Snow - Naughty

In case someone in Britain hasn't noticed, it has been snowing. A bit.
This apparently is a recipe for DISASTER. I believe that it is a fact that I am one of the only adults in the whole country who has ever seen this type of precipitation before, let alone driven in it.

At least, that's what the news items would have you believing.



Inspector Gadget once again sums up my feelings perfectly about snow and Policing. So much so that there isn't a lot of point me expanding on it.

Instead, I'd like to tell you a story about what happened to me a few hours ago. Driving along a less gritted and less well known track after having refs, I spotted a group of oiks hanging around at a corner. They'd eye - fucked me as I'd driven past earlier, and so I took a little more interest than I would usually. Especially when I noticed them packing their snowballs hard into their gloved hands.
Not a problem. I slowed down and waited for it - sure enough, the barrage of ice balls came and reverberated off the windows and doors with loud bangs. The little darlings.
Obviously, I'm beyond stopping the car and yelling at them for a little bit of snow ball action. Besides, then I'm pretty sure that there would have been a second supply of snow balls, and I hate having to dry my uniform.

However, a rear wheel drive car in the snow does have it's uses. A little squirt of the gas caused the back wheels to spin, and spray said oiks with the lovely brown, dirty slush that collects on the road in weather like this.

Was it wrong of me to find this the funniest thing I've seen in days?

Beano Down The Trousers

You'll be happy to know that I was thoroughly put in my place and given a good old-fashioned bollocking recently.

Driving my patrol car about, I'd been searching for a wanted male who was a named suspect on the PNC (Police National Computer). He had returned to his ex partner's house and made off on seeing the Police arrive into a patch of grassy land nearby, desolate apart from the odd burnt out car and used drugs paraphenalia.
I had enthusiastically joined the chase, and in doing so had got a puncture whilst attempting to drive along a gravel driveway.

Our exploits had taken us close to another force area, and knowing their nick was closest I limped the car there to survey the damage.
The tyre had a serious puncture and the car was going nowhere with it in place. So, I used my intiative (a bi-yearly event), borrowed some tools from the neighbouring force's garage hand, and then replaced the tyre with the space saver. After five minutes work, I radioed my Sergeant and told him what I was doing, then I drove the car to Kwik-fit and replaced the orginal tyre.

Sorted, and back on the road in less than an hour.

Oh no. I was then told not to take any calls, and instead to return immediately to my nick. Where I was given a bollocking by a Sergeant for changing the tyre myself. What I should have done was parked the car up at the side of the road, then called out VT to attend. I have done this before. It takes about two hours at least.
And of course, they don't carry tyres either. All they do is replace the puncture with a space saver, then let me drive to Kwik-fit to get the original replaced.

I was bollocked good and proper, and told to think about the consequences if I had injured myself whilst changing the tyre.
The fact that I used Non-Met tools in a Non-Met nick was apparently even worse, and the Sergeant (not from my team incidentally) mentioned that he was considering an action plan for me because of what I had done. I was too shocked to argue, and left the office thoroughly chastened.

It's why stories like this one from Inspector Gadget don't surprise me in the slightest.

Foot Chase

One of the laws of Policing is that whenever you get a group of coppers with any experience together, especially if there is alchohol present, the war stories will start coming out.

Some of them are even true and not embellished with layer upon layer of fabrication.

A tendency at times like this, is to approach these stories slightly cautiously, especially if you don't know the group as well as you could.
A lot of the stories start with "This copper I once knew..."

This reminded me of a similar one - about a copper I used to work with, a grizzled old sweat who had been there, seen that, and done it all. With an almost superhuman ability to drink tea and coffee.

Although I have talked about my experiences with both vehicle pursuits and foot chases here and here, I also had one of my first ever foot chases with this guy.

Mark had been tasked to sit in a road that had newly been made a one way street, and stop and "advise" people that were ignoring this and roaring through anyway. It had previously been used as a cut through and after a few near misses the residents had understandably complained.
Filled with the kind of glee that only a thirty year copper can feel when tasked with a job like this, he collared me and brought me along to join in the excitement.

It was actually a great job - a lovely sunny day, no paperwork as we were 'advising,' not sticking people on. Sitting there in shirt sleeves, no vests, and being brought cold drinks by the residents - grateful that for once the Police had listened to their requests.

After about two hours, a little Peugeot turned into the road ignoring the no entry sign and barrelled towards us. I shuffled out from the cul-de-sac where we were parked up, and raised my hand. No response. And I was even wearing my hat. The cheek.

The car continued on its merry way, leaving nothing but a trail of exhaust smoke and the smell of a car that hadn't had its oil checked for some time.
I of course used my literally weeks of experience to leap into action, and so stood there, arm still outraised with my mouth doing a very good impression of a goldfish.

The area car thrummed alongside me, and Mark said "are we going after it, or are you hoping he's going to change his mind and come back?"
I snapped out of my little moment, and clambered in to the passengers seat. Mark hit the blues and I felt the surge as the kick down pushed us back in our seats.
"Shall I call it in?"
Mark had a grim look on his face: "Nope, he'll stop. He's not going to get away from us in that."
Sure enough, the car turned a quick right out of the road, and as we caught up and did the same it came to a sudden stop.
The driver, obviously a local with knowledge of the area, leapt out at a run and headed down an alleyway that ran along the back gardens of the houses.
I jumped out as well, as did Mark. I was positively shaking with the adrenalin and excitement, and held the radio in my hand like a sword of justice and truth.

Running up the path, I shouted some unintelligable nonsense into the radio about the foot chase. Mark later told me that he kindly translated for the control room so that they could understand what I was trying to say.
Whatever, I could hear units answer up and start to make their way, and even heard two tones in the distance. Other than that, all I was interested in was the suspect ahead.
This was before my night duty diet consisted purely of kebabs, so I felt pretty good about catching the suspect. Now it will depend purely on whether it is before or after I've eaten - I keep myself relatively fit and can still do the shield run in sub two minutes, but after a kebab I need time to adjust...

On this occasion, I hadn't eaten and was desperate to get this fella.
As we ran along the alleyway, a man came wondering out of a side turning further along, with a dog on a lead. Bald, with the traditional string vest tucked in beneath an impressive stomach. He didn't even factor into my thinking.
Not so for Mark. He took this opportunity to utilise a skill he picked up as a Sergeant in the army: a bellow so loud and deep that even in my blue funk, I heard it clearly. "Stop him! He's a rapist!"

String Vest didn't hesitate for second. With surprising agility, he swung and kicked the suspect in the shins, knocking him straight to the ground. Me and Mark ran up, and leapt on him to apply the cuffs.
"Thanks" I managed to pant out. String Vest didn't even break his stride and stepped over us struggling to get the cuffs on, quietly saying as he did so "You're doing a splendid job lads."

Seals & Crofts

This has been a semi regular post to write recently. Another post apologising for my lack of them.
This is partly to do with a recent huge amount of Aid requirements, meaning spending very long periods of time in the back of a public order carrier.

It is also partly due to the fact that recently I have been doing courses. Courses that have the potential to (hopefully) make me some money and get to do some more interesting Policing type things. Although I've no plans to leave response team at the moment - I like my days off too much.

More important than either of those is the fact that I am actually quite enjoying work at the moment. A lot of my blog posts (as per the norm for Police blogs) are inspired by moaning. By bad shifts, by not enough time off, by crap from above.
All this and more is still happening.
But.
Sometimes in this job you just go through purple patches, and I am tentatively having one at the moment. The bad shifts keep coming, the crap keeps coming down and the calls don't stop.
But.
I am being left alone to play at work by my direct supervisors, I've got some more interesting things to do, and of course it's sunny.

And now I bring myself to the most pertinent point in my lack of posts.
It's sunny, and recently I have rediscovered the joy of making the most of my rest days. I've made new friends, strengthened friendships with acquaintances, and got closer to previously already close friends. I'm a lucky man. Barbecues, food, drink and company make the joys of the internets pale in comparison.

Must try harder.

R/T Set

Is this thing still on..?

It was a lonely Sunday evening night shift, and we had but one thing to be excited about.
We had been warned that at 0100 hours the radio system would go down for five minutes.

Five minutes without calls being given out, five minutes with no back up if we were already dealing with calls or came across something direct.
Five minutes of peace...

As the night wore on, we were given regular reminders that it would be happening.

At about ten to one, the controller keyed up "All units Bravo X-ray, just a reminder about the switch off for maintenance for the airwave sets. There will be no receiving or transmitting capability from 0100hours for a period of five minutes at most. A repetition, no radio capability from 0100hours for a period of five minutes maximum. If there are any problems after the five minutes or the radios don't come back online, call me direct."
Silence
"Er, Bravo X-ray from BX201 - how do we call you direct to let you know the radios aren't working, if, well, the radios aren't working?"
Laughter around the borough. The femal controller keyed up again:
"Sorry petal, I don't make the rules. I'm sure I'll think of something by then..."

A wonderful example of prior planning by the met.

Incidentally, the radios did come back on line after just under five minutes, and no one died in that time.

Warning Formula

This happened a few months ago, but I was reminded of it when attempting to clear my locker out of some of the debris and detritus that had collected in it.
A futile attempt at an unachievable task, incidentally.

Whilst sorting through the memos I had been handed on various ops, damaged uniform, discarded public order kit and paperwork that I needed to submit, I found a PNC print off that took me back.

I had been on patrol in a borrowed Patrol car, a pool car of the worst type.
High mileage, older model, smelly - Police readers will be wondering how this differs from standard patrol cars, but our motor was all that and more.

Whilst heading along a dual carriageway after resulting a domestic we had been to, I saw something that made me hit the brakes, hard. A car (a light blue Toyota Corrola) a short distance in front of me had obviously decided that they didn't like being on the route they were, and as a result had taken the (entirely logical) course.
Slowing rapidly from 70mph, the car had indicated into the right lane, then bumped over the central reservation. Finding themselves facing the wrong way into the traffic coming the opposite way, the driver had then proceeded to flash their headlights and honk their horn before driving a hundred yards the wrong way and turning off the carriageway into their intended road.

Myself and my oppo stared open mouthed at each other for a brief moment, then without any further hesitation hit the blues.

The manouevere that the Toyota had pulled was too dangerous to do, even with blues and twos on. It was getting dark, and I hadn't counted on ending up in hospital this shift.

We sped up to the next roundabout - luckily not far away - and span round and back on the opposite carriageway. A sharp left into the road the Toyota had gone into (for the more action minded of you, we managed an accidental prolongued squeal from the tyres at this point) and I slowed the car down to a crawl as we started looking down the side roads.
My oppo nudged me, and pointed to a set of tail lights ahead. "That's that expletive Toyota"
I pulled up behind the Toyota, which was heading along at a reduced pace after seeing the flickering of blue lights in his rear view.

The car drifted to the left and stopped. My partner got out to speak to the driver, and I ran the VRM (Vehicle Registration Mark) through the MDT (Mobile Data Terminal) in the car.
The Insurance tag flashed up - "NO INSURANCE."
Interestinger and interestinger.












My Mobile Data Terminal in action


I went to join my oppo and the driver. The driver was a West African, and indignant at being pulled over.
My partner took a couple of steps back and started to do a name check, keys of the Toyota now safely dangling from his belt. I approached the window to receive a barrage of abuse.
Apparently I am "not a Godly man," I am "an evil person" and "God will punish me."
This before I had even said 'hello.'

I pulled an IRB from my vest, and started to fill his details into the booklet. I had already decided that this person should not be allowed to drive after the stunt he had pulled, and that I would be giving him an opportunity to explain his dangerous driving to a court.
I explained he would be reported, then started to do the infamous 'warning formula.' "I am reporting you for the question to be considered of prosecuting you for the offences of Dangerous Driving and Driving with No Insurance. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention now, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."
Unfortunately, I was distracted and it took me a couple of attempts.

My colleague was standing behind the Toyota, illuminated by the flickering strobe lights. And giggling like a loon.

I noted the driver's reply ("You have no authority. I am a business man"), and went back to the laughing officer. "What's up?"
"Sorry Area. You can't stick this fella on."
"Why not?"
My partner said nothing, and just pointed to the rear window, with a window sticker on it.
A simple message: "God Allows U-Turns."














On to another call

Patience = Low

"Bravo X-ray two-two, Bravo X-ray two-two, an 'I' grade call now, Brixley High Street, PI Accident. Car versus motorbike."
"Received, show X-ray two two D-delta to your last - but we're running from the opposite end of the divsion"
"Received"

A two minute pause

"Bravo X-ray, show Bravo 2 to your last as well. We're clearing the last call and not too far"
"Received. Bravo X-ray two-two, can you cancel to your last? We've got another immediate grade call, this time at 27 Letsby Avenue for a confirmed sequential alarm."
"Bravo X-ray, we can, but we've just made our way through traffic away from that last location."
"Received, there's no one else - I'll send it through."

Another two minute pause.

"Bravo X-ray from Bravo 2 - sorry, we've had to 54 the vehicle with a flat tyre. Can you cancel us from the last?"
"Received. Bravo X-ray two-two, can you re-attend the Brixley High Street call please to the Persons Injured accident?"
"X-ray, received. We are nearly TOA on the other call though."
"Received, sorry to do this to you but there's no one else shown."

Three minutes pass.

"Bravo X-ray two-two, you can cancel to your last. LAS on scene and stating no injuries, drivers exchanging details and no obstruction."
"Received Bravo X-ray. We're going to stop for a break, my operator's started to feel sea sick with all this too-ing and fro-ing, and we're due refs."
"Um, X-ray two-two - can you just quickly deal with the other outstanding immediate call on your way back...?"

Yes. This is how I often spend my day. Although I dealt with quite a bit of self created incidents I came across direct, after twelve hours of rushing about today I actually resulted the grand total of one call.
A threats by text domestic from an ex-boyfriend's new partner.

Power!

One of my fleeting moments of power and influence.

It was 0800hours and a few of us had been called in on a rest day for a pre-planned operation, to dress up in plain clothes and go out looking for wanted offenders.
We had obeyed by turning up in the obligatory "plain clothes copper" uniform of DM booths, jeans, and North Face jacket with buzz cuts for the blokes.

Of course, the robbery squad were too busy to deal with any robbery prisoners. Same for the burglary squad, and the domestic violence unit are always snowed under with their prisoners.
So all three had requested that we didn't go out looking for any of their circulated suspects.

Instead, we were briefed to go out looking for SERCO breaches. Most met officers will know these - when people who have been electronically tagged breach their conditions, SERCO automatically send a fax to the force with the time of the breach, and arrest enquiries are (eventually) made.

The sergeant had called in sick. The DI looked at me - "Area, you're Acting Sergeant for this. I need a return of work on my desk before you head off. Cheers."

I leafed despondently through the dockets - I had one for a breach of curfew by four minutes. Hmmm.
Another one for a breach of curfew that happened on the day of his court date - the suspect had been at home since then, but had obviously got home late from court and therefore technically breached his curfew conditions by being outside the curfew hours. Not unreasonable when court finished at 1700 and curfew started at 1800.
A third breach of curfew by twenty minutes where the suspect's mother had phoned and stated he was ill and in hospital. This has actually happened some weeks ago, and since then the suspect had gone to court for trial and been found not guilty.

In all, we had one docket with a 'real' arrest.
The robbery, burglary, and CID dockets had been sprited away by the guvnor from CID.

I had six officers and three unmarked cars. I quickly came up with a plan: "OK, lets see if we can nick this bugger and be back for breakfast."
Sure enough, the suspect from our one good docket had been evicted, and the house was boarded up.
I sent the other cars out to verbally warn the breaches of curfew, then at 1000 hours with nothing left to do, we RVP'd at the nick for a late breakfast.

With the "return of work" threat ringing in my ears, I decided to be creative, and we went out hunting. Two officers on plain clothes patrol in one of our busier town centres, and the rest of us targeting our hot spots and seeing if we could turn over some gang members.

At 1930 hours we headed back to the nick - loads of searches, a number of drug seizures, two shoplifters, an arrest for PWITS (Posession with intent to supply) and one for a wanted male who had decided to kick one of the unmarked cars in a drunken haze.

I dismissed the PCs with me, and headed up to report our success to the DI.

Next day, I had an email waiting in my inbox (as did the officers with me) asking in the strongest possible terms for an explanation - apparently there was great upset at my decision not to arrest the SERCO breaches I mentioned above. "Verbally warned" was not the result they were looking for. Our self created arrests didn't count as part of their targets for their dockets...

Serves them right for putting me in charge.

Traffic Stops

I have talked about traffic stops, and my experience with traffic Policing on occasions before. However, I am confused by THIS news story.




Yes, it says that the Met will no longer be enforcing minor traffic laws - but that doesn't confuse me.

I haven't given a ticket for a minor traffic offence since my street duties days in the first ten weeks of my probation, and I can honestly say I've never given a ticket for no seatbelt or similar in my career.

I do regularly process people for No Insurance, No Driving licence, or other similar serious offences.

Partly this is because of time constraints, we simply don't have time to search out traffic offences. It's also due to the alienation of the public idea.

However, according to the news story at least, it states that we "no longer have legal power to enforce certain moving traffic offences involving non compliance with signs."

No Entry signs non enforceable by Police?
I personally think that No Entry signs are not a minor issue, in some places they are safety critical - hence why they are endorseable (points on the licence).
Surely publicising this simply means that people can do what they want in front of Police cars, safe in the knowledge the most they'll get is a bollocking?

Incidentally, I didn't get this "memo" at work about not having this power. Nothing's come through my emails, or my Borough briefings.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to anyone silly enough to be on the net today. I don't count, I'm a shift worker.
Seriously though, thanks to everyone that has visited, read my blog, commented or emailed. Lets hope none of you lovely people ever has to need the assistance of me or my colleagues.

I'm currently sitting at home alone, not long out of bed and enjoying some peace and quiet before I head out to face the chaos. In the meantime, a little yuletide story:

Yesterday, whilst driving back from dropping some case papers off I found myself behind a car which was being driven by a young woman. I was trundling along behind her, not really watching her and idly looking over the other cars passing past in the opposite lanes.
As we approached a pedestrian crossing, the lights went to amber, then changed to red. The woman in the car in front accelerated through them, making the waiting pedestrians look open mouthed.

Frankly, doing with a marked Police Car behind you is just taking the mick.

I hit the blues and pulled her over, into a shopping centre car park.
I told her why I'd stopped her. She started to deny it then thought better of it - she was just short of being bolshy, and obviously frightfully annoyed at the Police having the nerve to waste her time.
After checking her licence and insurance details on my Mobile Data Terminal in the car, I walked back to her.
"Here's your driving licence back - going through red lights is an endorsable offence, so you are eligible for points on your licence plus a fine. However, on this occasion I am going to let you go with a verbal warning, seeing as it's Christmas Eve."
The woman's outraged response - "I'm not a Christian. Why should Christmas make any difference?"

*deep breath*

"So, let me get this straight... you weren't getting a ticket, but think that you deserve one because you're not Christian?"
No answer.
"Good bye, drive carefully."

The Bear Returns

Yet another shift with too many calls, yet another parade room with too few officers, yet another station yard with not enough Police Cars to get out and start assigning callsigns to calls.

Yet another evening in the company of Ruffles. You may have to read that link for this to make any sense.

Once again I have spent a shift driving our Sergeant around. I think it is supposed to be a compliment (and of course he keeps asking questions that I will be forced to regurgitate in March).
Apparently it is 'Good Experience.'

Blackstones never mentioned keeping a temperamental teddy bear happy though.

Once again, Ruffles was strapped into our super powered diesel car in the back seat and stayed safely there, unless excitement happened.
Once again we went to a fire, and once again Ruffles was placed on the dashboard.
Apparently not only does he like fire, he also "loves seeing firemen in their uniform."











Ruffles at scene at an incident. His identity has been protected


My Sergeant has been working on response for most of his twenty two year career. People talk about the risks of Policing, and the effects of shift work...

After my first post about Ruffles, a few people suggested some ideas for dealing with him. What I am worried about is the effect it could have on my Sergeant's morale. Seeing him proudly sitting Ruffles by the computer in the parade room is somehow heart warming.

Ruffles also has an inappropriate sense of humour. At one point we went to a very nasty scene. Blood everywhere, withshocked officers standing in silence, ashen faced and monosyllabic when asked questions.
You know things are bad when the usual cynical comments are not forthcoming from either the coppers or ambo at the scene.

After we had left, Ruffles proceeded to tell a very long and tenuous inappropriate joke.
At least, I think he did.
My Sergeant 'translated' for him.

Help?

The Guinea Pigs Have Taken Over The Bank

Of course, as mature as I may pretend to be I am not totally averse to having fun at work sometimes.




One of my more elaborate plots involved someone who had annoyed me considerably - and no, he was not a Senior Officer. Call him Paul.

We had had a little bout of small practical jokes on each other, ending with him doing the traditional "fingerprint ink on the hat band" routine on me.

All very funny.

In retaliation, I started to collect at any opportunity the paper discs, discarded from hole punches - the actual 'holes' you punch out of the paper.

Once I had the correct amount (one 'C' size evidence bag for those interested) I waited in lair for my adversary.
Unfortunately I had to wait a while, as we work in different departments. However, whilst chatting to the garage hand in the yard of the nick one day, who should I see drive up but my sworn enemy.

Paul parked his response vehicle, and wondered in the direction of the canteen.

I approached the car, and with care, tipped the small paper hole punch discs (do they have a name?) into the heating vents of the car.
I then positioned the vents to face towards him, and put all of the fans on to maximum so that when he put the key in the ignition and started the engine they would burst into life.
Oh yes.

I sat myself down with some paperwork, with a view of his car. I was prepared to wait. Then the radio crackled into life: "Any unit available to run the Borough Commander from Bravo X-ray to the council offices at about half eleven, over?"
A pause. Not a popular job.
"Bravo X-ray from Bravo Zulu Two One, I'll run him over when I've finished refs."
"Two-One, that's much appreciated. Bravo X-ray out."
I recognised Paul's voice immediately.

The temptation to let the mini explosion happen to Paul AND the Borough Commander was huge, but I didn't like to think of Paul having to explain the situation to any Senior Officer.

I trotted up to the canteen - "Paul, can I borrow your keys? Just need to move your car."
Back down to the yard. The garage hand came out of his office grinning. "You'll be wanting this then?" He handed me the vacuum cleaner.

The only way to get rid of the eyelets was to flush them out, so I started the car, and experienced the softest explosion known to man kind. It was a little like being in a warm snow storm, as the paper discs fluttered around me.
For a minute, all was peace.
Then I set to work with the vacuum cleaner.
It took me my whole bloody refs break.

You'll be relieved to know I have a plan B though. Glitter. He'll never get that off...

Level II

Here is my level II kit, washed and ready for action again.













Look closer... is that an issued t-shirt?

It is Ruralshire issued kit, which, lets face it, is more comfy and practical than the kit from my force, and at least turns up within the decade I order it.










Thanks to the Guvnor for authorising the uniform request.


Mutual aid is a wonderful thing, not least because coppers get to moan to a new audience, play tricks on new victims, and show off their kit/get depressed about other forces kit.

Sometimes it makes you proud.

Driving along the A-road, watching carriers come the other way.
From many forces, travelling from far and wide.

A couple of kent carriers, glorious in their battenburg markings, officers with ties on, speeding past at a decent speed.

Ditto the South Yorkshire van.

Ditto the two carriers from Wales.

Ditto the van from Thames Valley Police.

Then the met... two dirty, twelve year old carriers - one with a van load of coppers asleep in the back, the second with no ties and window lickers.
Ten minutes later, another Met carrier. This one leaning to one side at an alarming angle, as though it was tacking against the wind, making a rattling sound that carried over the busy road and through the car's soundproofing.

God Bless the Met.

Magic Tree

I get lots and lots of emails; most are not addressed to me, and even fewer are relevant to me, but it gives me a lovely warm fuzzy feeling inside when I get back to work after a set of rest days to find that people at work love me so much they feel the need to write to me.

Even if most are along the lines of "will all HR staff please note that the door to the office must be locked at 3pm sharp on leaving the office so that the computers are not used by non-HR staff (ie 24hour Police Officers)."

I was on refs and reading through my emails, when I read one from one of our team Sergeants, addressed to all our team. It read something like this:
"At a recent critical incident, the Chief Inspector was disappointed to note that some of our officers were not wearing their hats, and others had put on their hi-viz jacklets without first putting on their ties. He has asked for this to be raised within the team, and it has fallen to me to raise this morale-building point on behalf of the senior management team.
Although I recognise that the incident was a fast moving and dangerous one, and you all had more on your mind, and in fact I was probably a guilty party, please try not to make yourselves a target for senior management.
On a side note, at this incident I noticed that one of our response vehicles had a fetching little decoration of a magic tree hanging from the rear view mirror. I do not want to see this again, or else I personally will be having words.
Thanks all, Sergeant Weary"

Fair point. Cut to Area locking his computer, and making his way to his unit that he had carefully parked in the Chief Supernintendo's parking space (it's OK - it was after 4pm). If a little bird had been sat on the Police Station wall, he would have noticed Area having a casual chat with a Sergeant whilst standing conspicuously in front of his windscreen and trying desperately to attract attention from the rear view mirror, then hurriedly removing an offending (Peach Blossom flavour) magic tree from his car before making his way up to his computer in a reflective frame of mind.

In my defence, these cars are used twenty four hours a day seven days a week. They are eaten in, they are sat in by officers wearing body armour in all weathers, after foot chases, they have drunks and vagrants in and even the occasional dog.

Two days later, another email from Sergeant Weary.
"RE my last email. The point also stands in relation to Traffic Light Air Freshners, Winnie the Pooh air fresheners, or in fact any object hung off the rear view mirror.
That is all."

Huh.