Today is Yesterday's Tomorrow

I was drinking with a good friend and colleague of mine recently, and ended up thinking back to my college days. My first kiss was from a girl a couple of years older than me, called Denise.
Her Dad ran the local scrapyard.
The song "Stuck on You" by Lionel Richie was playing and I was frankly terrified.
And slightly bemused, if I'm completely honest.

Anyway, shortly afterwards she broke up with me and went out with my mate Dale. Dale was shorter than most people of our age, but a great footballer. Fair's fair.

Fast forward a year or two (ok, maybe quite a lot more) and I've had my fair share of break ups and break downs.

The interesting thing is that I've managed to break up with and be broken up with, and on each occasion I've managed to do it without involving the Police.
Yet, I often feel I'm in a minority there. As any Police Officer knows, no matter how ridiculous you may think your 'issues' are, our informants from our calls can always beat them.

There is almost nothing that will not be sent down to a patrol unit to deal with. Unfortunately, if a call is a "type 29" - ie a domestic, then a unit will have to attend. Regardless of whether a crime has been committed or even alleged. In fact, regardless if a crime is even possible.
A domestic type call is anything that refers to a call between a husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, exes of any description, siblings, parents, family members and any sexual partners past and present.

In the incestuous estates we inhabit on our day to day patrols, these are most of our suspects, victims and witnesses.

As soon as the domestic tag is applied to a call, then everything that follows is out of our hands. If we attend and there is no allegation at all, no injuries, no hint of violence, then we only have to do the following: Full statement from each party involved; A statement from the officer on scene; A twenty six page domestic violence book; A Full 'non-crime' Crime report on the computer (taking between forty five minutes and an hour and half dependant on typing skills); A seperate computer report on any children or vulnerable people in the premises or involved in any way. So you result the call, justifying your actions. Then complete all the above, justifying your actions. Then you bring all the above to your Sergeant, so he or she can then justify your actions.

Keep in mind that these are for NON crimes. When there has been a crime or an allegation made, then obviously you arrest and all the above is used as evidence.

Amongst the many, many calls I have been to needing all the above for a non-crime domestic are a psychic wife who had had visions that something bad was going to happen to her husband, a woman who had called police because her boyfriend wouldn't get off the computer (relatively common, that), a woman who had called police as her boyfriend had cheated on her and wanted him arrested for it, and many, many "threats" by text. Of the "u slag u shaged tracy an shes got hiv i hop u get cancr" type.

Examples from other officers are always welcome.

I'm in a stable relationship at the moment, but even in my worst relationships I have never felt the need to call my colleagues down to join in. In fact, I've always wanted to keep my private life... well, private.

Am I alone in this?

Genius

Mark

I think it's time that I introduced you to Mark. Mark is a Paramedic in the LAS, and a lovely fella to boot.
As I've posted many times before, without the help of the Ambulance Service on many many occasions, or Hospital Staff we would be Donald Ducked, many times over.

I've known Mark for years - years ago we worked for the same company, fell out of touch when we left (me off to the Police, him off to the LAS) and then met whilst at an incident a couple of years ago.

Mark is the kind of person that causes a thoughtful pause whenever he has spoken, whilst people try to work out if he is amazingly deep or is genuinely as shallow as he appears.
He is genuinely as shallow as he appears.

Example: Whilst talking about winning the lottery, on a bored night shift outside the local hospital.
Mark: "Yeah, if I won I'd buy Buckingham Palace and move in to there."
Area: "So you think the Royal family would sell it to you Mark?"
Mark: "Yup."
Area: "They'd give away generations of tradition, Britain's top tourist spot, home of our Monarch - to you?"
Mark: "Yup."
Area: "Why would you want it anyway?"
Mark: "Cos then when it's raining I can ride my motorbikes inside."
Accompanied by the look of smug intelligence. Like I hadn't thought of that.
"Then I'd knock the corridor walls through so I could ride from one end to the other, like."

Anyway, one of his most endearing and frustrating qualities is his complete inability to master any kind of attention span. A couple of weeks ago, we were both at an incident where we were on 'standby,' a non-specific task that involves standing around for hours before being 'stood down.'

As the hours went by and I ran out of papers to read, I wondered towards Mark who was sitting in the driver's seat of his ambulance staring blankly out of the window. With no sign of his oppo, I tugged the door open and climbed in to the cab next to him. As I did I noticed his partner, crawled up in a foetal position and snoring gently on the stretcher in the back of the ambo.
"What's the matter Mark, did you try telling him a joke?"
Mark grinned and pulled a thermos flask out from beneath his seat. He poured a cup out for both of us, and I gripped on to the mug of hot chocolate trying to get some warmth into my fingers. I wasn't in the mood for chatting, staying awake was hard enough - but Mark of course had other ideas.
"So, right... I've been thinking."
No answer from me. I huddled up into the collar of my goretex jacket, praying for silence or oblivion.
"The thing is, right - have you ever seen an ugly Asian woman?"
Pause. My brain went into overdrive as I tried to work out where this conversation was heading. And failed of course. "Mark, what the Hell are you talking about?"
"I just mean. They're better looking than white women."
"Mark, what exactly do you mean by 'Asian Women?' I mean, which country or countries are you even talking about? Asia isn't one place. And besides..." I tailed off as I realised I had made the fatal error of trying to inject sense into a conversation with Mark.
He sighed. "I suppose you're right. Maybe I'll leave it then."
Thirty seconds of silence.
"Do you think cats are ambidextrous?" No answer from me. Mar tried again.
"More hot chocolate? I found it in the canteen, when I came back from rest days, but it heated up alright when I reboiled it." Cue sounds of a desperate uniformed copper trying to spit out any remnants of the warm liquid back into the cup.
"Mark, if you ever find a woman stupid enough to want to spend time with you, she'd better have appalling standards of personal hygiene or else the relationship is going nowhere."
A satisfied smile from Mark. "I heard woman can burp seven decibels louder than men. Do you reckon it's because they've got more body fat?"
There's no way to deal with this. "Mark. Shut. Up. Now. Or I will kill you."
"Only I've been thinking of going to Canada. I want to practise my French. Are there Italian Canadians as well?"
"Mark. Please. I'm begging you. Really. I will get out of the Ambulance and promise never to be a bad man again if you will please shut up."
"Nah. Tell you what though, there's a girl at the Royal London, I reckon she likes me. Not sure whether I should go out with her though. Not my type."
"Mark, you'd get up on a scabby cat going out of a skylight. Please, stop talking."
"True enough. Do you reckon Trumpton ever play rodeo type games with their hoses in their down periods? Those hoses pack a punch, I reckon if you tried to sit on one on a crash mat it'd be just like one of them electronic bucking rodeos, like."

And so on, and so on, until dawn.

Ruffles

More and more, we are starting to worry in our team about our Sergeant.
He has always been on the eccentric side of the camp, and in fact, has happily described himself as "bloody mad" before.

At first, they were minor things. Things that made me chuckle - like when he was put in custody, a prisoner was brought before him, and the good sergeant brought out a coin of foreign denomination with a head on both sides. He then proceeded to tell the prisoner that he was going to decide bail on the flip of the coin, heads no bail, tails you get bail...
He hasn't been posted as Custody Sergeant for a long time.

This, and other striking traits has always endeared him to me. Like many long-serving sergeants, his knowledge of most law is vast and in a critical incident he kicks into action, and obviously knows the vast majority of police procedures back to front. He even nicks people occasionally.
But outside of these kind of incidents, he potters along in a bemused way making jokes that aren't funny and asking questions of officers that have little or no basis in reality.

Recently though (and I appreciate this may give a clue who I actually am), he has taken to going everywhere with a small cuddly toy in tow, the kind of thing you get free with a McDonalds happy meal.

He is inordinately proud of this toy.

He clutches it close whilst talking to senior officers, sits it on the desk whilst supervising crime reports... and chats to it all the while. Even whilst no one is about.
This is fine by me, but some of the other patrol sergeants are starting to get that weary, I've had enough face when sitting opposite a sergeant having an animated conversation with a fluffy toy: "What's that Ruffles? Under the Home Office counting rules this crime report might be better classified as a criminal damage. Hmm, you may be right."

I recently had the pleasure of driving him about on a night duty, and I can testify now that Ruffles (not his real name) was safely buckled into the back of the supervisor's van before I drove anywhere. At one point we went to a fire, and the sergeant got him out to sit on the dashboard.
Apparently Ruffles likes fire.

All this is well and good - the Police has always had a comforting way of welcoming eccentrics into the ranks.
But Ruffles must go.
Our sergeant has started deferring questions to Ruffles. Acting Sergeant Ruffles as we must now call him.
Ruffles has even started countermanding our sergeant's orders.

Last week Ruffles denied an annual leave request I made.

The bear must go.

Yossarian

Recently on my division, as on many other divisions in the met, there has been a drive on improving standards.


Uniform standards that is. What else did you think it meant?

Emails have been sent round, inspections have been done, PCs have been given bollockings for not wearing a hat or a tie - I personally saw a long service PC getting bawled out by a guvnor for not wearing his tie, as he had his hi-viz jacket on.

Background to that is that the PC had leapt out of his car and shoved on his yellow jacket to try and fend off traffic as his colleague was crouched in the road trying to stem the severe bleeding of a pedestrian who had been hit by a motorbike. But that obviously wasn't important.

This has come from high up, and despite being ridiculous, it makes me smile inwardly. It puts me in mind of the captain of the Titanic checking the qualifications of his on-board chefs shortly after hitting the giant ice cube.


Then recently, I was at an assistance shout. A sporting event had spilled out into the street after the fans had consumed generous quantities of alcohol, and level two public order officers were deployed and requesting urgent assistance. I arrived on scene with a colleague and jumped out of the car whilst it was still moving to assist a British Transport Police PC who had just fallen to the floor and been kicked in the face by a beered up football fan; Pulled the suspect off the PC assisted by other officers, then ran to where another fight was breaking out.

This continued for half an hour or so, ducking bottles and street furniture being thrown at us. Injured PCs were led away, many arrests were made, and half the met turned up to try and control it. Afterwards, we were talked to by our guvnor: "I noticed a few of you weren't wearing your hats..."
Although I will and do happily wear my hat most of the time when I get out of the car (it keeps my poor head warm and dry), the day when I stop to walk around the car, open the boot and get my hat out rather than help a PC on the floor being kicked in the head is the day I hand my warrant card in.

Anyway. Deep breath.


After this, I took to wearing my hat. Constantly. In the car, out of the car, at calls. Walking around the Police station. Eating refs. As did my colleague from the assistance shout.
Smirks from some of the other PCs.

Then another one of my regular partners in crime started wearing his all the time. Then another. Before long, half of us were wearing hats during morning parade (until then I'd never seen a hat in parade, let alone someone wearing one).

Bless, the Inspector and his bosses saw this and started to get embarrassed. And so started to wear their hats everywhere, even walking around inside the nick. Spot on.

Then I remembered my Hendon training school days. It is still (officially) Met policy to salute an officer of Inspector rank or above, if they are wearing their hat... In practice I have NEVER seen one saluted in day to day work, and in fact only ever seen it during parades, ceremonies and funerals.

But.

I took to saluting every single senior officer I saw. As did a large proportion of the relief. A wonderful way to stop unwanted conversations with senior officers, snapping to attention and ripping off salutes. It got to the point where my poor Inspector couldn't walk down the corridor without saluting every few paces.

Shortly after that in parade, our guvnor made a few "clarifications" about the crack down on the uniform code, and when and where it should be adhered to.

Hats off at urgent assistances. Result.

Of course, the wonderful bonus to this is everytime I am dealing with an incident out and about wearing my hat now, and a guvnor approaches, he is watching warily to see if he is going to be put through the embarrassing rigmarole of saluting in the street.

Particularly brave and stupid officers have been raising their hand quickly to brush their hair in order to see the senior officers flinch and/or start to raise their hand in salute.


Childish? Maybe, but I think more than that it's an example of us keeping our morale up despite the best attempts of senior officers.



PS... an unspecified and probably worthless prize goes to the first person to work out the relevance of the title. If anyone does.

The A Team

Team mates: Just a list of some of the regular characters that pop up on Police teams. Some are inter-changeable, and I have met people that have been many of them.

It is not exhaustive, not least because there are so many characters; and besides, everyone knows the “brand new probationer officer/pre retirement officer” comparisons. And the brown nosers, the lazy officers, and the vast majority of reasonably hard working people that make up a team.


Tired: Tired is, well, always tired. He (it is always a he) will be late for early turn so regularly that most of the relief will a) know his phone number off by heart, and b) know the route to his front door in a police car when going to give him a “friendly wake up call.” Tired will be late to training days, team meetings, and even late turns... and even manage to be late for night duties sometimes. He suffers from Sticky Mattress Syndrome. Annoyingly, he will usually be up for overtime, all the time, despite the fact his suffering team may want to actually go home. As they need to be up on time for work.

Angry: Angry is angry at everyone, and everything he comes across. This will include: our kit, our cars, other coppers, victims, witnesses, suspects, the calls, the sergeants, the senior management, the quality of tea in the canteen, the smoking ban, any department he has not worked on, any department he has worked on...
This will be made even more annoying as he will seethe constantly and simply moan at anyone close at hand. And tell you what he thinks about everyone else. You can be safe in the knowledge that when he is not posted with you, he will be just as scathing about you. Comes alive in public order situations. Possibly unhinged.

Chipper : Chipper has the morale of someone on very strong anti depressants, and will generally be less than thirty seconds away from a smile, or probably a cackle. Usually a female officer. Chipper will take any and every call and still have the time for a joke with her partner. And a cackle. Often speaks a little too loudly, and laughs after very unfunny jokes. Is the kind of person that holds the team together when morale is at rock bottom. Can be very tiring to work with. Completely unhinged.

Bitter: Bitter is not old enough in service to be accepting about things yet. He or she applied for the area car course, but “don’t give a shit the guvnor gave it to someone else, only did it to make more paperwork for him.” Or failed the sergeants exam, but “only did it for a day out and to prove how easy it was.” Or got passed over to be Acting Sergeant, but “would have refused it anyway, there’s no way I’d want to brown nose like that.” Bitter thinks the job owes him. Unhinged.

Overtime Bandit: Exactly that. They will take calls after handover time, even when there are plenty of units from the next shift available and with cars. Will volunteer for any crappy duty on any crappy posting, but only if money is involved. Otherwise, forget it. Often has an impressive car/flat/collection of new technology and an even more impressive credit card bill.

Home Boy: Tells everybody about his girlfriend/relationship troubles/family history/sexual exploits/financial problems. Just say “no” to any question of his.

Psycho: Possibly ex-military, but not necessarily. Starts the day by looking at pictures inside of his locker, of his “calm place.” Do not interrupt this. Do not try and see said pictures. Do not try and ask him about his calm place. This procedure is not negotiable. Sometimes freezes in conversations and goes misty eyed. Can silence most sober suspects with a "look." Less strong supervisors often fear to tell him anything, although he will unfailingly carry out an order. Icy calm in crazy situations. No fear. Often spends down time staring at nothing muttering to himself. Do not try and have a personal conversation with him. It will not work. Will occasionally be posted with Home Boy by a Duties Sergeant with a wicked sense of humour. Unhinged.

Old Sweat. Never has a pen. Has done everything, ever, in Police work. Will never be surprised at anything. Often underestimated by younger officers, as will stand back in most situations. Never gets griefy crime reports assigned to them. Knows how to “cuff” a job. Capable of surprising everyone in the team with huge displays of compassion and competence when really needed. An endangered species, unlikely to have anything close to a successful personal life, and not much better on a social life, after a long career spent doing earlies, lates and nights. Unhinged.

Eccentric: Eccentric reads a paper half the team haven’t heard of, listens to music no one has heard of, and goes to places no one else would want to. They will have a slightly mysterious past, that gets harder to make sense of the more you know about it. Unlikely to speak in short, concise sentences. Will prevaricate around the bush whenever possible. Is generally liked/tolerated on the relief, but doesn’t have many close friends within it. Will have a love hate relationship with each and every supervisor he or she works with. Will put in official requests for things like time off for “a bi-annual virgin sacrifice” in order to worry Duties. This works wonders when annual leave is needed in a rush. Suspected of being unhinged.


Please add more, the better ones I will add to this post.




I am not going to go on about our pay, except to ask one thing: Jacqui Smith, the best recruiting officer that overseas Police forces have ever had?