Bright days at B&Q

Still driving to my mum’s house for the family barbecue, I’m slightly incredulous at the security guy who had tried to arrest-and-not-quite-arrest me not a few hours ago in the day. But then my phone, which I have it in a holder on my dash where it’s serving as my in-car audio, rings aloud. Irritatingly, it’s showing ‘withheld number’.


That usually means work is calling: the Met has withheld numbers across its whole network.

I really, really don’t want to answer the phone, but I figure I sort of have to. It is a fantastically hot day, and hot days do weird things to people. If it turns out there’s a riot breaking out, and they’re calling in all Level 2 officers, then I suppose my visit to my mum would be out the window; but everything for the job. Technically, they don’t usually call you up to force you back on duty (although for big and crazy things happening, they will). No, they’ll usually ask you very nicely indeed, and as it’s literally no notice at all, it means a sizeable big overtime paycheck. Lovely. Given that I’ve just dipped deep into my savings to buy myself a new car (well, I say new… It’s a few years old, but it’s a lovely little motor), I could do with a bit of extra cash to put in the bank. Continue reading


The Shoe on the Other Foot

“God damn it”, I mutter to myself, standing in the aisle of Tesco. I’m holding two different bags of sugar; One of Caster sugar, and one of powdered sugar. At the same time, I’m facing a third kind of sugar; the kind that goes in tea, I think.

I fish my mobile out of my pocket, dialling a number the old-fashioned way. Not because I haven’t got my mother stored in my iPhone, but because (apart from 911, 999, 112, and 101), it’s practically the only number I remember off by heart these days.

“Hi mum,” I say, placing one of the packs of sugar under my arm, so I can talk to her better.

I let her rattle on for a while. Continue reading

Vice City Love

“When was the last time this happened to ya,” John says, reaching for the handle underneath the passenger seat. He stops mid-sentence, before finally finding the right handle, leaning the seat further back by a few notches.

“Hmmh?” I ask.

I briefly turn on the ignition so I can roll the window down a little, before turning it back off.

“I’m on front office duty, right, and this broad comes in. Says her mobile has been nicked.”

“Ah?” Continue reading

Knocking on… Well, a door, of course.

“Eight-six receiving Mike Delta”, my radio murmurs into life quietly. I turn the volume up. Today, I’m running the Misper car, the oh-so-joyous task of looking for missing persons who rarely are missing (and occasionally aren’t even persons*) had taken me into a care home, where the lady who was reporting somebody missing had been utterly aghast by the fact that the CAD operator kept rudely interrupting our conversation. It took me the best part of a cup of tea to explain that the operator wasn’t speaking to me specifically, but instead to all officers. Continue reading

Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot?

“So basically, you want to have your neighbour’s kid arrested for splashing you with a bit of water?” I ask the man standing in front of me, more to summarise the situation in my head than to get any actual confirmation out of him.

“It wasn’t just a bit of water” the man snaps. “It was a whole glass full!”

I’m looking through my notes. Yes, there it is. A tea-cup worth of water. Continue reading

The Password

“Mike Delta 592 receiving Mike Delta” my radio encroaches on my rather pleasant chat with Kim in the cafeteria.

Kim is a police constable. She is also married, and I really shouldn’t be talking to her at the moment; she’s going through a tough time with her husband, who used to be a custody skipper on the borough. Due to the Olympics, however, and as it’s causing an additional demand for AFOs (Authorised Firearms Officers), he was lured back to the gun-carrying elite of the Metropolitan Police, and has subsequently been doing a lot of training to get his firearms certificate back in good standing. Kim has been confiding in me about her suspicions of her husband having found someone on the sly, and I’m having to bite my tongue about the indecent fantasies I’ve been having about her for several years now. I’m recently (I say recently… It happened about six months ago) out of a relationship myself, and have been going through a bit of a romantic dry spell. It’s very hard not to offer to take Kim out for a drink or six and see where that takes us, but… Continue reading