Ralph's World

While I was watching TV one evening.

So were Ralph’s neighbours.

Ralph doesn’t like anything electrical, so he doesn’t have a TV in his council flat. Not that he needs one. He has a bigger cast of characters in his head than Weatherfield and Walford combined. Sometimes Ralph gets upset when others try to talk to him through his walls. Then he is more prone to listen to one of his more mischievous characters.

The one that tells him to take a shovel to his neighbour’s windows.

While I was channel hopping, eight of my colleagues were discussing their options. Most had dealt with Ralph before and knew that the contents of their belt kits were slightly worse than useless. Little metal sticks tend to annoy him and the best use for a can of incapacitant spray is to throw it at him and hope for a lucky shot. No-one could remember if a stun gun had worked in the past, so one was called for.

Before anyone could test the theory, another of Ralph’s characters took over. The one that transports him to a calm, peaceful planet with trees and birdsong in abundance. Probably Chipping Neptune, I’ve heard it’s nice there. A swift and painless arrest followed.

Ralph is one of those who is firmly in the trick cyclist’s ‘too difficult’ box and has been labelled ‘untreatable’ by them. In other words, he’s our problem not theirs.

While I was tucked up in bed reading a tale of derring-do.

Ralph was refusing to come out of his cell to be interviewed, much to the relief of the interviewing officers.

While I was satisfying the call of my prostate in the early hours.

Ralph was being charged through the wicket of his cell door.

While I was minding my own business in custody the following morning, the court van arrived.

“Brian, go and get Ralph out to go to court.”

Gulp. I’m not sure who was more nervous, me or the private security man who was going to have Ralph chained to his wrist very shortly. I knocked politely on the door of his ensuite before speaking to him through the wicket.

“Mr Ralph, the very nice people are here to take you on a day trip.”

“**** *** you ******* ****, can’t you see I’m ******* sleeping?”

“He said ‘no’ sarge. Can we leave him for late-turn?”

The private security man thought this was a good idea too. His nervous tic had gone. Unfortunately we were outranked and I was despatched to put Plan B into action.

Returning a few minutes later with a tight-head prop and a second row colossus, I bravely opened the cell door. In time to witness Ralph doing his morning yoga routine. Which involved head-high kicks and some vicious looking shadow chopping. The nervous tic was catching. I closed the door again.

“He still says ‘no’ sarge.”

Plan C was hatched. I was a big fan of Plan C. It involved a phone call and a forty five minute wait for a van load of specialists. More importantly, I wouldn’t be able to help them. The security man was in the Plan C fan club too; he wouldn’t be able to wait.

I briefed the specialists when they arrived, including a risk assessment obviously. This part took a while. I then made sure I wasn’t going to get in anyone’s way and busied myself at a safe distance. After a couple of minutes of quiet discussion, a docile Ralph came out of his cell. Clearly he was back in Chipping Neptune.

With Ralph safely on his way to court with a van load of slightly bemused specialists, I made a mental note to pay a welfare visit on his neighbours.

To ask them to turn their TV down in future.