Pete and I were standing outside a block of towards the north end of the borough. Our destination was on the eleventh floor, but sod’s law struck gold, and of course the lifts were out of order. We started the long climb.
I started whistling a song, but noticed that Pete didn’t join in – quite unusual, for him.
“What’s wrong, mate, you’re awfully quiet today.” I asked.
“I had a dog of a shift yesterday.” he said.
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, to be honest. I’m knackered.”
“Bloody hell. What happened?”
“Mate, it was grim.”
“Go on…” Continue reading
“We’ve just had report of criminal damage in progress, outside 12 Church walk. An IC2 youth, around 12 years of age, smashing up a car. On an I-grade“.
Today, I’m the IRV driver, callsign Mike Delta 20, and it’s been a dreadfully slow day, and the call coming in over the radio engages me enough to stir myself into some semblance of excitement. I don’t mind chasing after a group of troublemaking kids for a few minutes to wake me up. I reach for the PTT (Push-to-talk) lever in my car, hold it down, and say “Show 20″ to the microphone mounted next to my sun visor. I’m hearing my own voice, slightly distorted, feeding back through the radio I’ve got clipped to my stab vest. “Received”, replies the operator.
I press the ’999′ button on my dash, and the car’s mobile disco facilities spring into life. The siren wails, as I spin the car around. Church walk is just around the corner. I come careening around the last bend with the slightest hint of a squeal from my tyres against the asphalt, where I see one chap climbing over a low fence. He’s not running away. In fact, he’s coming towards me. “Show TOA for Mike Delta 20″, I say, as I engage the run lock and climb out of the Vauxhall Astra. Continue reading