Some people have very little contact with the Police, and it can be quite daunting when they do. So I thought I'd jot down some little hints to help things go as smoothly as possible.
1) Don't say "haven't you got anything better to do?" As soon as you say this you've answered your own question. Because whatever the officer was doing is now less important than writing you out a ticket.
2) Don't say "shouldn't you be out catching burglars?" You're overlooking the fact that we keep having to stop catching burglars to deal with people not wearing their seatbelts.
3) Don't say, "you can't do this". Because the chances are we can. And now we're probably going to prove it by doing it.
4) Don't ask me if I was bullied at school. Because I might have been for all you know. And now I'm going to deal with the resurfaced feelings of sadness and low self-worth by giving you a ticket instead of a ticking off.
5) Don't call me a "fu**ing little pr*ck" and then act all surprised when I arrest you.
6) Unless you're a High Court Judge don't try giving the officer instruction on what the law does or doesn't say. We have to go to training school and learn all sorts of definitions before we're let loose on the public.
7) Don't tell me "I know the Chief Constable". Because we both know you're telling porkies. (This doesn't work if the person you've stopped is the husband/wife of the Chief Constable).
8) Do try smiling. We're not used to this and it might throw us enough to let you off.
9) Do be nice. This is called "passing the attitude test". Which, officially, doesn't exist. However, we're only human so if someone's pleasant to us we're much more likely to keep our pen in our pocket.
10) Try to avoid leaving the house with any of the following objects in your car or about your person: drugs, knives, guns, stolen property, items for breaking into people's houses or cars, my DVD player (as you'll have read on previous posts, I'm quite attached to it).
11) And if you absolutely can't avoid having any of the above items with you, it's probably worth not attacking me with any of them. This will almost certain affect the way I am with you.
12) Don't give me a false name. Particularly one that's either not very imaginative or a bit too imaginative. Expecting to get away with calling yourself "Al Kaseltzer" means you think I'm incredibly thick.
Thursday, 10 May 2007
Tuesday, 8 May 2007
Reality TV
If "real" Police dramas really were real:
1. At no time shall there be more than 4 Police officers on screen at any one time. Because there aren't more than 4 Police officers on duty.
2. Sometimes the Police work at night. To keep things simple, we call this "nights". So we'll have a couple of scenes in the dark.
3. Detective Inspectors don't charge about nicking villains. They sit in offices telling me what to do.
4. Of those 4 officers on duty, at least 2 will be doing paperwork at any one time.
5. The Police canteen has been closed and turned into offices for Civillian support staff whose job is to send me emails.
6. The Police cars aren't shiney and new. They are, in fact, decrepit and old.
7. When CID interview someone, there isn't a uniformed copper standing at the back of the room saying nothing. (see point 1.)
8. Solicitors don't just sit there saying nothing. They're too busy making sure their client remembers the story they've concoted together.
9. The Police officers wouldn't wear their hats every time they got out of a car. In fact, they lost their hats about six months ago and haven't seen them since.
10. Their radios only work about half the time. The other half it sounds like you're talking to metal mickey's less eloquent step-brother.
11. The Police would warn the hooded youth that they might end up being arrested. The youth would reply "fu*k off!"
12. Officers would attend a concern for welfare where the occupant of a house hadn't been seen for 2 weeks. Instead of swinging into action they'd stand on the door step poking each other saying "You go in" "No, you go in".
13. An officer would try to break up a fight outside a pub. However, instead of helping out, the public would start recording things on their mobiles hoping that they'd get something worth selling to the news.
14. And finally, the Sergeant would want to get a PC in for a bollocking but within a few seconds the PC would put in a grievance for bullying. The Sergeant would be sent off to the naughty boy corner on "administrative duties" and the PC would get the posting of their choice.
1. At no time shall there be more than 4 Police officers on screen at any one time. Because there aren't more than 4 Police officers on duty.
2. Sometimes the Police work at night. To keep things simple, we call this "nights". So we'll have a couple of scenes in the dark.
3. Detective Inspectors don't charge about nicking villains. They sit in offices telling me what to do.
4. Of those 4 officers on duty, at least 2 will be doing paperwork at any one time.
5. The Police canteen has been closed and turned into offices for Civillian support staff whose job is to send me emails.
6. The Police cars aren't shiney and new. They are, in fact, decrepit and old.
7. When CID interview someone, there isn't a uniformed copper standing at the back of the room saying nothing. (see point 1.)
8. Solicitors don't just sit there saying nothing. They're too busy making sure their client remembers the story they've concoted together.
9. The Police officers wouldn't wear their hats every time they got out of a car. In fact, they lost their hats about six months ago and haven't seen them since.
10. Their radios only work about half the time. The other half it sounds like you're talking to metal mickey's less eloquent step-brother.
11. The Police would warn the hooded youth that they might end up being arrested. The youth would reply "fu*k off!"
12. Officers would attend a concern for welfare where the occupant of a house hadn't been seen for 2 weeks. Instead of swinging into action they'd stand on the door step poking each other saying "You go in" "No, you go in".
13. An officer would try to break up a fight outside a pub. However, instead of helping out, the public would start recording things on their mobiles hoping that they'd get something worth selling to the news.
14. And finally, the Sergeant would want to get a PC in for a bollocking but within a few seconds the PC would put in a grievance for bullying. The Sergeant would be sent off to the naughty boy corner on "administrative duties" and the PC would get the posting of their choice.
Shift Lag
I'm writing this roughly six hours before I'm due to start an early turn shift because I'm wide awake with no prospect of seeing the inside of my eyelids for hours yet. That's why I've been messing about with the layout and colours of the blog. Oh, and I've put my mum's favourite piccy of my on there. (I'll leave it to you to decide if I'm joking or not.)
Anyway, got me thinking about "shift lag". It's kind of like jet lag, but you don't get a sun tan and a man with latex gloves doesn't rummage through your luggage.
Seriously, working shifts totally changes the meaning of words like "weekend". This week, my "weekend" is Thursday and most of Friday at which point I'm back on nights.
I made the schoolboy error of having a kip this afternoon because I was feeling a bit tired. And the bit of a kip stretched out for four hours. So now I'm wide awake and thinking about going for a bit of a stroll. At bloody half past midnight!
I'll finish nights on Monday morning and have to force myself out of bed at about lunch time, otherwise I won't sleep Monday night. Which means for most of Monday I'll either be asleep or annoying my chums by being irratable to the point that they wish I was asleep.
And that's another thing: "lunch time". Because we find ourselves working at "Oh My God" o'clock we eat totally inappropriate meals at totally inappropriate times. Microwaved lasagne at 4am. Coco Pops at 7pm. That sort of thing.
Actually, I remember I used to have microwaved porridge on nights. One particular shift I was absolutely starving come about 3am because we'd been so busy. The microwave had just gone "ping" and I'd had my first mouthful when a shout came in. Two males assaulting a third who was lying on the floor.
Now, this member of public needed our help, so there was no chance of me not going. But my stomach thought my throat had been cut! Nothing else for it but to jump in with someone else and try to find my mouth with my spoon whilst sat on the back seat of the area car as it's doing 60mph. In fact, I must've been hungry because I didn't spill any.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, shift lag. Because I'm awake now, and I'm probably only going to get a few hours kip, I know that at about 10 or 11am later on it's going to hit me like a cricket bat in the chops. And that's probably about the time the member of public comes into the station wanting to make a complaint about how another copper was rude to them. After five minutes with a sleep deprived me they're either going to think that rudeness is endemic in the Police or that I'm being somehow ironic by trying to out-rude the other officer.
Anyway, got me thinking about "shift lag". It's kind of like jet lag, but you don't get a sun tan and a man with latex gloves doesn't rummage through your luggage.
Seriously, working shifts totally changes the meaning of words like "weekend". This week, my "weekend" is Thursday and most of Friday at which point I'm back on nights.
I made the schoolboy error of having a kip this afternoon because I was feeling a bit tired. And the bit of a kip stretched out for four hours. So now I'm wide awake and thinking about going for a bit of a stroll. At bloody half past midnight!
I'll finish nights on Monday morning and have to force myself out of bed at about lunch time, otherwise I won't sleep Monday night. Which means for most of Monday I'll either be asleep or annoying my chums by being irratable to the point that they wish I was asleep.
And that's another thing: "lunch time". Because we find ourselves working at "Oh My God" o'clock we eat totally inappropriate meals at totally inappropriate times. Microwaved lasagne at 4am. Coco Pops at 7pm. That sort of thing.
Actually, I remember I used to have microwaved porridge on nights. One particular shift I was absolutely starving come about 3am because we'd been so busy. The microwave had just gone "ping" and I'd had my first mouthful when a shout came in. Two males assaulting a third who was lying on the floor.
Now, this member of public needed our help, so there was no chance of me not going. But my stomach thought my throat had been cut! Nothing else for it but to jump in with someone else and try to find my mouth with my spoon whilst sat on the back seat of the area car as it's doing 60mph. In fact, I must've been hungry because I didn't spill any.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, shift lag. Because I'm awake now, and I'm probably only going to get a few hours kip, I know that at about 10 or 11am later on it's going to hit me like a cricket bat in the chops. And that's probably about the time the member of public comes into the station wanting to make a complaint about how another copper was rude to them. After five minutes with a sleep deprived me they're either going to think that rudeness is endemic in the Police or that I'm being somehow ironic by trying to out-rude the other officer.
Monday, 7 May 2007
"Don't You Throw Bloody Spears At Me"
I was watching Zulu the other day and Michael Caine's famous mis-quote reminded me of a job I went to as a Probationer.
I was single-crewed and on one of our more visited housing estates taking a statement. Just as I was finishing off a call came in reporting a domestic disturbance just around the corner. The report was that the man who lived there had gone bananas and taken his family hostage. I quickly called up for the job, thanked the chap who'd given me the statement and ran off to my car. I could hear that other officers were also calling up for the job too, so I knew I wouldn't be on my own for long.
Within a minute I'd pulled up outside the address and was met by an older woman who came running out of the house to me. She screamed, "he's going mental in there! It's going to take more than one of you!" So I pulled on my body armour and calmly updated the control room saying, "apparantly this chap's quite violent so I'll probably need somebody else to assist."
Unfortunately I was a little too calm. The other officers attending told me later that they thought everything was OK so slowed down. But I didn't know that at this time.
I walked into the house, drawing myself up to my full height of 5' 7" and making my shoulders look as broad and meaty as possible. Not easy. I weigh 9st. But still, it must have looked fairly impressive because the bloke saw me and ran off through the house and into the back garden. I ran after him shouting to his family to run to a neighbour's house.
I got into the back garden just in time to see him dive into the shed. I called out, "'scuse me mate, I think we need to have a chat." He replied by chucking a spade at my head. I tried to remember the input we'd been given at training school on negotiating with people who are trying to decapitate you. As a garden rake narrowly missed my swede I realised that perhaps I should've paid a bit more attention in class. The lawn mower came next, but didn't get anywhere near me. Maybe he was tiring?
"Look, mate. There's no need for all this. Let's just chat."
"Fuck off and leave me alone!" And then he smashed the window of the shed so he'd be able to throw things at me without having to duck in and out through the door. Clearly a man capable of thinking on his feet under pressure.
I heard a noise behind me and gratefully turned round to give my colleagues an update. I was met by two paramedics who'd been called by our control room. I suggested they might want to wait inside. They asked me why just as part of a Black and Decker workbench landed just behind me. "Ah, right. We'll be inside."
I got on the radio to give an update. "The male has run into the back garden, has locked himself in the shed and is now chucking the contents at me." Again, perhaps I should have put a bit more urgency in my voice as the area car responded blithely "yep, noted. Not far away now". Fortunately, the Sergeant was listening in and started organising a shield team to do a forced entry to the shed.
A tray of seedlings richocheed off the wall behind me. I was clearly well out of my depth. And I wasn't thinking straight. Why wasn't I thinking straight? It's because I needed a cigarette. Checking to make sure my Sergeant hadn't arrived, I lit up and took a deep drag, considering what to do next. The bloke wasn't going anywhere, but any minute now he might realise I was only about half his size, do the maths and decide to take his chances with me.
He popped his head up to chuck one of those small trowel/spade things at me and stopped mid-throw, like Fatima Whitbread with a javelin. We stared at each other, like gun slingers at high noon across the battle scarred garden.
"Er, can I have a fag?"
I looked down at the smouldering tobacco in my hand and a little smile sneaked across my face.
"No, you keep chucking things at me."
He dropped the trowel. "Sorry."
"I'm going to have to handcuff you first, before I give you one of these. You know that don't you?"
"Yeah, no worries. I didn't really want to hit you."
I slowly inched towards the shed. Maybe this was a trick? Any minute now he was going to surprise me by launching a tomato plant at my nose. But no, instead he popped his hands out of the shed window in a "it's a fair cop" kind of way and let me cuff him up. I lit up another ciggie and placed it in his hand.
About 30 seconds later the cavalry arrived. They were met by the same screaming reception committee as I had been, this time saying how their colleague was in the garden being bombarded by all sorts of things. They grabbed a couple of shields from the car and ran through the house into the garden. To see me and my new mate stood chatting over a cigarette. The next officer to arrive was the Sergeant, so I quickly lost my ciggie as the bloke was lead away by the area car officers. I asked him why it had taken so long for everyone to turn up. "Well, you sounded like you were OK. So everyone turned their blues off." Right, mental note, next time give updates in a slightly more high pitched voice.
Anyway, the point is, all the way through Zulu, Michael Caine is very composed and the very epitome of stiff upper lip Britishness. But as the Zulu nation descent upon Rourkes Drift at no point does he reach into his pocket and pull out a packet of Bensons. If he had, his story might have had a totally different ending.
I was single-crewed and on one of our more visited housing estates taking a statement. Just as I was finishing off a call came in reporting a domestic disturbance just around the corner. The report was that the man who lived there had gone bananas and taken his family hostage. I quickly called up for the job, thanked the chap who'd given me the statement and ran off to my car. I could hear that other officers were also calling up for the job too, so I knew I wouldn't be on my own for long.
Within a minute I'd pulled up outside the address and was met by an older woman who came running out of the house to me. She screamed, "he's going mental in there! It's going to take more than one of you!" So I pulled on my body armour and calmly updated the control room saying, "apparantly this chap's quite violent so I'll probably need somebody else to assist."
Unfortunately I was a little too calm. The other officers attending told me later that they thought everything was OK so slowed down. But I didn't know that at this time.
I walked into the house, drawing myself up to my full height of 5' 7" and making my shoulders look as broad and meaty as possible. Not easy. I weigh 9st. But still, it must have looked fairly impressive because the bloke saw me and ran off through the house and into the back garden. I ran after him shouting to his family to run to a neighbour's house.
I got into the back garden just in time to see him dive into the shed. I called out, "'scuse me mate, I think we need to have a chat." He replied by chucking a spade at my head. I tried to remember the input we'd been given at training school on negotiating with people who are trying to decapitate you. As a garden rake narrowly missed my swede I realised that perhaps I should've paid a bit more attention in class. The lawn mower came next, but didn't get anywhere near me. Maybe he was tiring?
"Look, mate. There's no need for all this. Let's just chat."
"Fuck off and leave me alone!" And then he smashed the window of the shed so he'd be able to throw things at me without having to duck in and out through the door. Clearly a man capable of thinking on his feet under pressure.
I heard a noise behind me and gratefully turned round to give my colleagues an update. I was met by two paramedics who'd been called by our control room. I suggested they might want to wait inside. They asked me why just as part of a Black and Decker workbench landed just behind me. "Ah, right. We'll be inside."
I got on the radio to give an update. "The male has run into the back garden, has locked himself in the shed and is now chucking the contents at me." Again, perhaps I should have put a bit more urgency in my voice as the area car responded blithely "yep, noted. Not far away now". Fortunately, the Sergeant was listening in and started organising a shield team to do a forced entry to the shed.
A tray of seedlings richocheed off the wall behind me. I was clearly well out of my depth. And I wasn't thinking straight. Why wasn't I thinking straight? It's because I needed a cigarette. Checking to make sure my Sergeant hadn't arrived, I lit up and took a deep drag, considering what to do next. The bloke wasn't going anywhere, but any minute now he might realise I was only about half his size, do the maths and decide to take his chances with me.
He popped his head up to chuck one of those small trowel/spade things at me and stopped mid-throw, like Fatima Whitbread with a javelin. We stared at each other, like gun slingers at high noon across the battle scarred garden.
"Er, can I have a fag?"
I looked down at the smouldering tobacco in my hand and a little smile sneaked across my face.
"No, you keep chucking things at me."
He dropped the trowel. "Sorry."
"I'm going to have to handcuff you first, before I give you one of these. You know that don't you?"
"Yeah, no worries. I didn't really want to hit you."
I slowly inched towards the shed. Maybe this was a trick? Any minute now he was going to surprise me by launching a tomato plant at my nose. But no, instead he popped his hands out of the shed window in a "it's a fair cop" kind of way and let me cuff him up. I lit up another ciggie and placed it in his hand.
About 30 seconds later the cavalry arrived. They were met by the same screaming reception committee as I had been, this time saying how their colleague was in the garden being bombarded by all sorts of things. They grabbed a couple of shields from the car and ran through the house into the garden. To see me and my new mate stood chatting over a cigarette. The next officer to arrive was the Sergeant, so I quickly lost my ciggie as the bloke was lead away by the area car officers. I asked him why it had taken so long for everyone to turn up. "Well, you sounded like you were OK. So everyone turned their blues off." Right, mental note, next time give updates in a slightly more high pitched voice.
Anyway, the point is, all the way through Zulu, Michael Caine is very composed and the very epitome of stiff upper lip Britishness. But as the Zulu nation descent upon Rourkes Drift at no point does he reach into his pocket and pull out a packet of Bensons. If he had, his story might have had a totally different ending.
More Than Just "Stupid"
I dealt with a job on Saturday where two young (13 year old) girls were on a footbridge above a dual carriageway. They each had a drink and were spitting it out at passing cars before throwing the cups at them as well.
With an accuracy sadly missing with most England sporting sides the girls managed to hit several of the cars speeding below them at 70mph plus. And obviously several people phoned the Police. Long story short, we turned up, found them hiding interviewed them and they're going to receive a Final Warning.
But we've had loads of problems with this carriageway. There's 2 footbridges and the Council's caged one and put CCTV on the other. But still kids continue to chuck stuff at the traffic. Normally it's food or stones but the other night it was a couple of Tesco shopping trolleys. Bloody big lumps of metal that they dropped onto a passing van.
I can understand why some (definately not all) kids do daft things sometimes. Because I did most of them too when I was their age. Knocking on doors then running off, playing football next to cars, painting cricket wickets onto walls. I even once got told off for being nasty to a cat.
But dropping a shopping trolley onto a vehicle moving at 70mph? How fu**ing stupid can they be? In fact, at what point does their stupidity become so.....stupid that words fail us all and we lock ourselves in cupboards just so that we don't have to face up to their breathtaking idiocy?
Children (generally) aren't as good as adults (generally) at understanding things like consequences. People in their early teens tend to think about "now" rather than "what if?". I understand that. I can live with that. But some things are so glaringly obvious they might as well have a neon sign on them saying "I'm glaringly obvious".
There's no real point to this post. Just wanted to spout off.
And actually, on a totally unrelated topic, I was chatting to a bloke who worked at Tesco the other day. He looked out of his bedroom window in the morning and saw that some fool had painted the word "c*nt" across his neighbours garage. Nice.
If we find out who did it, they'll be quickly rounded up to receive their slap on the wrist. I wonder how much more effective it would be if we got hold of some sort of semi-permanent marker (the sort that lasts on skin for about a month) and wrote "c*nt" across his forehead?
With an accuracy sadly missing with most England sporting sides the girls managed to hit several of the cars speeding below them at 70mph plus. And obviously several people phoned the Police. Long story short, we turned up, found them hiding interviewed them and they're going to receive a Final Warning.
But we've had loads of problems with this carriageway. There's 2 footbridges and the Council's caged one and put CCTV on the other. But still kids continue to chuck stuff at the traffic. Normally it's food or stones but the other night it was a couple of Tesco shopping trolleys. Bloody big lumps of metal that they dropped onto a passing van.
I can understand why some (definately not all) kids do daft things sometimes. Because I did most of them too when I was their age. Knocking on doors then running off, playing football next to cars, painting cricket wickets onto walls. I even once got told off for being nasty to a cat.
But dropping a shopping trolley onto a vehicle moving at 70mph? How fu**ing stupid can they be? In fact, at what point does their stupidity become so.....stupid that words fail us all and we lock ourselves in cupboards just so that we don't have to face up to their breathtaking idiocy?
Children (generally) aren't as good as adults (generally) at understanding things like consequences. People in their early teens tend to think about "now" rather than "what if?". I understand that. I can live with that. But some things are so glaringly obvious they might as well have a neon sign on them saying "I'm glaringly obvious".
There's no real point to this post. Just wanted to spout off.
And actually, on a totally unrelated topic, I was chatting to a bloke who worked at Tesco the other day. He looked out of his bedroom window in the morning and saw that some fool had painted the word "c*nt" across his neighbours garage. Nice.
If we find out who did it, they'll be quickly rounded up to receive their slap on the wrist. I wonder how much more effective it would be if we got hold of some sort of semi-permanent marker (the sort that lasts on skin for about a month) and wrote "c*nt" across his forehead?
Sunday, 6 May 2007
I. Have. Got. Better. Things. To. Do.
I'm halfway through a set of early shifts and, for some reason, am feeling a bit arsed off with some of the stuff we've been to in the last couple of weeks. So, for the reference and use of anybody who's hand is hovering over the phone just about to dial 999 I thought I'd compile a quick list of things I'd rather not have to waste my time with.
1) "My son's been assaulted" when what you mean is "my son and his mate have had a falling out at school over who's the best Spice Girl." We both know that by the time I knock on your door they'll both be upstairs playing on his Xbox together. But now I have to spend time investigating this "crime".
2) "I'm being harrassed". No, you're not. I know you've heard of the Harrassment Act, but that was brought in to protect vulnerable people from nutters stalking them. It's not there to help you get one over on your ex- for sending you a shitty text message.
3) "I've been assaulted by a bouncer". Can I suggest that you might not be telling the full story here? Come on, be honest, you were drunk and perhaps just a little bit nasty about his taste in leather jackets. So he chucked you out of the pub. Which he's allowed to do.
4) "My neighbour is harrassing me". Seriously. You're both (almost) fully functioning adults. If the run off from his hosepipe creeps onto your half of the driveway when he washes his car then just follow this advice - find a quiet room, close the door behind you, sit down comfortably, close your eyes and repeat to yourself "it's only a bit of fu**ing water!!!!!!!" Grow up!
5) "My daughter won't go to school". Look, I know we're here to help but when we said that we meant with, well, Policey type stuff. You know, catching burglars. That sort of thing. I don't want to sound uncaring. Really I don't. BUT YOU'RE THE BLOODY PARENT! YOU SORT IT OUT!
6) "I've just been assaulted and it was totally unprovoked". Now, are you sure there's nothing more you want to tell me? Because you and I both know that when I check the CCTV you're going to be on there, front and centre, trying to pick a fight with anyone who'll give you the time of day.
7) "There's some blockage in the road". Well, I mean, thanks for letting us know. Because that's a road safety issue. And we like them. But in the time it's taken you to make this call you could have moved the bloody thing out of the way.
8) "My neighbour keeps staring at me". Playing Devil's advokate here, surely you must have been staring at them to notice them staring at you? Do you see where we're going here? Six of one......
9) "My husband is refusing to leave the house". That's because it's their house too. They live here. Look, there's his toothbrush next to the sink. I'm not allowed to chuck somebody out onto the street because they're in your bad books.
10) "I'm going to kill myself". I've been to lots of suicides. All of them tragic and all of them having left an imprint on me. Each of them was different but one thing they all had in common was that none of the people involved telephoned me first to let me know what they were going to do. However, now that you've said you're going to kill yourself the Police, courtesy of the tax payer, is going to spend thousands and thousands of pounds helping to give you some badly needed attention. If you need help, or just someone to talk to, then just ask for it. But whilst we're running around helping your feelings of self-worth we're not helping other people in genuine need.
Don't get me wrong. The main reason I joined the Police was, and still is, to help people. I like helping people. It makes me feel useful in a way that DIY just can't match.
And finally, if you do actually, genuinely, need us please don't liberally scatter the word "knife" around during your call to us just because you think we'll get there quicker. All that means is that the copper who does turn up will be suitably arsed off with you and you might not get the caring attitude you were hoping for.
1) "My son's been assaulted" when what you mean is "my son and his mate have had a falling out at school over who's the best Spice Girl." We both know that by the time I knock on your door they'll both be upstairs playing on his Xbox together. But now I have to spend time investigating this "crime".
2) "I'm being harrassed". No, you're not. I know you've heard of the Harrassment Act, but that was brought in to protect vulnerable people from nutters stalking them. It's not there to help you get one over on your ex- for sending you a shitty text message.
3) "I've been assaulted by a bouncer". Can I suggest that you might not be telling the full story here? Come on, be honest, you were drunk and perhaps just a little bit nasty about his taste in leather jackets. So he chucked you out of the pub. Which he's allowed to do.
4) "My neighbour is harrassing me". Seriously. You're both (almost) fully functioning adults. If the run off from his hosepipe creeps onto your half of the driveway when he washes his car then just follow this advice - find a quiet room, close the door behind you, sit down comfortably, close your eyes and repeat to yourself "it's only a bit of fu**ing water!!!!!!!" Grow up!
5) "My daughter won't go to school". Look, I know we're here to help but when we said that we meant with, well, Policey type stuff. You know, catching burglars. That sort of thing. I don't want to sound uncaring. Really I don't. BUT YOU'RE THE BLOODY PARENT! YOU SORT IT OUT!
6) "I've just been assaulted and it was totally unprovoked". Now, are you sure there's nothing more you want to tell me? Because you and I both know that when I check the CCTV you're going to be on there, front and centre, trying to pick a fight with anyone who'll give you the time of day.
7) "There's some blockage in the road". Well, I mean, thanks for letting us know. Because that's a road safety issue. And we like them. But in the time it's taken you to make this call you could have moved the bloody thing out of the way.
8) "My neighbour keeps staring at me". Playing Devil's advokate here, surely you must have been staring at them to notice them staring at you? Do you see where we're going here? Six of one......
9) "My husband is refusing to leave the house". That's because it's their house too. They live here. Look, there's his toothbrush next to the sink. I'm not allowed to chuck somebody out onto the street because they're in your bad books.
10) "I'm going to kill myself". I've been to lots of suicides. All of them tragic and all of them having left an imprint on me. Each of them was different but one thing they all had in common was that none of the people involved telephoned me first to let me know what they were going to do. However, now that you've said you're going to kill yourself the Police, courtesy of the tax payer, is going to spend thousands and thousands of pounds helping to give you some badly needed attention. If you need help, or just someone to talk to, then just ask for it. But whilst we're running around helping your feelings of self-worth we're not helping other people in genuine need.
Don't get me wrong. The main reason I joined the Police was, and still is, to help people. I like helping people. It makes me feel useful in a way that DIY just can't match.
And finally, if you do actually, genuinely, need us please don't liberally scatter the word "knife" around during your call to us just because you think we'll get there quicker. All that means is that the copper who does turn up will be suitably arsed off with you and you might not get the caring attitude you were hoping for.
Thursday, 3 May 2007
That'll Be My Fault, Then?
Have you ever tried to make a complaint about your electricity company? Or maybe about your bank or the service you've received at a shop? You know the thing.
1)You're not happy.
2)You phone them up.
3)They give you the run around.
4)You get angry and write a letter.
5)They lose the letter.
6)You phone them back and ask what happened to the letter.
7)You listen to "greensleeves" for 2 hours whilst queueing.
8)You get passed between 7 different departments before speaking to the right person.
9)They pretend you don't exist.
10)You prove you exist.
11)They pretend they don't exist.
12)You scream a lot.
13)They put the phone down on you for being rude.
And so it goes. Now, compare this to making a complaint against a Police officer.
1)You're not happy.
2)You phone them up.
3)Before you know it, Inspectors and Professional Standards Departments are elbowing each other out of the way to be the first to offer you the chance to put everything in writing so that a full investigation can take place.
4)A sack full of leaflets lands on your doorstep "advising" you how to have the matter referred to the Independant Police Complaints Commission.
5)They then start phoning you up to check you're OK.
6)You start to receive letters from Superintendants saying how sorry they are.
7)You start to feel harrassed.
8)An investigator from Professional Standards turns up at your house to take a statement.
9)A solicitor friend of a friend of yours suggests sueing the Police for your trauma.
10)The solicitor writes to the Chief Constable demanding compensation.
11)The Chief Constable writes to you apologising, enclosing a big cheque.
12)You tell your friends who realise they can pay for a new conservatory if they do the same thing.
Then compare that to the experience of the Police officer involved.
1)You stop somebody for driving without their seatbelt.
2)They get quite rude asking why you haven't got anything better to do.
3)You point out that you keep having to stop to deal with people who don't wear their seatbelts.
4)You issue them with a ticket.
5)The person points out that "I know the Chief Constable".
6)You give them a big smile and ask that they pass on your regards.
7)Five days later you get dragged into the Inspectors office and served with a notice that you're the subject of a complaint.
8)The complaint states that you were rude, abusive, overbearing, misusing your powers and acting unlawfully.
9)You point out to the Inspector that this isn't actually true.
10)The Inspector points out to you that you're on administrative duties until it's all sorted out.
11)An elderly lady gets burgled and there aren't any Police officers to provide an immediate response.
12)As the lady phoned the Police, you were busy counting paper clips to keep the public safe from you.
To be honest, some of the above is a bit extreme. But not that much. If we do something wrong then that should be addressed. But there's no regard given to the fact that we have to make split second decisions, often under immese pressure.
I've long since lost count of the times that somebody's told me, "I'm going to make a complaint!" In fact, my initial reaction now is, "yeah, you probably will".
The first complaint I ever received as a brand new shiney probationer was from somebody I'd arrested for shoplifting and possessing drugs. His complaint read, "the officer approached me and told me he was going to search me. I didn't want to be searched because I had drugs in my pocket. So I resisted. During the arrest I received a bruise to my arm and the zip on my coat was broken". I actually thought it was a joke until I remembered the Inspector giving me the notice didn't have a sense of humour. And it took nearly six months to resolve.
It does occur to me though, as Summer's approaching and I can't afford to go anywhere really nice, I wonder if I'm rude to myself and make a complaint about myself can I get the Chief Constable to pay for my ticket?
1)You're not happy.
2)You phone them up.
3)They give you the run around.
4)You get angry and write a letter.
5)They lose the letter.
6)You phone them back and ask what happened to the letter.
7)You listen to "greensleeves" for 2 hours whilst queueing.
8)You get passed between 7 different departments before speaking to the right person.
9)They pretend you don't exist.
10)You prove you exist.
11)They pretend they don't exist.
12)You scream a lot.
13)They put the phone down on you for being rude.
And so it goes. Now, compare this to making a complaint against a Police officer.
1)You're not happy.
2)You phone them up.
3)Before you know it, Inspectors and Professional Standards Departments are elbowing each other out of the way to be the first to offer you the chance to put everything in writing so that a full investigation can take place.
4)A sack full of leaflets lands on your doorstep "advising" you how to have the matter referred to the Independant Police Complaints Commission.
5)They then start phoning you up to check you're OK.
6)You start to receive letters from Superintendants saying how sorry they are.
7)You start to feel harrassed.
8)An investigator from Professional Standards turns up at your house to take a statement.
9)A solicitor friend of a friend of yours suggests sueing the Police for your trauma.
10)The solicitor writes to the Chief Constable demanding compensation.
11)The Chief Constable writes to you apologising, enclosing a big cheque.
12)You tell your friends who realise they can pay for a new conservatory if they do the same thing.
Then compare that to the experience of the Police officer involved.
1)You stop somebody for driving without their seatbelt.
2)They get quite rude asking why you haven't got anything better to do.
3)You point out that you keep having to stop to deal with people who don't wear their seatbelts.
4)You issue them with a ticket.
5)The person points out that "I know the Chief Constable".
6)You give them a big smile and ask that they pass on your regards.
7)Five days later you get dragged into the Inspectors office and served with a notice that you're the subject of a complaint.
8)The complaint states that you were rude, abusive, overbearing, misusing your powers and acting unlawfully.
9)You point out to the Inspector that this isn't actually true.
10)The Inspector points out to you that you're on administrative duties until it's all sorted out.
11)An elderly lady gets burgled and there aren't any Police officers to provide an immediate response.
12)As the lady phoned the Police, you were busy counting paper clips to keep the public safe from you.
To be honest, some of the above is a bit extreme. But not that much. If we do something wrong then that should be addressed. But there's no regard given to the fact that we have to make split second decisions, often under immese pressure.
I've long since lost count of the times that somebody's told me, "I'm going to make a complaint!" In fact, my initial reaction now is, "yeah, you probably will".
The first complaint I ever received as a brand new shiney probationer was from somebody I'd arrested for shoplifting and possessing drugs. His complaint read, "the officer approached me and told me he was going to search me. I didn't want to be searched because I had drugs in my pocket. So I resisted. During the arrest I received a bruise to my arm and the zip on my coat was broken". I actually thought it was a joke until I remembered the Inspector giving me the notice didn't have a sense of humour. And it took nearly six months to resolve.
It does occur to me though, as Summer's approaching and I can't afford to go anywhere really nice, I wonder if I'm rude to myself and make a complaint about myself can I get the Chief Constable to pay for my ticket?
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
What's That Flashing Blue Thing???
So, carrying on as if I'd never been away, I was on lates yesterday and it was a busy old shift. Probably the nice weather. Nothing too exciting, but enough jobs to keep me out of mischief.
As a Sergeant I'm supposed to stay in my office and monitor the jobs coming in and take an overview of what's happening. Unfortunately, I've got a really low boredom threshold so I normally last for about an hour or so before I've got to go out and get some fresh air. Besides, I think it's important for the officers on my team to know that I'm pitching in and it's important for me to supervise them at incidents, not just whilst they're filling out endless forms.
So anyway, yesterday. I'd popped out to a neighbour dispute on the patch next to ours because they didn't have anyone to go. All very routine. Two people, grown adults no less, who can't go more than ten minutes without arguing with each other and getting us involved. After I'd been there for about 20 minutes, giving everybody big hugs and cuddles, a job came in on our patch.
A woman had taken an overdose of medication and sliced both her wrists, then wandered off. She telephoned her boyfriend (who was about 300 miles away) to tell him what she'd done. He then phoned the Police and we were left trying to find her using the clues she'd given to him. Something about being near a bridge and some toilets. I'll probably go into the specific job more another time. (it involves me kneeling down in a lady's public toilet looking under the cubicle doors. I'm going to have to give it some decent thought to make sure I don't make myself sound like a little bit of a pervert).
Anyway, this job was obviously a higher priority than the one I was at. (I mean, honestly, he was cutting his hedge and some of the clippings fell into your garden. Get over it. Life's too short). So I let the control room know that I was attending to co-ordinate the search for her. But because I'd drifted over to the other patch I was now eight and a half miles away. With a town centre full of rush hour traffic between me and her last known position. Splendid!
You see, it's not really the done thing to admit to enjoying blue light runs. I'm supposed to be very reserved and say things like, "Well, it's part of the job. But not the sort of thing I like to talk about." Well sod that! Confession time, I love blue light runs. I didn't join the Police just to drive on blue lights, but now I'm here I don't mind admitting that I rather enjoy it. It's probably not supposed to be exciting, but I'm afraid that it is.
And one of the things that makes it exciting (and the reason you have to concentrate so hard) is the way that other drivers are so unpredictable. In this one blue light run yesterday, I had people swerving up onto footpaths to get out of my way; drivers slamming their brakes on and leaving their cars sitting across two lanes; old dears who happily pottered on at 20 miles per hour not realising that there's a shiney white car behind them with blue strobe lights, flashing headlights and making a weird "nee naw" sound. I had at least two cars who helpfully decided to turn right as I approached from behind them and another who didn't realise I was behind him for about 400 yards, even with every oncoming car flashing him like mad. I sometimes wonder how much the UK economy would save if car manufacturers didn't bother paying to put mirrors on cars. I mean, from what I've seen it's a complete waste of time and money.
I set off two speed cameras and a red light camera, so I can look forward to receiving a Notice of Intended Prosecution through the internal mail in a few weeks and having to spend an hour or so putting the reports together for them all as to why I shouldn't be prosecuted.
I had two of our local numpties shout "wanker" at me as I passed them (which reminds me, I've got to go and see them when I go to work later and give them an £80 ticket each) and loads of little kiddies waving at me. In fact, whenever I've got a passenger their main job is waving back at small children. Cos we're nice like that.
And in the end, between my team, some of the community bobbies, a dog handler, the force helicoptor and a rather marvellous lady who phoned us when she saw the woman with the sliced wrists, we found her and got her to hospital before she was too seriously ill.
It was my first proper day back at work for over a fortnight (been on a course and at Crown Court) and it was all rather wonderful. Looking forward to today's shift actually. Which, unfortunately, starts in half an hour. And I'm sitting writing this wearing only a towel. Best be off then...
As a Sergeant I'm supposed to stay in my office and monitor the jobs coming in and take an overview of what's happening. Unfortunately, I've got a really low boredom threshold so I normally last for about an hour or so before I've got to go out and get some fresh air. Besides, I think it's important for the officers on my team to know that I'm pitching in and it's important for me to supervise them at incidents, not just whilst they're filling out endless forms.
So anyway, yesterday. I'd popped out to a neighbour dispute on the patch next to ours because they didn't have anyone to go. All very routine. Two people, grown adults no less, who can't go more than ten minutes without arguing with each other and getting us involved. After I'd been there for about 20 minutes, giving everybody big hugs and cuddles, a job came in on our patch.
A woman had taken an overdose of medication and sliced both her wrists, then wandered off. She telephoned her boyfriend (who was about 300 miles away) to tell him what she'd done. He then phoned the Police and we were left trying to find her using the clues she'd given to him. Something about being near a bridge and some toilets. I'll probably go into the specific job more another time. (it involves me kneeling down in a lady's public toilet looking under the cubicle doors. I'm going to have to give it some decent thought to make sure I don't make myself sound like a little bit of a pervert).
Anyway, this job was obviously a higher priority than the one I was at. (I mean, honestly, he was cutting his hedge and some of the clippings fell into your garden. Get over it. Life's too short). So I let the control room know that I was attending to co-ordinate the search for her. But because I'd drifted over to the other patch I was now eight and a half miles away. With a town centre full of rush hour traffic between me and her last known position. Splendid!
You see, it's not really the done thing to admit to enjoying blue light runs. I'm supposed to be very reserved and say things like, "Well, it's part of the job. But not the sort of thing I like to talk about." Well sod that! Confession time, I love blue light runs. I didn't join the Police just to drive on blue lights, but now I'm here I don't mind admitting that I rather enjoy it. It's probably not supposed to be exciting, but I'm afraid that it is.
And one of the things that makes it exciting (and the reason you have to concentrate so hard) is the way that other drivers are so unpredictable. In this one blue light run yesterday, I had people swerving up onto footpaths to get out of my way; drivers slamming their brakes on and leaving their cars sitting across two lanes; old dears who happily pottered on at 20 miles per hour not realising that there's a shiney white car behind them with blue strobe lights, flashing headlights and making a weird "nee naw" sound. I had at least two cars who helpfully decided to turn right as I approached from behind them and another who didn't realise I was behind him for about 400 yards, even with every oncoming car flashing him like mad. I sometimes wonder how much the UK economy would save if car manufacturers didn't bother paying to put mirrors on cars. I mean, from what I've seen it's a complete waste of time and money.
I set off two speed cameras and a red light camera, so I can look forward to receiving a Notice of Intended Prosecution through the internal mail in a few weeks and having to spend an hour or so putting the reports together for them all as to why I shouldn't be prosecuted.
I had two of our local numpties shout "wanker" at me as I passed them (which reminds me, I've got to go and see them when I go to work later and give them an £80 ticket each) and loads of little kiddies waving at me. In fact, whenever I've got a passenger their main job is waving back at small children. Cos we're nice like that.
And in the end, between my team, some of the community bobbies, a dog handler, the force helicoptor and a rather marvellous lady who phoned us when she saw the woman with the sliced wrists, we found her and got her to hospital before she was too seriously ill.
It was my first proper day back at work for over a fortnight (been on a course and at Crown Court) and it was all rather wonderful. Looking forward to today's shift actually. Which, unfortunately, starts in half an hour. And I'm sitting writing this wearing only a towel. Best be off then...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
