Please try and imagine the scenario as best you can, I’m not very good at setting up the scene.
I’d met a friend of mine in Central London, and we were at the train station about to head back. Stupidly we’d both unthinkingly driven to our respective local tube stations so drinking was out, and our little day trip had come to a close earlier than expected.
Of course, on approaching the ticket barriers with warrant cards drawn, we notice (too late, too late) a group of four lads creating a fuss with the barrier guards.
Great.
I should explain a little bit of background here. As many readers know I’m originally from West Yorkshire. My friend is a Welsh lad. Both of us have next to no accent through necessary social camouflaging. Except when we are either drunk, angry or both.
Of course, one thing led to another and we found ourselves physically marching this group of second generation Vietnamese lads out of the station.
Area: “Roight you lot, no more shoite, Oi’ve had enough, get away!”
Friend: “Now then boyo, don’t try and sneak back, I’m not stupid you know.”
Ultra Cool Youth: “What you talking about man? You taking the piss, innit?”
Ah, joy of joys. That’s what it’s all about.
Respect.
Innit.
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
Sunday, 16 September 2007
Police Slang
After requests from various people I started a list of police slang. Then I discovered this one wholesale on Police Oracle.
Obviously the vast majority of these I have never heard for real and are never used nowadays. Which of course is a good thing. Any additions welcome...
100 Yard Hero: A member of the public who is very brave and shouts obscenities at a police officer from a safe distance.
Alabama Lie Detector: Police baton.
Angler: a thief who uses a rod or pole to steal from ground-floor windows.
Bad Call: What your police partner says when they think you need an eyesight test. Usually uttered after you've pointed out a member of the opposite sex.
Bamber, to do a: UK police expression which means to make a mistake.
Banter: leg pulling. eg: Good banter, fierce banter, nasty banter. To describe a close knit a team. eg. 'They've got good banter that lot'.
BINGO Seat: Bollocks Im Not Getting Out Seat. The seat at the back of a police carrier where the laziest officer sits. One up from a BONGO.
Black Rat: Originally Met traffic officer. Now in general use. Alledgedly chosen as a motif because it's one of the only animals that'll actually eat it's own young! Until fairly recently a traffic officer could place a black rat sticker in their private car as an unobtrusive way of 'showing out' to colleagues, in the hope that they wouldn't get pulled for driving offences etc. Now-a-days it's more than likely that the car doing 90mph in front of you with a rodent sticker on it's number plate isn't actually being driven by a Black Rat, but a sl*g boy racer who's chancing his arm. Give him a tug.
Black Rover: Warrant card, when used as a travel card on bus, tube or train.
Blag: a violent robbery or raid; the act of using clever talk or lying to get something. Also to get something free, or at vastly reduced price. Also see G.T.P and Do you take warrant card?
BLAHING: Usually used when officers tell war stories about previous exploits.
Blues and Twos: Driving very fast on an emergency call.
Body: Potential/Valued customer wearing handcuffs.
BONGO: Books On Never Goes Out. See also Uniform Carrier, FLUB and Clothes Hanger.
Boy Racer: Term of endearment for young and usually spotty members of the public. Usually said to male drivers who travel at high speed in their spoiler clad Vauxhall Novas.
Brew: Hot beverage, usually but not always tea. See also chink-chink.
Brief: a solicitor or barrister. Also brief, a police officer's warrant card.
Canteen Cowboy: Police officer, generally young in service. One who likes to advise other officers, usually younger in service than the cowboy. Can be used as a put down, but usually behind the cowboy's back. eg: 'He's a real canteen cowboy that one'. Can be used as term of endearment during banter. eg: 'You're a real canteen cowboy, you are!' Slap on the back, guffaws etc.
CHAV: Popular phrase widely used. Several variations of the same. Council House And Vermin, Council House And Violent etc.
Chink-Chink: The sound that cups make when knocked together. Called over the radio to indicate that a brew's up. If more than one station shares the same channel to avoid disappointing thirsty officers, chink-chink may be followed by the individual station's call sign at which the brew is ready and waiting.
Clothes Hanger: Useless or ineffective police officer. See also uniform carrier.
Con: convict, confidence trick
Cooking the books: The art of making an area appear safer to the public than it actually is in reality. Also see not carnival related.
CSI: Crime Scene Investigator (formerly SOCO).
Cush: savings to fall back on. From cushion.
Datastreaming: a growing crime where a hacker obtains credit card details to create counterfeit cards.
Do you take warrant card?: Method of payment for goods or services by police officers. Practice believed to have been totally eradicated in the early 1900's. More flexible than your most flexible friend. eg. 'How would you like to pay for this curry?' 'Do you take warrant card?' 'That'll do nicely sir'. It has been said that back in the early 1900's some officers in the UK had totally done away with the need to carry any other form of accepted payment on their person. Also see: G.T.P. and Blag.
Done it in: To be late for a shift. eg. 'Can you show me weekly leave in lieu, I have done it in for early turn again....'
Down, going: to be sent to prison.
Double-Bubble: To be in the unlikey position of earning double time. eg. 'I've got double-bubble...... Yeee-Haaa!'
End: share proceeds from a crime.
Early turn: Shift or tour of duty starting at 6am. Can be used as an excuse for various bodily functions or odours. 'What's that smell?' 'Sorry it's me, I have early turn bottom'.
FLUB: Fat Lazy Useless Bastard. See Uniform Carrier.
Force Feeding: Sampling the culinary delights created by Michelin starred chefs employed to look after the delicate palates of Police officers. Force is often uttered with a silent 'd'.
Front: a person with a clean criminal record who provides an acceptable face for a known criminal who is the real owner of a club or business.
Gate fever: the emotion shown by a prisoner nearing the end of his sentence.
Get pulled: To be stopped by police, also give tug. Can also mean to be taken to one side by a senior officer and spoken to about something. Usually something you've done wrong. eg. 'I got pulled over not having a shave'.
Give tug: As in 'give him a tug'. Same as get pulled.
Good Call: Very rare occasion where police presence is required. Also may be used by fellow officers in reply to your attempts at pointing out a particular attractive member of the public. Negative may be Bad Call or worse.
Grass: an informer.
Gravel Rash: What a prisoner recieves when taken to the floor causing cuts to face.
G.T.P.: G ood T o P olice. Many things can be considered G.T.P. Shops that provide discounts, curry houses, night clubs that provide free entry etc. G.T.P -The unethical practice of using your position as a police officer to obtain services or goods for free. (or at wildly knocked down prices.) Business that are G.T.P are never found advertising on the local nick's canteen notice board, nor are these businesses ever advertised in a particular force's in-house magazine or newspaper. The practice of police officers frequenting G.T.P. businesses is believed to have been eradicated in the early 1900's - Thank god. It has been said that before this time police officers had to make a show of paying for goods, then feign embarassment that the shop owner had seen the officer's brief fully opened and left on the shop owner's counter, before this farcical act of attempting to pay for items had even taken place. It is also said that officers would pass on information about any particular shop's G.T.P'dness to fellow officers - Outrageous! We're definately glad it doesn't happen anymore. Also see: Blag and Do you take warrant card?
Ghurkha: Someone who has forgotten their powers of arrest. Taken from stories from the British army, e.g. Ghurka's don't take prisoners.
Guv: Officer of at least Inspector rank. Someone who doesn’t get paid any overtime.
Gypsey's Warning: When someone is given a 'quiet word' in their ear. Was in common usage until the 90's when it became politically incorrect. Believed to date back to old English, when children who misbehaved were told they'd be taken away by the gypsies if they continued in their bad behaviour.
Hobbit: a prisoner who complies with the system.
Icecream: a narcotic.
JAFLO: Just Another Fucking Liaison Officer. Often used on mutual aid visits to outside forces.
Jumper: a thief who steals from offices.
Ker-Ching: as in noise made by a cash register. Usually said out loud shortly after giving a caution for littering (or any other sec.25 worthy offence.) ten minutes prior to clocking off time. Also see over-time bandit.
Kremlin: New Scotland Yard.
L.O.B. A call which did not require police presence. Load Of Bollocks, in less politically correct times was often heard on the police radio, was often given by old sweats as a result to a call.
Lag: a person who has been frequently convicted and sent to prison. Often 'old lag'.
L.A.S. People who make drunks disappear, take our carefully applied bandages off and know which nurses at the local hospital are currently single.
Late turn: Shift / tour of duty that starts at 2pm.
Local nick: police station
Lump, The: building site fraud to avoid payment of income tax.
M.O.: modus operandi. The way in which a criminal commits a crime.
Muppet: Most Useless Police Person Ever Trained. Generally a term of endearment used whilst engaging in banter. Used when someone makes a mistake. eg. 'You muppet, you've forgotton to bring the white stuff back with you'.
Nick: to arrest someone. Also Police Station eg. 'I'll see you back at the nick'.
Night duty: Shift that starts at 10pm. Usually called nights. Causes zombie like states in some officers, growth of whiskers, night duty bottom etc.
NonDe: Non descript, used when referring to an unmarked police vehicle taken out on obbo's.
Nostrils: 70s term for a sawn off. (Just for historical reference).
Not Carnival Related: Blatant lie. Met. Usually said to press or police officers during briefings carried out over the Notting Hill carnival weekend. To give the appearance to the public that the carnival has been totally crime free for the umpteenth year running....! eg. 'There's been 3 floats TDA'd, 5 sound systems stolen, 2 gun point robberies, 4 indecent assaults and 12 reported incidents of steaming in the last 24 hours. Also there was a small localised riot around the BoomBoomCrew's sound stage at 4am, after local residents complained of a noise nuisiance to the council. Happily we've just heard that the environment officer who attempted to turn the volume down will be out of intensive care in a few days, doctors are hopeful he'll function quite normally with only one lung. Ready for it........ All of these reported crimes we can safely say are not carnival related, so feel free to bring the family and kids along to soak up some of the great carnival atmosphere expected here today'.Nut: the expenses incurred by a thief setting up a robbery or theft. Also second most important piece of equipment after stick.
Obbo: police observation on criminals.
Old Bill: Full details here on another thread.
Old Sweat: Description of an officer long in service. possible term of endearment. Considered made it, see it, done it.
Olympic Torch: Never goes out. See BONGO.
Onion: Sergeant. Onion Bargie - Sargie. eg 'watch out the onion's coming!'
Over-Time Bandit: Officer who generally uses ker-ching frequently.
Padding: Unscrupulous police practice of adding to a drugs haul to upgrade an arrest and ensure a conviction.
Peckham Rolex: Tag worn by criminals on release from prison.
Pig: Polite, Intelligent Gentleman.
Plonk: Person of Little Or No Knowledge. definitely a 'no-no' these days! Used for female officers by Old Sweats.
Probationer:The officer who just gave you a ticket for no seatbelt.
Q.E.: Queen's evidence. An accomplice in a crime giving evidence in the hope of a lighter sentences.
Ramp: a police search or a criminal swindle.
Rat: Really Adept at Traffic law.
Refs: Refreshment break, meal break. eg. 'what time refs are you?' Mainly Met speak.
RTA: Road Traffic Accident.
RTC: Road Traffic Collision.
Sarge: Sergeant. See Onion
Section House: Large, usually decaying tower block housing young single police officers. Just like the TV program men behaving badly, but on a much, much larger scale. Also see sl*g.
Shiny Arse: Derogatory term for an officer employed in a long term office environment.
Shoulder-surfing: stealing pin numbers at cashpoints for use later with copied cards.
Showing Out: The unethical practice of hinting to an officer upon being stopped that you are a fellow officer and therefore not a sl*g. Done in the hope of receiving unfair treatment which we in no way condone e.g 'Have you got any ID on you sir?' - 'Why yes officer, I think I have my driving licence in my brief side pocket'. 'Do you realise you hit 97mph over the hump back bridge 10 miles back?' - 'Sorry officer, I'm court off nights this morning, I'm rushing home to get my number ones'. 'Have you ever taken a breath test before?' - 'Only when I was at training school, I blew under after having ten pints that day too'.
Slammer, the: prison.
sl*g: criminal. eg. 'he's a right sl*g that one'. Also person of low sexual morals, usually found living in a section house.
Suspect: Potential customer.
Snitch: informer
Sorted: everything is organised eg: 'It's sorted.'
Spin Drum: To perform a search, generally to search a property. 'We're gonna spin his drum'.
Spun Drum, property already searched. 'We spun his drum and found nuffink'.
Station Cat: Officer who preens themselves and finds every excuse possible not to leave the factory, work shy, a borderline shiny arse. Not to be confused with
Station Cat: a nice, friendly, fluffy whiskered feline whom keeps itself busy by sorting the rodent population at the nick and living on tidbits thrown to it at refs time.
Strawberry Mivvie: Civvie. Civilian police staff. Can be shortened to Strawbs etc.
Stick: Truncheon, now mainly out of popular usage except with Old Sweats. eg. 'stick him'. or 'sticks out'.
Sticked: To have been hit with a truncheon for failing to do what you're told. eg. 'I had no choice, I sticked him'.
Stick Out: to have your cover blown when in plain clothes. Generally caused by having a short back and sides hair cut, wearing dr martins boots, police issue black leather belt, blue jeans, white t-shirt and lumberjack type checked shirt whilst following a suspect in an ethnically diverse area of East London! 'You Muppet!' Also Stick Out: A particularly dangerous situation. eg. 'It was so bad, I got my stick out'.
STILL: As TGB - Thieving Gypsy Bastard (a real no no). Came about following the Viz cartoon of the same name is now totally politically incorret they are now refered too as a 'STILL' as in Still a Thieving Gypsy Bastard.
Suit: A person who spends his/her time at a desk on the phone and computer.
Supergrass: a very important informer.
TGB: Thieving Gypsy Bastard (a real no no). Came about following the Viz cartoon of the same name. See STILL.
The Bill: The Bill, popular UK TV program that Police officers watch to see the newest item of kit that may, or may not eventually find it's way down to the sharp end. For Old Bill click here to find huge detailed list of possible origins.
The Factory: Police station, generally used by those in the office.
The Filth: Criminal term for the police.
The Griff: The full facts, as in "give me the griff on that would you old chap."
The Office: Generally CID term for police station. eg. 'After we've spun his drum, we'll all meet back at the office.... Sniff'.
Thief Taker: Term of praise for a police officer. An uncanny radar-like ability to spot a criminal. eg. 'he's a good thief taker that one'.
Time, to do: to serve a prison sentence
Tit: Hat worn by wooden-tops for the benefit of tourists’ digital cameras. Plonks don’t generally have these.
Tour of duty: An alloted shift at work. Generally when referring to early turn, late turn or night duty. Couldn't be used by a shiny arse in front of shift officers. Shift officers do not consider anyone working usual daytime hours to be actually working at all. In fact they shouldn't be allowed to carry a warrant card, wear a uniform,receive pay at the same rate, park in the station yard etc.
Trumpton: Fire Brigade, very adept at cutting the roofs off of slightly dented cars. Rumoured to be prone to stealing, practice believed eradicated back in the early 1900's.
Truncheon: Stick.
Turtles: As in turtle doves, meaning gloves.
TWOC: to take without the owners consent. A Twocer is someone who steals vehicles etc. Also in Met land TDA: Taken and driven away.
Uniform Carrier: Useless or ineffective police officer. See also clothes hanger.
Upstairs: to be convicted at the crown court. The dock is reached by climbing the stairs form the cells.
VPU: Vulnerable prisoner unit, used to keep prisoners likely to be victimised away form other prisoners.
White Stuff: Milk, the second most important ingredient of a police officer's staple hot beverage.
Window warrior: a prisoner who constantly shouts from his cell window.
Window Licker: Definite 'no-no' these days. Someone who is quite obviously mad, deranged, psychotic etc. eg. 'He's a right window licker that one'.
Wooden-Top: A person who spends his/her time dealing with domestics.
YOIs: Young offenders institute.
Zombie: a particularly nasty prison officer - more dead than alive.
Check out the original on Police Oracle HERE
Obviously the vast majority of these I have never heard for real and are never used nowadays. Which of course is a good thing. Any additions welcome...
100 Yard Hero: A member of the public who is very brave and shouts obscenities at a police officer from a safe distance.
Alabama Lie Detector: Police baton.
Angler: a thief who uses a rod or pole to steal from ground-floor windows.
Bad Call: What your police partner says when they think you need an eyesight test. Usually uttered after you've pointed out a member of the opposite sex.
Bamber, to do a: UK police expression which means to make a mistake.
Banter: leg pulling. eg: Good banter, fierce banter, nasty banter. To describe a close knit a team. eg. 'They've got good banter that lot'.
BINGO Seat: Bollocks Im Not Getting Out Seat. The seat at the back of a police carrier where the laziest officer sits. One up from a BONGO.
Black Rat: Originally Met traffic officer. Now in general use. Alledgedly chosen as a motif because it's one of the only animals that'll actually eat it's own young! Until fairly recently a traffic officer could place a black rat sticker in their private car as an unobtrusive way of 'showing out' to colleagues, in the hope that they wouldn't get pulled for driving offences etc. Now-a-days it's more than likely that the car doing 90mph in front of you with a rodent sticker on it's number plate isn't actually being driven by a Black Rat, but a sl*g boy racer who's chancing his arm. Give him a tug.
Black Rover: Warrant card, when used as a travel card on bus, tube or train.
Blag: a violent robbery or raid; the act of using clever talk or lying to get something. Also to get something free, or at vastly reduced price. Also see G.T.P and Do you take warrant card?
BLAHING: Usually used when officers tell war stories about previous exploits.
Blues and Twos: Driving very fast on an emergency call.
Body: Potential/Valued customer wearing handcuffs.
BONGO: Books On Never Goes Out. See also Uniform Carrier, FLUB and Clothes Hanger.
Boy Racer: Term of endearment for young and usually spotty members of the public. Usually said to male drivers who travel at high speed in their spoiler clad Vauxhall Novas.
Brew: Hot beverage, usually but not always tea. See also chink-chink.
Brief: a solicitor or barrister. Also brief, a police officer's warrant card.
Canteen Cowboy: Police officer, generally young in service. One who likes to advise other officers, usually younger in service than the cowboy. Can be used as a put down, but usually behind the cowboy's back. eg: 'He's a real canteen cowboy that one'. Can be used as term of endearment during banter. eg: 'You're a real canteen cowboy, you are!' Slap on the back, guffaws etc.
CHAV: Popular phrase widely used. Several variations of the same. Council House And Vermin, Council House And Violent etc.
Chink-Chink: The sound that cups make when knocked together. Called over the radio to indicate that a brew's up. If more than one station shares the same channel to avoid disappointing thirsty officers, chink-chink may be followed by the individual station's call sign at which the brew is ready and waiting.
Clothes Hanger: Useless or ineffective police officer. See also uniform carrier.
Con: convict, confidence trick
Cooking the books: The art of making an area appear safer to the public than it actually is in reality. Also see not carnival related.
CSI: Crime Scene Investigator (formerly SOCO).
Cush: savings to fall back on. From cushion.
Datastreaming: a growing crime where a hacker obtains credit card details to create counterfeit cards.
Do you take warrant card?: Method of payment for goods or services by police officers. Practice believed to have been totally eradicated in the early 1900's. More flexible than your most flexible friend. eg. 'How would you like to pay for this curry?' 'Do you take warrant card?' 'That'll do nicely sir'. It has been said that back in the early 1900's some officers in the UK had totally done away with the need to carry any other form of accepted payment on their person. Also see: G.T.P. and Blag.
Done it in: To be late for a shift. eg. 'Can you show me weekly leave in lieu, I have done it in for early turn again....'
Down, going: to be sent to prison.
Double-Bubble: To be in the unlikey position of earning double time. eg. 'I've got double-bubble...... Yeee-Haaa!'
End: share proceeds from a crime.
Early turn: Shift or tour of duty starting at 6am. Can be used as an excuse for various bodily functions or odours. 'What's that smell?' 'Sorry it's me, I have early turn bottom'.
FLUB: Fat Lazy Useless Bastard. See Uniform Carrier.
Force Feeding: Sampling the culinary delights created by Michelin starred chefs employed to look after the delicate palates of Police officers. Force is often uttered with a silent 'd'.
Front: a person with a clean criminal record who provides an acceptable face for a known criminal who is the real owner of a club or business.
Gate fever: the emotion shown by a prisoner nearing the end of his sentence.
Get pulled: To be stopped by police, also give tug. Can also mean to be taken to one side by a senior officer and spoken to about something. Usually something you've done wrong. eg. 'I got pulled over not having a shave'.
Give tug: As in 'give him a tug'. Same as get pulled.
Good Call: Very rare occasion where police presence is required. Also may be used by fellow officers in reply to your attempts at pointing out a particular attractive member of the public. Negative may be Bad Call or worse.
Grass: an informer.
Gravel Rash: What a prisoner recieves when taken to the floor causing cuts to face.
G.T.P.: G ood T o P olice. Many things can be considered G.T.P. Shops that provide discounts, curry houses, night clubs that provide free entry etc. G.T.P -The unethical practice of using your position as a police officer to obtain services or goods for free. (or at wildly knocked down prices.) Business that are G.T.P are never found advertising on the local nick's canteen notice board, nor are these businesses ever advertised in a particular force's in-house magazine or newspaper. The practice of police officers frequenting G.T.P. businesses is believed to have been eradicated in the early 1900's - Thank god. It has been said that before this time police officers had to make a show of paying for goods, then feign embarassment that the shop owner had seen the officer's brief fully opened and left on the shop owner's counter, before this farcical act of attempting to pay for items had even taken place. It is also said that officers would pass on information about any particular shop's G.T.P'dness to fellow officers - Outrageous! We're definately glad it doesn't happen anymore. Also see: Blag and Do you take warrant card?
Ghurkha: Someone who has forgotten their powers of arrest. Taken from stories from the British army, e.g. Ghurka's don't take prisoners.
Guv: Officer of at least Inspector rank. Someone who doesn’t get paid any overtime.
Gypsey's Warning: When someone is given a 'quiet word' in their ear. Was in common usage until the 90's when it became politically incorrect. Believed to date back to old English, when children who misbehaved were told they'd be taken away by the gypsies if they continued in their bad behaviour.
Hobbit: a prisoner who complies with the system.
Icecream: a narcotic.
JAFLO: Just Another Fucking Liaison Officer. Often used on mutual aid visits to outside forces.
Jumper: a thief who steals from offices.
Ker-Ching: as in noise made by a cash register. Usually said out loud shortly after giving a caution for littering (or any other sec.25 worthy offence.) ten minutes prior to clocking off time. Also see over-time bandit.
Kremlin: New Scotland Yard.
L.O.B. A call which did not require police presence. Load Of Bollocks, in less politically correct times was often heard on the police radio, was often given by old sweats as a result to a call.
Lag: a person who has been frequently convicted and sent to prison. Often 'old lag'.
L.A.S. People who make drunks disappear, take our carefully applied bandages off and know which nurses at the local hospital are currently single.
Late turn: Shift / tour of duty that starts at 2pm.
Local nick: police station
Lump, The: building site fraud to avoid payment of income tax.
M.O.: modus operandi. The way in which a criminal commits a crime.
Muppet: Most Useless Police Person Ever Trained. Generally a term of endearment used whilst engaging in banter. Used when someone makes a mistake. eg. 'You muppet, you've forgotton to bring the white stuff back with you'.
Nick: to arrest someone. Also Police Station eg. 'I'll see you back at the nick'.
Night duty: Shift that starts at 10pm. Usually called nights. Causes zombie like states in some officers, growth of whiskers, night duty bottom etc.
NonDe: Non descript, used when referring to an unmarked police vehicle taken out on obbo's.
Nostrils: 70s term for a sawn off. (Just for historical reference).
Not Carnival Related: Blatant lie. Met. Usually said to press or police officers during briefings carried out over the Notting Hill carnival weekend. To give the appearance to the public that the carnival has been totally crime free for the umpteenth year running....! eg. 'There's been 3 floats TDA'd, 5 sound systems stolen, 2 gun point robberies, 4 indecent assaults and 12 reported incidents of steaming in the last 24 hours. Also there was a small localised riot around the BoomBoomCrew's sound stage at 4am, after local residents complained of a noise nuisiance to the council. Happily we've just heard that the environment officer who attempted to turn the volume down will be out of intensive care in a few days, doctors are hopeful he'll function quite normally with only one lung. Ready for it........ All of these reported crimes we can safely say are not carnival related, so feel free to bring the family and kids along to soak up some of the great carnival atmosphere expected here today'.Nut: the expenses incurred by a thief setting up a robbery or theft. Also second most important piece of equipment after stick.
Obbo: police observation on criminals.
Old Bill: Full details here on another thread.
Old Sweat: Description of an officer long in service. possible term of endearment. Considered made it, see it, done it.
Olympic Torch: Never goes out. See BONGO.
Onion: Sergeant. Onion Bargie - Sargie. eg 'watch out the onion's coming!'
Over-Time Bandit: Officer who generally uses ker-ching frequently.
Padding: Unscrupulous police practice of adding to a drugs haul to upgrade an arrest and ensure a conviction.
Peckham Rolex: Tag worn by criminals on release from prison.
Pig: Polite, Intelligent Gentleman.
Plonk: Person of Little Or No Knowledge. definitely a 'no-no' these days! Used for female officers by Old Sweats.
Probationer:The officer who just gave you a ticket for no seatbelt.
Q.E.: Queen's evidence. An accomplice in a crime giving evidence in the hope of a lighter sentences.
Ramp: a police search or a criminal swindle.
Rat: Really Adept at Traffic law.
Refs: Refreshment break, meal break. eg. 'what time refs are you?' Mainly Met speak.
RTA: Road Traffic Accident.
RTC: Road Traffic Collision.
Sarge: Sergeant. See Onion
Section House: Large, usually decaying tower block housing young single police officers. Just like the TV program men behaving badly, but on a much, much larger scale. Also see sl*g.
Shiny Arse: Derogatory term for an officer employed in a long term office environment.
Shoulder-surfing: stealing pin numbers at cashpoints for use later with copied cards.
Showing Out: The unethical practice of hinting to an officer upon being stopped that you are a fellow officer and therefore not a sl*g. Done in the hope of receiving unfair treatment which we in no way condone e.g 'Have you got any ID on you sir?' - 'Why yes officer, I think I have my driving licence in my brief side pocket'. 'Do you realise you hit 97mph over the hump back bridge 10 miles back?' - 'Sorry officer, I'm court off nights this morning, I'm rushing home to get my number ones'. 'Have you ever taken a breath test before?' - 'Only when I was at training school, I blew under after having ten pints that day too'.
Slammer, the: prison.
sl*g: criminal. eg. 'he's a right sl*g that one'. Also person of low sexual morals, usually found living in a section house.
Suspect: Potential customer.
Snitch: informer
Sorted: everything is organised eg: 'It's sorted.'
Spin Drum: To perform a search, generally to search a property. 'We're gonna spin his drum'.
Spun Drum, property already searched. 'We spun his drum and found nuffink'.
Station Cat: Officer who preens themselves and finds every excuse possible not to leave the factory, work shy, a borderline shiny arse. Not to be confused with
Station Cat: a nice, friendly, fluffy whiskered feline whom keeps itself busy by sorting the rodent population at the nick and living on tidbits thrown to it at refs time.
Strawberry Mivvie: Civvie. Civilian police staff. Can be shortened to Strawbs etc.
Stick: Truncheon, now mainly out of popular usage except with Old Sweats. eg. 'stick him'. or 'sticks out'.
Sticked: To have been hit with a truncheon for failing to do what you're told. eg. 'I had no choice, I sticked him'.
Stick Out: to have your cover blown when in plain clothes. Generally caused by having a short back and sides hair cut, wearing dr martins boots, police issue black leather belt, blue jeans, white t-shirt and lumberjack type checked shirt whilst following a suspect in an ethnically diverse area of East London! 'You Muppet!' Also Stick Out: A particularly dangerous situation. eg. 'It was so bad, I got my stick out'.
STILL: As TGB - Thieving Gypsy Bastard (a real no no). Came about following the Viz cartoon of the same name is now totally politically incorret they are now refered too as a 'STILL' as in Still a Thieving Gypsy Bastard.
Suit: A person who spends his/her time at a desk on the phone and computer.
Supergrass: a very important informer.
TGB: Thieving Gypsy Bastard (a real no no). Came about following the Viz cartoon of the same name. See STILL.
The Bill: The Bill, popular UK TV program that Police officers watch to see the newest item of kit that may, or may not eventually find it's way down to the sharp end. For Old Bill click here to find huge detailed list of possible origins.
The Factory: Police station, generally used by those in the office.
The Filth: Criminal term for the police.
The Griff: The full facts, as in "give me the griff on that would you old chap."
The Office: Generally CID term for police station. eg. 'After we've spun his drum, we'll all meet back at the office.... Sniff'.
Thief Taker: Term of praise for a police officer. An uncanny radar-like ability to spot a criminal. eg. 'he's a good thief taker that one'.
Time, to do: to serve a prison sentence
Tit: Hat worn by wooden-tops for the benefit of tourists’ digital cameras. Plonks don’t generally have these.
Tour of duty: An alloted shift at work. Generally when referring to early turn, late turn or night duty. Couldn't be used by a shiny arse in front of shift officers. Shift officers do not consider anyone working usual daytime hours to be actually working at all. In fact they shouldn't be allowed to carry a warrant card, wear a uniform,receive pay at the same rate, park in the station yard etc.
Trumpton: Fire Brigade, very adept at cutting the roofs off of slightly dented cars. Rumoured to be prone to stealing, practice believed eradicated back in the early 1900's.
Truncheon: Stick.
Turtles: As in turtle doves, meaning gloves.
TWOC: to take without the owners consent. A Twocer is someone who steals vehicles etc. Also in Met land TDA: Taken and driven away.
Uniform Carrier: Useless or ineffective police officer. See also clothes hanger.
Upstairs: to be convicted at the crown court. The dock is reached by climbing the stairs form the cells.
VPU: Vulnerable prisoner unit, used to keep prisoners likely to be victimised away form other prisoners.
White Stuff: Milk, the second most important ingredient of a police officer's staple hot beverage.
Window warrior: a prisoner who constantly shouts from his cell window.
Window Licker: Definite 'no-no' these days. Someone who is quite obviously mad, deranged, psychotic etc. eg. 'He's a right window licker that one'.
Wooden-Top: A person who spends his/her time dealing with domestics.
YOIs: Young offenders institute.
Zombie: a particularly nasty prison officer - more dead than alive.
Check out the original on Police Oracle HERE
Friday, 14 September 2007
The Dreaming
I was planning to write this post as a "true" post then explain at the end it was a dream... but that is such a cop out.
So, truth is, this is not something that has happened to me. It is a re-ocurring dream I have, one that is amazingly real. When I wake up I wake up thinking it has happened, and for hours I still think of it as a memory, not a dream.
In it I'm on patrol with an officer from my nick, a guy I've known for years who is one of my favourite coppers to work with, call him Howard. We close up behind a clapped out Peugeout 306, big bore exhaust and stuck on spoiler in full view. The two occupants ignore us at first as we drive down the hill. Then they start to twist round to look at us. The Pug speeds up and Howard hits the blues. The car doesn't stop and speeds up.
We hit a junction at the bottom of the hill, the Peugeot pulls a sharp left and comes to a stop, holding up traffic and almost causing a pile up. Howard pulls the car to a stop as well, slightly further ahead than the Pug as we weren't expecting this.
Both occupants bail out, the passenger I'm not interested in, it's the driver I want, a white male in his twenties. I'm not on the radio, Howard is calling this in. The driver runs up a slope on a small road off the junction, he's about thirty feet ahead of me when he stops and pulls out a handgun.
It's black, it's a Glock, I recognise that much. I see him raise it and point it directly at me, and on autopilot I yank my asp out and rack it, knowing how futile that is, frozen to the spot.
His face is wrinkled in hatred, a face I've seen many times before. He fires, I hear the shot and see a flash, Jesus I'm scared. I turn and start to run, looking over my shoulder I see him standing still pointing the gun, I drop the asp realising that it's useless now, just extra weight I don't need.
I run behind a car with its windows shattered, hoping to make it to the police car. As I do I hear another shot, followed almost immediately by a thud as the bullet hits my back through the vest, almost directly between the shoulder blades and I fall to the floor.
I shout out, a swear word I'm sure, and my God it hurts... then of course I wake up, sweating and shouting. And my back still bloody hurts!
After this I get up, have some food, and watch TV until it's time to get up. Or go on the internet and look at blogs... Not much point in trying to get back to sleep, don't want to wake the neighbours up again.
My point (yes, there is one) is this: Would I keep having this dream, over and over again on a regular basis if my real life situation was different? What if instead of instinctively reaching for my asp I was reaching for my gun? What if I could get a shot off before he got another go? Would I be as terrified?
Answers on a postcard to the usual address.
I could just stop drinking Vodka before bed of course...
So, truth is, this is not something that has happened to me. It is a re-ocurring dream I have, one that is amazingly real. When I wake up I wake up thinking it has happened, and for hours I still think of it as a memory, not a dream.
In it I'm on patrol with an officer from my nick, a guy I've known for years who is one of my favourite coppers to work with, call him Howard. We close up behind a clapped out Peugeout 306, big bore exhaust and stuck on spoiler in full view. The two occupants ignore us at first as we drive down the hill. Then they start to twist round to look at us. The Pug speeds up and Howard hits the blues. The car doesn't stop and speeds up.
We hit a junction at the bottom of the hill, the Peugeot pulls a sharp left and comes to a stop, holding up traffic and almost causing a pile up. Howard pulls the car to a stop as well, slightly further ahead than the Pug as we weren't expecting this.
Both occupants bail out, the passenger I'm not interested in, it's the driver I want, a white male in his twenties. I'm not on the radio, Howard is calling this in. The driver runs up a slope on a small road off the junction, he's about thirty feet ahead of me when he stops and pulls out a handgun.
It's black, it's a Glock, I recognise that much. I see him raise it and point it directly at me, and on autopilot I yank my asp out and rack it, knowing how futile that is, frozen to the spot.
His face is wrinkled in hatred, a face I've seen many times before. He fires, I hear the shot and see a flash, Jesus I'm scared. I turn and start to run, looking over my shoulder I see him standing still pointing the gun, I drop the asp realising that it's useless now, just extra weight I don't need.
I run behind a car with its windows shattered, hoping to make it to the police car. As I do I hear another shot, followed almost immediately by a thud as the bullet hits my back through the vest, almost directly between the shoulder blades and I fall to the floor.
I shout out, a swear word I'm sure, and my God it hurts... then of course I wake up, sweating and shouting. And my back still bloody hurts!
After this I get up, have some food, and watch TV until it's time to get up. Or go on the internet and look at blogs... Not much point in trying to get back to sleep, don't want to wake the neighbours up again.
My point (yes, there is one) is this: Would I keep having this dream, over and over again on a regular basis if my real life situation was different? What if instead of instinctively reaching for my asp I was reaching for my gun? What if I could get a shot off before he got another go? Would I be as terrified?
Answers on a postcard to the usual address.
I could just stop drinking Vodka before bed of course...
Thursday, 30 August 2007
School Playtime
There was I, navigating the small rat-runs of an estate on our patch and trying not to crash the police car. My Sergeant had given me strict instructions: “try not to crash the police car.” I was doing my best, as I hate it when I get the disappointed look from him.
I heaved the car around a corner and saw a male that I recognised. My colleague also recognised him, that much was obvious, as he said “it’s that bugger again!” and immediately leapt out of the car.
It’s not uncommon for people to get out of the car when I’m driving, but I felt it safe to assume that there was actually a reason for my colleague’s hasty departure rather than sheer blind terror.
There was. The radio crackled into life: “BX, chasing suspects on foot, he’s wanted for a GBH that occurred last week…” I floored the accelerator and counted to five as the knackered out turbo vainly fought against the forces of gravity to try and haul the car forward (note to self, when accelerating from 5MPH in a hurry, change down from third gear).
I passed the miscreant and my colleague, pulled up and jumped out to join the chase. The suspect ran down an alley and we followed, my colleague keeping up a commentary. “Control, he’s going down Pickney Avenue, towards… oh no, it’s Sampson Community School.” Having learnt my lesson in the last foot chase about trying to sigh and run at the same time, I controlled my urge, but in my head I let out a long exasperated sigh.
Most coppers identify with teachers, as the poor buggers deal with our “clients” all day every day, whereas we get days seeing new suspects, hence why Mr Chalk is on my sidebar. However, every patch has an “anti” school – anti police, anti cars, anti parents, anti social services, anti rules… Not usually down to the teachers, but there is often an angry headteacher tucked away somewhere living her life vicariously through her young charges. As in this case. We had recently been told to ask permission from the head before going into the school, as our senior officers had received an ear bashing from her when police officers had taken a few moments of rest by chatting to the kids in the playground (and no doubt causing chaos whilst doing it).
I knew we were going to go into the school. And I was pretty sure the suspect wouldn’t stop so we could ask the headteacher’s permission. The suspect leapt the gates at the side of the school and my colleague balked at the challenge and ran to the front of the school. I like to destroy my uniform trousers every now and then as it means I can actually get a new pair, so I jumped/clambered after him. The suspect ran into the school grounds, and I took over the breathless commentary: “jumped the wall…running towards Tweedy Street Entrance…Male IC1…” I could hear two tones on the radio, mirrored in sound by two tones on the nearby streets, of units getting closer. My colleague headed off the suspect and the suspect turned directly into the school entrance.
Uh oh.
I squeezed what little stamina I had left and put everything into getting hold of him. Whilst chasing outside I had felt fairly confident, I knew the estate very well and there were units closing on us who would be there in minutes. Inside the school, with a violent suspect, and children… not a situation I wanted to be in.
The suspect turned into what turned out to be a classroom, followed closely by two slightly desperate coppers. He stopped, nowhere to go, my colleague had his asp out, “Stay there, don’t move, DON’T MOVE!” someone shouted. I realised it was me and I was holding down my transmit button on the radio still, my hand shaking.
That was because my hand had assessed the situation quicker than my brain could – I suddenly noticed a queue of young primary school children to my left lined up against the wall, either ending or starting a lesson. The suspect started to move, I was between him and the children, I didn’t know which one of us he was going for but wasn’t going to wait to find out. I pushed him back, radio still in my hand. He grabbed my wrist, tried to hit me and I fell on top of him.
What happened next is still slightly hazy. I continued barking (ignored) commands at the suspect, combined with shouting at the teacher to “get everyone out of here NOW!” My colleague was joining in, the suspect wasn’t in the mood to stop fighting.
You know the metal framed plastic chairs we all dread sitting on? You know the little dinky ones in primary schools? One of my lasting memories of that incident was seeing these chairs fly about the room as we scrabbled to keep the guy still and get him cuffed.
My other lasting memory? Thinking “this is a career killer” whilst still fighting.
Two other officers ran in, God alone knows how they found us, we cuffed the suspect and held him on the floor and tried to get our breath back. As we lay there, gasping for breath, in the middle of the chaos we had created in the classroom, the heroic head teacher entered. “I have an agreement with your borough commander you know, you are supposed to ask my permission before entering school grounds. I will be mentioning this.”
I know it was wrong. I really tried not to. But, lying on the floor, in the midst of upturned mini tables and chairs, with a line of engrossed children watching open mouthed, a suspect cuffed and wriggling and a colleague wiping blood from his nose, I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing directly at the head teacher - I actually had tears streaming down my face.
I was still giggling as the van pulled up and we loaded the suspect in. And when the lovely young teacher apologised for the head’s behaviour: “She’s been going through menopause for the last decade I think.”
And I even started again when the Inspector pulled me in to say that the head had complained about our conduct. My poor guvnor. I was trying to hold it in and snorting then bursting out laughing every few seconds. “Have you finished yet Area?”
“Yes sir.” (no)
“Are you sure?”
“Yes sir” (no)
“Ok then… she says here that you made a complete mess of the seating arrangement… Oh, pull yourself together for God’s sake Area…”
“Sorry sir” (I’m not)
“At least pretend to care about this”
“Snort, snort, giggle, sorry guv, giggle giggle”
“Oh bugger off Area, I don’t want to see an overtime state from this one." Long pause, whilst I try to keep a straight face and fail. “Thanks sir…snort…”
In fact, and I know this is sad, but I keep giggling as I'm writing this now.
Sorry.
(I'm not.)
Tuesday, 14 August 2007
Norn Iron
Inspector Gadget is a blog that I've been reading for a long time, it's a blog that keeps on giving.
The blogs on my sidebar I read on a regular basis, one of which is Belfast Peeler. It's a gripping read, not least as I have toyed with the idea of joining the RUC/PSNI in the past.
One of the best posts I've read by Belfast Peeler has just been posted - it struck me straight away, made me think of all the urgent assistances I've been to, HERE
It's a brilliantly written piece, but it's not quite there... not because of Belfast Peeler's inability to write, on the contrary; he gets closer than I can - but because it's next to impossible to really express in words the emotions and experiences that come with this job, especially in times like large urgent assistances. Read Belfast Peeler's blog, and in fact the other blogs on my sidebar. But the only way to really know is to experience it, for better or worse.
The blogs on my sidebar I read on a regular basis, one of which is Belfast Peeler. It's a gripping read, not least as I have toyed with the idea of joining the RUC/PSNI in the past.
One of the best posts I've read by Belfast Peeler has just been posted - it struck me straight away, made me think of all the urgent assistances I've been to, HERE
It's a brilliantly written piece, but it's not quite there... not because of Belfast Peeler's inability to write, on the contrary; he gets closer than I can - but because it's next to impossible to really express in words the emotions and experiences that come with this job, especially in times like large urgent assistances. Read Belfast Peeler's blog, and in fact the other blogs on my sidebar. But the only way to really know is to experience it, for better or worse.
Official Secrets Act
There are so many incidents that I deal with that I want to blog about. The problem is keeping them as accurate as possible whilst not revealing real details and "showing out."
Obviously I change names, and in fact make a point of using names of people that are not on my team, and I'm quite ambiguous about my location. But I want to show the real incidents I deal with, or else I might as well just write a fiction book about policing. I also feel that I owe it to anyone who takes the time and effort to read this not to lie to them about things I've done.
The thing that I am finding difficult is finding incidents old enough to use. For instance, I dealt with a very blog worthy incident yesterday... but as it is so recent and unique if I blog it now and someone involved reads it, they will be pretty easily able to work out who I am and what the incident was. I don't want that as I want to a) protect my anonymity, and b) protect those involved. This is a problem, as although I have quite a few things to write about, the things that I really have in my head are the recent memories.
So my gap between posts is not through lack of inspiration - it's through trying to work out what I can safely write about.
Ideas and advice are welcome as always - the comments are the reason I keep blogging and keep checking this page.
Obviously I change names, and in fact make a point of using names of people that are not on my team, and I'm quite ambiguous about my location. But I want to show the real incidents I deal with, or else I might as well just write a fiction book about policing. I also feel that I owe it to anyone who takes the time and effort to read this not to lie to them about things I've done.
The thing that I am finding difficult is finding incidents old enough to use. For instance, I dealt with a very blog worthy incident yesterday... but as it is so recent and unique if I blog it now and someone involved reads it, they will be pretty easily able to work out who I am and what the incident was. I don't want that as I want to a) protect my anonymity, and b) protect those involved. This is a problem, as although I have quite a few things to write about, the things that I really have in my head are the recent memories.
So my gap between posts is not through lack of inspiration - it's through trying to work out what I can safely write about.
Ideas and advice are welcome as always - the comments are the reason I keep blogging and keep checking this page.
Friday, 10 August 2007
Skippers and Magic
I feel it’s important to start this post by stating that I have huge respect for Sergeants in the Police Force. As someone who has created work for them on many, many occasions, I genuinely think it may well be the most difficult job in the Police. This post is not knocking Sergeants as a whole.
However…
There is a Sergeant I meet regularly who just doesn’t “get” me. We’re both adults, we don’t hate each other, but he definitely doesn’t understand my attempts at a sense of humour and I don’t always agree with his decisions or supervising style. For “Job” readers – think “Towbar” and “evidence gathering” and “High Potential Development Scheme.”
For non-job readers; in a few very short years Chief Inspectors will be calling him “Sir,” and he will need to collect scalps to get there at that speed.
Unfortunately he seems to have me in his sights at the moment. A while back I was trundling back into the nick near the end of night duty and he saw me climb out of the van in the yard. He noticed I wasn’t wearing my protective vest, and decided to mention it to me, whilst shouting, in the middle of our divisional HQ. I did the “yes Sarge, sorry Sarge” bit, knowing that if I explained why I wasn’t wearing it, he would have continued unabated. For anyone interested, I had spent three hours sitting in a primary school waiting for Scenes of Crimes Officers and various interested parties to attend, and then taken a statement from a very elderly and tired old lady related to the incident – neither of the incidents needing a vest in my opinion, but technically I had no leg to stand on. He is correct, I should wear a vest at all times.
Fast forward two weeks, and I took a call to some naughty boys being naughty in a public place. Very warm, mid summer, and I ran round the back to cut off the naughty boys as I arrived on scene as I knew the area, leaving my crew mates in the nice air conditioned Police Vehicle. Of course, on seeing the aforementioned Police Vehicle the naughty boys made off, and we had a little chase.
Suffice to say it was more successful than my last but one post, with less mud etc. The incident was dealt with, and we headed back to the Police Vehicle. We were twenty minutes past our shift handover time, I’d ran twice and it was muggy, our batteries were dying, there was no way we were dealing with any more calls, so I took my vest off as we drove back to the nick to try and cool down and deal with the sweating..
Mistake.
I’m no good at punchlines, so I’m sure you can guess who was standing in the yard as we drove in.
I got out warily. I knew that this was not going to be a chat about my welfare.
Pissed Sergeant: “Area, a word, right now.”
Area: “Sarge?”
PS: “You’re not wearing your vest.”
Area: “No.”
PS: “You weren’t wearing it out on the street, I saw you driving in.”
Area: “No Sarge."
PS: “What do you think you’re playing at? I’ve told you before.”
Area: “ I have to warn you Sarge, I am the Wizard Hazakaboo from the Planet Printocknablatee, and if you continue to threaten me I will perform a spell that will make you into the size of a dormouse.”
PS: “…”
I swear to you, he actually stood with his mouth open like they do in the movies, and then walked away without saying anything.
The next day, one of my regular Sergeants approached me. He kicked the tyres of the station van and stared up at the sky nonchalantly.
Regular Sergeant: “Apparently Pissed Sergeant had a word with you yesterday…”
Area: “Yes Sarge.”
RS: “He said you weren’t wearing your vest.”
Area: “No Sarge.”
RS: “Apparently you said you were a wizard?”
Area: “Yes Sarge.”
RS: “And threatened to turn him into a weasel or something?”
Area: “A dormouse Sarge.”
RS: “Ah ha, a dormouse, very good.”
Pause, whilst the kicking sped up. The Sergeant started to fiddle with the windscreen wipers.
RS: “You do realise you were probably the only officer on the relief not wearing a vest at that moment, don’t you?”
Area: “I’m also the only Wizard on the relief Sarge.”
Longer pause…
RS: “Do you know, I thought you’d say that. Please leave Pissed Sergeant alone, he always complains of headaches after talking to you.”
Result.
However…
There is a Sergeant I meet regularly who just doesn’t “get” me. We’re both adults, we don’t hate each other, but he definitely doesn’t understand my attempts at a sense of humour and I don’t always agree with his decisions or supervising style. For “Job” readers – think “Towbar” and “evidence gathering” and “High Potential Development Scheme.”
For non-job readers; in a few very short years Chief Inspectors will be calling him “Sir,” and he will need to collect scalps to get there at that speed.
Unfortunately he seems to have me in his sights at the moment. A while back I was trundling back into the nick near the end of night duty and he saw me climb out of the van in the yard. He noticed I wasn’t wearing my protective vest, and decided to mention it to me, whilst shouting, in the middle of our divisional HQ. I did the “yes Sarge, sorry Sarge” bit, knowing that if I explained why I wasn’t wearing it, he would have continued unabated. For anyone interested, I had spent three hours sitting in a primary school waiting for Scenes of Crimes Officers and various interested parties to attend, and then taken a statement from a very elderly and tired old lady related to the incident – neither of the incidents needing a vest in my opinion, but technically I had no leg to stand on. He is correct, I should wear a vest at all times.
Fast forward two weeks, and I took a call to some naughty boys being naughty in a public place. Very warm, mid summer, and I ran round the back to cut off the naughty boys as I arrived on scene as I knew the area, leaving my crew mates in the nice air conditioned Police Vehicle. Of course, on seeing the aforementioned Police Vehicle the naughty boys made off, and we had a little chase.
Suffice to say it was more successful than my last but one post, with less mud etc. The incident was dealt with, and we headed back to the Police Vehicle. We were twenty minutes past our shift handover time, I’d ran twice and it was muggy, our batteries were dying, there was no way we were dealing with any more calls, so I took my vest off as we drove back to the nick to try and cool down and deal with the sweating..
Mistake.
I’m no good at punchlines, so I’m sure you can guess who was standing in the yard as we drove in.
I got out warily. I knew that this was not going to be a chat about my welfare.
Pissed Sergeant: “Area, a word, right now.”
Area: “Sarge?”
PS: “You’re not wearing your vest.”
Area: “No.”
PS: “You weren’t wearing it out on the street, I saw you driving in.”
Area: “No Sarge."
PS: “What do you think you’re playing at? I’ve told you before.”
Area: “ I have to warn you Sarge, I am the Wizard Hazakaboo from the Planet Printocknablatee, and if you continue to threaten me I will perform a spell that will make you into the size of a dormouse.”
PS: “…”
I swear to you, he actually stood with his mouth open like they do in the movies, and then walked away without saying anything.
The next day, one of my regular Sergeants approached me. He kicked the tyres of the station van and stared up at the sky nonchalantly.
Regular Sergeant: “Apparently Pissed Sergeant had a word with you yesterday…”
Area: “Yes Sarge.”
RS: “He said you weren’t wearing your vest.”
Area: “No Sarge.”
RS: “Apparently you said you were a wizard?”
Area: “Yes Sarge.”
RS: “And threatened to turn him into a weasel or something?”
Area: “A dormouse Sarge.”
RS: “Ah ha, a dormouse, very good.”
Pause, whilst the kicking sped up. The Sergeant started to fiddle with the windscreen wipers.
RS: “You do realise you were probably the only officer on the relief not wearing a vest at that moment, don’t you?”
Area: “I’m also the only Wizard on the relief Sarge.”
Longer pause…
RS: “Do you know, I thought you’d say that. Please leave Pissed Sergeant alone, he always complains of headaches after talking to you.”
Result.
Tuesday, 31 July 2007
Coffee and Chases
To continue from my previous posts…
I think I need to explain something about them. I love pursuits in principle, fast cars and bad guys is a winning combination for me. The problem is that I have been in a couple of serious accidents in my time in and out of work, and I really don’t want to have to have the ambo crew and trumpton drag me out with neck braces on a stretcher again if I can help it.
The other, probably more major problem is that I think I was off on a bad start with pursuits.
My first ever pursuit was when I was very fresh faced and just weeks into playing about on the streets. I was in the area car (for non police readers – the fastest car and best trained driver the borough/department/team has, usually a BMW 5 series or similar) with a long service PC.
We had stopped in the petrol station and I had done the excited probationer thing of staring blankly about whilst trying to catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the garage doors. Mark, the area car driver, had done the usual thing of mentioning coffee numerous times and how thirsty he was and looking pointedly at me. The sharper of you may have worked out what I should have been doing, but it took me a less subtle hint. “The coffees aren’t getting themselves probby.” That did the job.
As I was walking back to the car with a paper cup of steaming hot coffee for Mark and a hot chocolate for me, he was on the radio. I slipped into the car seat and the Mark looked at me. “That car parked in front of us was nicked via a burglary. A nice arrest coming up for you my son.” I looked ahead and saw a navy blue Skoda, which at that moment drove off the forecourt and sped away. My first pursuit. I was so excited.
We were off at speed, and Mark shouted us up on the radio. I couldn’t reach the mike due to the drinks, couldn’t do anything as both hands were tied up. “Open the window, so I can chuck the cups!” I shouted.
“Not a chance, the drinks are hot!” came the reply. We took a corner sharply and Mark threw the mike down to take the corner and then scrabbled about for it as we straightened up. “Open the window so I can chuck the cups for God’s sake, I can do the commentary then!” I yelled. Mark kept driving and kept the potted commentary going, pausing only to shout back at me “I’m not wasting the coffee.”
The commentary came in dribs and drabs from Mark as he drove – eventually another unit stopped the car ahead of us and we roared up. Mark leapt out and ran to the bandit vehicle, as he did I could see the crew of the other Police car smashing the windows of the stolen car with their asps to get in. I couldn’t open our car door. I couldn’t do anything. I still had the coffees in my hands. I was almost crying with frustration as another unit pulled up, boxed me in and ran to join the fun.
As they hauled back the suspects and the police officers started to disperse, Mark wondered back to the car chatting to a Sergeant. Sergeant says: “Why were you doing the commentary? I thought you were double crewed?”
Mark “Yeah, my operator had just bought hot drinks and was too stingy to throw them.” Sergeant (whilst looking at me with disgust): “Bloody probationers.”
Me and pursuits were never going to get on with each other after that.
By the way, I am still sans my own internet, hence the delay in posts. I've written a few now and will post them when I get access, please keep the comments coming!
Fail to stop... Foot Pursuit
Previously, on The Bill…
Area had spotted likely lads in a car.
The car had not stopped for him.
Area had tried to keep his calm whilst the chase continued.
The likely lads had bailed out.
The story continues…
I leapt out of the car, adrenalin properly kicking in. I actually quite enjoy foot pursuits sometimes, as I’m relatively fit (compared to some coppers), and am reasonable at running.
It’s also one of the times I feel like a proper policeman, a running uniformed Police Officer actually gets noticed and people get out of the way for them.
Unfortunately I knew this could be a problem. It was night time and I was in an area I didn’t know. I started to run after the driver, and shouted up on the radio. Our poor borough controllers, who had not been aware of the chase as I was chasing on the mainset were treated to an overexcited PC shouting “Chasing suspects on foot, I think it’s Dowling Woods, I went shooting here once I think.” I’m never one to miss a chance to talk about inanities.
Our control came back, “Er… received. That’s not on our ground is it? …(long pause on an open carrier)… Er, the controller thinks it may not be even on Met ground.”
Great. Just what I didn’t want to hear. You can’t sigh when running at full pelt, but I made a valiant attempt at it and started coughing.
So… Scary chase? Check. No back up? Check. Out of our area? Check. Unsure of precise location? Check. Possibly out of my force area? Check. As long as my radio holds out, I should at least be able to keep containment until dogs or local units arrive.
You can see the punchline coming, can’t you?
The radio in my hand tailed out into a fuzz of static and silence – the old met radios weren’t designed to be used off borough. I had no way of stopping and changing channel, wasn’t even sure if I had the best channels in the set or what would be the closest met district. The suspect stopped and turned to look as he ducked under a tree. I threw my radio at him.
Possibly not the best move of the night, even I will admit.
The suspect ducked under the tree and I stumbled after him – I couldn’t work out how it had managed to be a dry day yet my boots and trousers were getting covered in mud. My arse, realising that it had been kept out of the action so far, decided to join in and went down to have a look at the mud as I clambered down an incline. Twice. At least I was vaguely camouflaged, being now semi covered in mud. I fumbled on my belt as I ran, and then the real humiliation started – I had to call 999 on my mobile phone. And explain that I was lost. With no radio. And yes, I am on duty, not off duty.
Dramatically, the suspect fell over an unseen obstacle in front of me, and as the woman on the end of the line was still talking I hung up and jumped on top of him. He didn’t even try and fight, and I cuffed him feeling pretty pleased with myself. I went to pick up my radio to inform them I had one detained, then realised I hadn’t got my radio. Sigh. Back to the mobile phone and the wonderful 999 system. I explained the situation, and they found the linked CADs (calls created), then came the killer. “Do you still need units to assist?” Er, no, not exactly. “Are there suspects outstanding?” No idea, I’ve got mine. “Why have you called back?” Er, I’m lost. I can’t find my car…
The final insult? Getting back to the vehicles, minus radio, phone out of battery, missing parts of ripped uniform covered in mud from head to toe after my chase, my frequent falls and the subsequent dramatic leap on to the suspect.
And being made to sit in the back of the cage with the prisoner in the station van as no one would let me in the car with them.
The things I do for this blog.
Area had spotted likely lads in a car.
The car had not stopped for him.
Area had tried to keep his calm whilst the chase continued.
The likely lads had bailed out.
The story continues…
I leapt out of the car, adrenalin properly kicking in. I actually quite enjoy foot pursuits sometimes, as I’m relatively fit (compared to some coppers), and am reasonable at running.
It’s also one of the times I feel like a proper policeman, a running uniformed Police Officer actually gets noticed and people get out of the way for them.
Unfortunately I knew this could be a problem. It was night time and I was in an area I didn’t know. I started to run after the driver, and shouted up on the radio. Our poor borough controllers, who had not been aware of the chase as I was chasing on the mainset were treated to an overexcited PC shouting “Chasing suspects on foot, I think it’s Dowling Woods, I went shooting here once I think.” I’m never one to miss a chance to talk about inanities.
Our control came back, “Er… received. That’s not on our ground is it? …(long pause on an open carrier)… Er, the controller thinks it may not be even on Met ground.”
Great. Just what I didn’t want to hear. You can’t sigh when running at full pelt, but I made a valiant attempt at it and started coughing.
So… Scary chase? Check. No back up? Check. Out of our area? Check. Unsure of precise location? Check. Possibly out of my force area? Check. As long as my radio holds out, I should at least be able to keep containment until dogs or local units arrive.
You can see the punchline coming, can’t you?
The radio in my hand tailed out into a fuzz of static and silence – the old met radios weren’t designed to be used off borough. I had no way of stopping and changing channel, wasn’t even sure if I had the best channels in the set or what would be the closest met district. The suspect stopped and turned to look as he ducked under a tree. I threw my radio at him.
Possibly not the best move of the night, even I will admit.
The suspect ducked under the tree and I stumbled after him – I couldn’t work out how it had managed to be a dry day yet my boots and trousers were getting covered in mud. My arse, realising that it had been kept out of the action so far, decided to join in and went down to have a look at the mud as I clambered down an incline. Twice. At least I was vaguely camouflaged, being now semi covered in mud. I fumbled on my belt as I ran, and then the real humiliation started – I had to call 999 on my mobile phone. And explain that I was lost. With no radio. And yes, I am on duty, not off duty.
Dramatically, the suspect fell over an unseen obstacle in front of me, and as the woman on the end of the line was still talking I hung up and jumped on top of him. He didn’t even try and fight, and I cuffed him feeling pretty pleased with myself. I went to pick up my radio to inform them I had one detained, then realised I hadn’t got my radio. Sigh. Back to the mobile phone and the wonderful 999 system. I explained the situation, and they found the linked CADs (calls created), then came the killer. “Do you still need units to assist?” Er, no, not exactly. “Are there suspects outstanding?” No idea, I’ve got mine. “Why have you called back?” Er, I’m lost. I can’t find my car…
The final insult? Getting back to the vehicles, minus radio, phone out of battery, missing parts of ripped uniform covered in mud from head to toe after my chase, my frequent falls and the subsequent dramatic leap on to the suspect.
And being made to sit in the back of the cage with the prisoner in the station van as no one would let me in the car with them.
The things I do for this blog.
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