birthday cake investigation runs its course.

So, despite being sacked, she may still get to decide the fate of the Prime Minister.

Another one of those I don’t know whether to file under Mind How You Go or You Couldn’t Make It Up.

The only reason Dick got an extension to her contract was because there wasn’t a single senior Plod in Britain considered suitable to take over.

Khan favours the absurd Neil Basu, who famously put out an official press release via the Yard condemning the death of George Floyd 3,500 miles away and believes the fastest-growing threat to Britain’s security is ‘far-Right’ extremists, who are largely confined to a flat above a kebab shop in Barking.

Who knows which candidate Home Secretary Priti Flamingo is backing? We’re told the Government is scouring the world for an acceptable commissioner. London needs a new sheriff in town.

But don’t bank on a modern-day Wyatt Earp arriving any day soon. Khan’s druggie pals won’t have to get outta Dodge in a hurry.

Most likely the next head of Scotland Yard will be another brainwashed Common Purpose clone off the wokery production line. I’d bring back Captain Beaujolais or the reincarnation of Sir Robert Mark, the legendary ‘hammer’ of bent coppers in the 1970s.

Sadly, all you need to know is that’s never going to happen, even under an allegedly Conservative Prime Minister currently being given the full Ron and Reg treatment over a packet of crisps and a bottle of cheap fizz. The pass was sold years back.

Curiously, I’ve discovered this photo of an old Hillman Imp panda car, driven by a plonk who looks suspiciously like a young Dick of Dock Green.

I’m afraid the wheels came off a long time ago.