Kitchen Nightmare

As we meandered our way through the streets, enjoying the lull between the pub kick outs and the night club kick outs, the radio crackled into life, shattering the fragile peace.

"Bravo Xray 21 or any other Bravo Xray unit now, units to attend Johnson House, Hackett Street, abandoned phone call with sounds of a disturbance, on an 'I' grade."

An 'I' grade call is the top priority for calls in The Met.

I called up: "BX23 to your last," and two other units (amazingly) were also free and answered up for the shout.

I arrived on scene at the same time as one of the other units, and called our TOA (time of arrival) on the radio. As I climbed out I saw that the other unit was being driven by a good friend of mine, Sam. I winked at him as we parked up by his car, close enough to make him have to get out of the passenger door. All four of us walked to the block, a new build that I'd never been to in a nice part of the division, with controlled electronic access.

There was no answer to the door buzzer, but a neighbour let us in after we had hammered on her downstairs window for a while. As we entered the block, sounds of shouting drifted down the stairwell and I started to run, as did the boys with me.

What we should have done was got the lift.

As we wheezed up to the address on the fifth floor, a woman was standing outside. She seemed worried but not frantic, and the shouting had stopped. "Thanks for coming so quickly officers, Joe is inside and he's gone a bit funny again, I just need him out before he breaks something else. Or starts playing with the kitchen knives again."
We paused. Sam and I swapped a look. I decided to try what we like to call "investigating."
Area: "You say Joe has gone funny... What exactly does 'funny' mean?"
Strangely Calm Woman: "He sometimes gets little bad patches. That's all."
Area: "You said 'again.' What happened last time?"
SCW: "Well, the police were very understanding really, no one really got badly hurt."

There was a sound as Gary, twenty years old and with a hand on the door knob about to go in to the address let go of the handle as though it was hot, took a step back and buried his chin into his protective vest thoughtfully.

And then the shouting started again, punctuated with crashes from the house. It sounded like there were two very pissed off people having a major argument.

Area: (slowly) "Who else is in there?"
SCW: "No one. Just Joe."

Deep breath. Sam gripped the handle and opened the door to the address. "Brave man," I thought. Sam looked at me, and beckoned me forwards.
Sam: "After you."

Oh. Bugger.

Joe was naked. Bleeding from a scratch on his neck. Six foot two in height, slim build, bulging darting eyes. And stationary in the middle of the kitchen.

I thought back to the comment about kitchen knives. We fanned out around our side of the room, and I attempted some light conversation.
Area: "Er, Joe I presume? Watched the football today?"
Joe: (Breathing heavily) "No."
Area: "Ah, right, me too. Um, having a bad day today Joe? Would you like to see a doctor or talk to someone about it?"
Joe: "No."
Area: "Ok, fine, good." I searched the room frantically with my eyes for inspiration, and noticed a crucifix on the wall with a plaque beneath it.
Area: "You a church goer Joe?"
Joe: "Yes. Jesus talks to me. So does God."
Area: "That's nice..."
Joe: "He's talking to me now. That's why I'm being nice to you."

Oh Hell's bells.

The problem in this situation is that we have the power to section people under the mental health act, but not inside their own homes. And he wasn't committing any offences by smashing up his own flat. We continued to chat, in broken fractured syntax as calmly as possible, trying to keep Joe from hearing any bad messages from God.

Gary was pushed out of the way, and two Ambo staff strolled in. Joe shifted slightly and I heard rather than saw Sam draw his asp and hold it by his leg.
Ambo 1: "Evening Joe. Have you been causing trouble again?"
Joe: "Sorry."
Ambo 2: "Haven't been here for a while Joe. You coming down to the Hospital now Joe?"
Joe: "OK."
Ambo 2: "Come on then mate."

We stared in silence, feeling more than slightly inadequate as the LAS crew led Joe out to the Ambulance. We followed the Ambulance up to the hospital, and whilst Joe was talking happily to a Nurse, I asked the crew how they had managed it.
They laughed.
Ambo 1: "Well, we've been there before. He decided to kick off one time, and so we kicked him out of the ambulance until he behaved."
Area: "And that worked!?"
Ambo 2: "Well, it was 2am in the middle of January."

I love the LAS so much.

Early Turn

I hate starting work at 0600hours. The traffic is less, I agree, but I just can not get used to getting up at half four in the morning. That is very definitely night time, even on nights I get tired then.

The work isn't my favourite either - there is a lot of lower graded calls, the less exciting stuff; basically a lot of it is finishing things no one wanted to do before, or doing little tasks like picking up CCTV for CID officers (some CID officers aren't capable of going outside the police station during office hours). And as rush hour hits getting anywhere without the nee-nar button takes a long, long time.

The good points do exist. The best thing by a long way for me is the fact that as the call volume is (usually) lower, parts of the team get to meet up sometimes, usually over a health packed breakfast of pig and eggs.

Oh, and how could I forget... Doughnuts. Over a set of Early starts there is nearly always a late arrival to the party. And, in the traditional way, it is their job to turn up with the doughnuts.

As my friend once said to me, "This job is the only one I've ever had where if you are late to work, you take the time to stop off at a bakery or supermarket on the way - it saves time and grief later."

My Inspector is like the rest of his team, and is not a happy bunny when we parade at 0545hours. Any person foolish enough to make a joke, wise crack or stupid comment on Early parade will be met by a group of blank looks from the majority of PCs, a sigh or two from the Sergeants, and no reaction at all from the Inspector. But guaranteed he will remember, and come time for the next crappy posting, the foolish officer is to the forefront of his mind.

Guess who that foolish PC often is?


Foolish, silly Area.

Hmmm

After working seventeen days straight, I usually look to the outside world to give me occasional bursts of sanity. THIS and THIS surprised me, and made me wonder if the BBC was on a wind up.

I know Stop and Search is a risky topic, but Police Paperwork is a constant issue and this appears to be a "Politicians in Talking Common Sense Shocker."

The problem is of course, if the forms are scrapped, how can we be measured on things we do? Our many and myriad departments demand a certain number of stop and search forms from each officer to prove that he or she is working, how will they justify the existence of us Police Officers now?

In fact, there are people within my division paid full time to re type the details of the stop and searches on to a database. And others paid to compile the statistics that we create through them. And others paid to dip sample them, and present them to the senior management team.

This could be fatal. This could well be a move that will both reduce beaurocracy AND save money.

Surely someone in Government will scupper this plan, before wide spread common sense breaks out?


On another note, sorry for the gap in posting, I have no doubt that it has not effected most of you, but if it was distressing a counselling service is available. Please write to my duties office and tell them I need more time off.

Jack's Back!

An add on to my post, Domestic 21.

Two days ago I had come back from a training day, got off the train and climbed on to a bus, when who should I see but Jack.

With ANOTHER WOMAN!

They were holding hands.

He didn't recognise me, and I sat behind him as they chatted on the bus. I kept thinking - Will Kate find out? What will happen if she does?

It's just like Eastenders.

Drink Drive, Sarge. Sorry.

This is not a funny post; those looking for a funny post should like at my "Skippers and Magic" post - that is also true, but I have been told that it is apparently funny.

This is just good advice.


When I pull you over, after you have left a night club at stupid-o-clock in the morning.

When you have stalled the car in front of me, twice, whilst I am parked up at a junction filling out some paperwork.

When your lights remain stubbornly off in the middle of the night, despite other cars trying to attract your attention.

When it takes me nearly two full minutes of driving behind you with all the warning equipment on to finally attract your attention.

When you try and switch seats with your passenger, and then end up fighting with them as they are not happy to take the grief that is rightfully coming your way...

...I have some advice for you.

When I approach the car, do not call me "Oshcifer" and "Darling" alternately. Neither helps your cause.

When I ask your name, do not start your reply with: "Er... Hang on..."

When you have failed the breath test, do not call the three men in the back of the car out to "sort him out boys!" I may be single crewed, but I am not stupid. CCTV is watching me, and I already have units running to me.

If you are going to do the above - don't put the child locks on. It just cramps your style. Believe me. And your three, big, gangsta wannabes will find it hard to look tough whilst failing to get out of the car.

Do not reply to the custody sergeant's question of "What is your name?" with a vacant look, then "Er..."

If you do end up giving the above reply, do not give a name and birth date that is different from the one that you originally gave me. This WILL end up as yet another charge for you.

Do not offer to "Blow" the Custody Sergeant rather than blow into the station breath machine. He will not find it funny. In fact, he is gay. And obviously so. No matter how short your skirt is, you are not on a winner here.


And finally, and most importantly...

Do NOT flirt outrageously with every male in the Police Station with the intention of being released. Do not stroke the officer's arms with a wink. Do not start to slowly unbutton your top, one by one, as you are waiting to be fingerprinted.

The entertainment for us is very nice, thank you. However, it will not work, you will not be released because of your actions.

More crucially, when you turn up to court in your suit and sensible skirt, with your nice parents in tow, once they (and the whole of the court) have seen the custody CCTV, you will really wish that you had just kept quiet.


Trust me on this.

Scrambled Egg

In Custody. Dealing with an arrest too boring to give the details of.

It was office hours, so there was a chance I may be able to hand over the arrest to a specialist investigation team - or failing that, a poor frustrated probationer who has been ordered to work on the Prisoner Processing Team.

It also meant that there were members of the Senior Management Team on duty. This means they can walk up to you whilst you are trying to negotiate with a drunken prisoner for his draw strings from his tracksuit bottoms, and ask you what you think of the current "divisional priorities." Or even ask you what they are.

I was attempting to write my notes, when an officer with silver and gold spread liberally on his shoulders approached me. A space cleared around me, as other coppers made good their escape. The custody sergeant started to type frantically and buried his head towards the computer screen.

I was on my own.

Senior Officer: "Hello there, er... what have you got in today?"
Area: "An arrest sir."
SO: "Ah good, with a detection I hope?"
Area: "No sir, I'm afraid not."
SO: "Ok, well there is a push on them at the moment, we are all being measured on our personal performance when it comes to getting arrests and detections."
(WE are not being measured on our personal performance for that. I am being measured on my personal performance.)
SO: "What's that on your shirt, on the radio loop?"
Area: "A tie pin sir, a charity one."
SO: "Well, that may be so, but you shouldn't wear it - any personal statement like that can cause offence to other groups."
Area: "It's an NSPCC tie pin sir - who will it cause offence to? Paedophiles? I thought we wanted to make their lives uncomfortable?"
Custody Sergeant (in emergency live saving mode): "Er, Area, can you get your prisoner out of the cell, I need to talk to him urgently. Now, Area."

The tie pin has gone now, but not for the guvnor - I broke it in a fight with a drunken wife of a man we'd arrested for beating her up, a week later.

Domestic 21

There are certain customers that all coppers know well, people that for some reason or another you have ended up dealing with more than anyone else on your relief. After a while, however reluctantly you end up taking a sort of ownership over them.

Kate is one of those people. I have been to my fair share of domestics at her address, rumbled in the streets with her drunken husband, dragged her out of bars and been to her "suicide attempts" that are nothing of the sort.

The flip side is that Kate, and her husband Jack both recognise me. On and off duty. I bumped into them in the supermarket a while back, which was unnerving.

I don't live in the manor I work in, and they had no reason to be there, but they were in my local supermarket. Both smiled and nodded, and stupidly I nodded back. Even more stupidly, on a reflex, I said "alright?"

So she told me. In great depth. Her relationship problems in full, with Jack besides her, grinning inanely.

Kate leant towards me, slyly. "I'm going to court against him next week."
I glanced at Jack, who smiled and nodded again. "Will you give evidence against him this time?"
Kate straightened up, with a satisfied look on her face: "Probably not."


Last week I was at Kate's house again. Jack had a large knife, and had decided to redecorate the living room with it.

Kate was chatting happily to another officer, whilst three of us stood outside the living room where Jack waited with his commando knife.

I edged the door open slightly. "Evening Jack."
I tried to take in as much as possible. Jack was sitting in the far corner, in an armchair with a large bowie knife on his lap, surrounded by beer cans. I figured with his semi prone position and the alcohol he had obviously consumed, I would have time to get the door shut if he went for me.

I opened the door wider.

"Hello offisher." Jack didn't look at me.
"How did court go, Jack?"
"Can't remember."
"Things not going well with you and Kate at the moment, Jack?"
My eyes took in the smashed mirror, the slashed curtains, the ripped sofas, the broken pictures and glasses on the floor.

Of course, this meant nothing. Any of those things could have been damaged at any point in the last seix months.

But.

"Jack, how about you put down the knife mate, it'll make this whole evening a lot simpler."
Jack looked at me for the first time, and he blearily tried to focus on me. I tried again: "Jack, put the knife down now!"
Jack looked hurt, and put the knife on the floor, then kicked it over to my feet. "You didn't have to shout."

As a calm and downcast Jack was led down the stairs of the block, I went to speak to Kate. She smiled tiredly at me. "Hello love. What's he been nicked for now?"
I stared at her. "You called us, Kate."
Kate paused, then shrugged. "Oh."
I attempted to gain a foothold of reality in the sheer cliff face of insanity that we were climbing together.
"Kate, do you want to make any allegations against Jack?"
Kate giggled, then burped. "No. Why would I?"
I paused, knowing that introducing any complex ideas at this stage would not be of any help. Sarcasm control to 'off.' "Kate, you called the Police. Jack had a knife, he was smashing up your flat. He's in handcuffs now in the meat wagon. What do you want to happen?"
"I'd like another drink."

Breach of The Peace it is then.

Zrobic Loda

Last night, I was at a call to a private premises. Without giving too much away, there was alcohol involved. And although there was one mother, there were as many dads as there were kids - and most called the dad/husband figures by their first name.

I had kindly left my partner to talk to the very drunk, half dressed behemoth that was supposedly the female victim of this call. She reminded me very much of one of Terry Pratchett's female trolls.

I was outside the flat, letting the wind play with the collar of my gortex jacket and idly wondering how long I would wait outside before the cold drove me back to the flat with the abusive drunken female troll.

Approximately until Hell froze over, if you were wondering.


As any member of any uniformed service will testify, if you stand still long enough you will get a crowd. For some reason, the less interesting the activity you are doing, the more likely it is you will get a large and dedicated following. In my case, it was of a group of young lads.

Area: "What's happening, lads?"
Lad 1: "Have you got a light, mate?"
Area: "No."
Lad 2: "Has someone been killed?"
Area: (sotto voice) "Not yet."
Lad 2: "Huh?"
Area: "Nothing".
Lad 3: "Have you ever shot anyone?"
Area: "Only for asking stupid questions."

This went on for a while - The boys were happy whilst distracted, and I realised that I could use as much sarcasm as I liked without causing offence.
However, something inside of me felt I should take the initiative.

Area: "So what do you want Father Christmas to bring you this year?"
Lad 1: "A Blowjob."
Area: "Ah... right..."

You and me both mate, you and me both...

Police Bible

From the Police Bible comes this passage.

In the beginning was The Plan. Then came the Assumptions. The Assumptions were without form. The Plan was completely without substance and darkness was upon the face of the Policemen, and they spoke amongst themselves, saying "It is a crock of shit and it stinketh".

And the Policemen went unto their sergeants saying, "It is a pail of dung and none may abide the odor thereof," and the sergeants went unto their Inspectors saying, "It is a container of excrement and it is very strong, such that none may abide by it."

The Inspectors then went unto the Chief Inspectors saying "It is a vessel of fertilizer, and none may abide it's strength." The Chief Inspectors spoke amongst themselves, saying to one another, "It contains that which aids plant growth and it is very strong."

The Chief Inspectors then went to their Superintendants saying, "It promotes growth and it is very powerful."

The Superintendants went unto the Borough Commander and said "This new Plan will actively promote growth and efficiency of the Force and in weak areas in particular"

The Borough Commander looked upon the Plan, and saw that it was good and the Plan became Policy. This is how shit happens: so sayeth the Poor Bloody Copper.


This is doing the rounds at the moment...