Pretty Woman

A recent announcement has added to my confusion.

It seems the government have given up their ‘if in doubt, legalise it’ approach to policy making, at least for the moment anyway. It’s fitting that this change of heart was announced by an MP by the name of (Mac)Taggart. Ms Mactaggart let slip in several unguarded moments during an interview with a national newspaper that the government plans to launch a crackdown on street prostitution and kerb crawling next month. It’s official: Huggy Bears days are numbered.

Drawing on her experience, aided by an education in the gritty halls of Cheltenham Ladies College, Taggart is taking the fight to the drug dealers, kerb crawlers and abusers on the mean streets of the country. All of the Richard Gere types out late night cruising for a date face having their driving licences confiscated and being named and shamed in the local press.

I’m not quite sure how this last one will gel with Article 8 of the Human Rights Act or meet the ‘proportionality’ test, bearing in mind that a large number of kerb crawlers have partners and children who could face being unfairly punished by the sins of the father. Still, I’m prepared to bow to Taggart’s superior knowledge in this area, considering she was the Chair of Liberty prior to joining The Big T and his crew in Westminster. That’s the Liberty who aim to ‘oppose any abuse or excessive power by the state against its people’ and who want ‘to protect and promote civil liberties and human rights’. Not the fabric shop.

I didn’t quite understand her desire for police to use our power to confiscate driving licences more though. That’s something only a court can do, not us. I’ll put this one down to her being new to the job. I wasn’t clear on the idea of the police setting up safe houses for the soon to be redundant prostitutes either. I can’t see Mr and Mrs Smith being too pleased that I won’t be able to sort out their little tiff because I’m on cathouse sentry duty for the night.

With a distinct lack of reality TV shows and natural disasters to cover this week, the press had their say on the subject. The country’s second most popular newspaper did its best. Asking the government to listen to plans to set up licensed areas; like the ‘tolerance zone’ that operated in Edinburgh for a few years maybe? After all it is true that the numbers of street prostitutes decreased by two thirds in the area. Once it was closed down that is.

This could be why other British cities have rejected the idea too. Still, it works in Amsterdam so it must be able to work here then? Well stonings, decapitations and lethal injections work in other countries too. Maybe the editorial comments will be clamouring for these next? I can’t see them sneaking these ones past Liberty though. They just don’t have the same contacts as Taggart.

So, it looks like we’re in for a clampdown in the New Year. Great, I love a good clampdown.

There’s always a big overtime budget.

Smoke & Mirrors

I’ve been getting confused lately.

It’s not that I’m in the early stages of Alzheimer’s; at least I don’t think so. I’d probably be the last to know anyway. No, my confusion has been caused by a number of recent ‘new policies’. Which is odd as I’m normally such a big fan of pointless alterations to my working practices. They give me reason to feel alive.

Mild confusion was caused by a secret that my bosses were keeping to themselves. Now, I understand that it’s not practical for them to tell me the ins and outs of everything they’re up to. As a Throbbing Metropolis veteran I can fully appreciate the ‘need to know’ principle. Besides, we usually find everything out via the rumour network which then prompts an official announcement that nobody believes as all of the juicy bits have been left out.

This secret really needed to have the official announcement a little earlier than four days before it becomes law. Seeing as it kinda affects some important things. Like our powers of arrest. Fortunately the rumour network had been in overdrive and we were already aware of what was going on. In a nutshell: I’ll have to write an extra sentence for every person I deem too naughty to remain at large. It’s not my time, stationery or ink I’ll be wasting so I don’t have a big problem with this.

I’d like to take this opportunity to assure Guardian readers that it won’t enable me to arrest more people than is necessary. Daily Mail readers can also sleep easier in the knowledge that it won’t mean I’ll be arresting any less. It’s just a sentence. Unfortunately, the author of this piece of legislation has spent a little too long in their own very important world and forgot to address other factors relating to an arrest properly. I’m pretty certain there was an “Oh ****” moment or two when the first officer still regularly exercising their powers of arrest pointed these out.

Still, I’m sure they meant well.

I was further befuddled when Chuckie C and The Big T visited Chavland Central recently. Never being able to pass up an opportunity to announce a ‘new’ policy; The Big T wheeled out his Lifebuoy crate and told the world how he was going to make it easier for us to take money from the mouths of drug dealers. By lowering the ‘money laundering’ threshold from five grand to one, we’d be able to seize more cash. Hurrah.

The only trouble with this ‘new’ policy is that it …err… isn’t. Yes, it’s a change for this particular offence. But, as we can use another piece of legislation to seize any amount of cash or property in the same circumstances, I can’t see it making any difference whatsoever to us or the drug dealers. I suppose we can’t really expect these two to know every obscure piece of law. Nor should we point the finger at their respective teams of advisers, think tanks, policy experts or Cherie for failing to spot it either.

No, not even if it is a law that was passed by The Big T and his crew very recently. Or, indeed, if it were to be contained within the same act he was ‘changing’. As this one is.

Still, I’m sure he meant well.

I blame the Alzheimers.

A Bit Less Warm And Fuzzy

What you missed: A Christmas message from one of many emergency workers not at home with their loved ones.

Unreserved apologies to: The LFB and the LAS.

Warm And Fuzzy

What you missed: A brief synopsis of some Christmas messages laden with statistics.

Unreserved apologies to: Anyone offended by my comments.

Age Concern

“Policemen are getting younger every day”

If it only it were true.

There is a point, somewhere, when you realise that you are perhaps not the spring chicken you once were: a watershed moment if you like. There are lots of small hints along the way when you shake your head and have a little smile to yourself; or a grimace.

Some of those clues may include:-

Realising that no-one asks you to make the tea any more and you get yours served. Not a bad thing you might say. But, these youngsters just have no idea how to make a proper cup of tea. What happened to warming the pot first?

Arresting people who are young enough to call me ‘Sir’ or, at least, ‘Mister’. Although those aren’t normally the first words they utter. From mouths that could do with a good wash out with some soap.

Working with someone who is young enough to be your offspring is a common one these days. Again not an unpleasant experience as they’re normally very keen and know the appropriate point to get their pens out. They can also make up for your skill gaps. Like running and climbing for example.

They do have their downsides though like constantly pointing out attractive young ladies they notice. Young ladies who would probably address me as ‘Sir’ or ‘Mister’ if I were ever to meet them in a discotheque.

They also talk incessantly at meal times about TV programmes you’d never dream of watching, Z-List celebrities you’ve never heard of or the latest fashion that always seems to be cheekily revealing and piercingly painful. Occasionally, enough mature officers are present to counter this and reminisce about the golden years of Miami Vice, Don Johnson and white suits with a single ear-ring and no socks. Even then age cruelly takes its toll as none of us can ever remember the name of Crockett’s alligator.

Sadly, all of these sort of creep up on you and before you know it you’re planning your retirement to warmer climes or to that idyllic little country pub. You’ll know the time is right to get the deposit down on your preferred option when other small indicators start appearing. Like:-

Your Inspector is young enough to be your offspring or,

You’re arresting people the same age as your grandchildren or,

You find yourself calling everyone ‘sonny’.

However, there are more direct ways to reach that watershed moment. Single events that cause you to start counting the pay days left until you can finally hang your helmet up.

For instance you could find yourself dealing with one of the raucous gentlemen who feel the need to sit around in public drowning themselves with cheap cider. One who has become so merry that he has temporarily lost the use of his legs, his bladder has inexplicably emptied into his trousers and his dinner has passed through his oesophagus in both directions. While waiting for the ambulance to come and kidnap him, you may manage to coax some details out. Like his date of birth.

The day you find yourself sweeping a wino up who was born sometime after you were, counts as a watershed moment.

I’ve started counting pay days.

Bargain Hunting

What you missed: Some Christmas gift ideas.

Unreserved apologies to: Anyone who couldn't get their hands on them.

The Polite & Orderly Act

Granny Brian (RIP) was never a navvy.

Consequently the conversations I had with her didn’t use the language found in most of today’s urban music. In fact we even had to stop discussing Cliff Richard after he sang about satisfying his Living Doll. Yet our weekly knit-a-thons were never conducted in silence.

To the soothing muzak of clacking needles and The Archers we managed to talk about all manner of things without the need to raise our voices, blaspheme or mention slapping our bitches up. Even when the topics being discussed were of a controversial nature; like the rough boys she sometimes saw in the village or the courting young maiden next door who was obviously in turmoil over which of her many suitors was the right one to take her up the aisle.

Almost twenty years ago the policy makers of the day saw fit to protect Granny Brian from having to witness anything stronger than a “blimey” whilst out visiting the local greengrocer when they passed the Public Order Act. I’m not sure this legislation was meant to prevent Ian and Adam from having a snog on Radio 4, which would not have been welcome in Granny Brian’s parlour. But, it should assist us in dealing with the rough boys on the village green.

We never did get to chat about the gradual breakdown of the nuclear family unit and the decreasing respect for anything remotely resembling authority. She popped her clogs around the same time we started reading the opinions of men in white vans in national newspapers being touted as representative of the populist view. I don’t think she would have agreed with most of them.

If Granny Brian had had a column in a tabloid I feel sure she wouldn’t have blamed the government, the teachers, the Police, video games, satellite TV, violent films or Snoop Dogg. No, it would have been a very short article. She would have blamed it on swearing and the parents.

The Public Order Act does not permit us to do anything about parenting skills. It does give us the power to address Granny Brian’s other concern though. Now, I’ll have to fess up here. I know one or two rude words and I’ve been known to utter them on occasion. They’re usually confined to occasions when I strike my digits with blunt objects, watching the TV news or when people ask me stupid questions. Don’t tell Granny though.

Included among the list of people I wouldn’t swear at/in front of are teachers, grannies and people I’ve never met before. Unless they’re the ones asking me stupid questions, I wouldn’t swear at Police officers either. I think I’m in the minority though.

Well I must be for I’m often subjected to crude language whilst at work. Some of it is even quite spiteful. I find myself routinely having to ask people I’ve only just met to refrain from using it. In the majority of cases it has a very calming effect as they then have to think about what they want to say, which usually means they stop shouting. I would recommend any new officer trying it out.

Of course you do get the odd person who has a hearing malfunction. In which case your recollection of the relevant section(s) of the act will be tested and you may need to issue a warning. Don’t delay; they need to understand they’ve reached the limit. Sometimes they can’t overcome their defective listening skills and then exceed the limit.

At this point you’ll need to make Granny Brian proud of you.

Nick the ****.

FAQ

Following many years of investigation.

The case is finally closed and I’m now ready to publish the definitive answers to those burning questions about policing. The ones that have kept many people awake at night, not least of all me. So if there has been something Police related you’ve always wondered about then read on, the answer is bound to be here.

Why do Police officers eat doughnuts?

In a nutshell: Low blood sugar. Like most shift workers we suffer from this as our meal times are flexible and sometimes non-existent. It is not unusual to have only one proper meal every 24 hours. As a consequence feeling weak, tired and light headed is common place. Doughnuts contain all the correct nutrients to cure this problem. That and they taste really good; plus we get a discount at Krispy Kreme.

Why do Traffic officers have moustaches?

In days gone by I would have said it was so that they resembled their hero Nigel Mansell. In the modern Police Service this is an unacceptable reason as we wouldn’t want our top drivers believing they were about to out-brake Ayrton Senna through Paddock every time they switched the siren on. Besides, Nigel has shaved his off now.

No, there is a much simpler explanation. It’s a matter of respect. If you spend your life discussing, with like minded people, the difference between brake and engine traction control systems and how the yaw rates and lateral offsets can vary; then you need to have a moustache to establish your credibility. A tank top would help too, but we haven’t started issuing them yet. Sorry guys.

Why do detectives wear ‘zany’ ties?

Because they can. It’s as simple as that. The standard Throbbing issue tie is plain black. However, only officers who wear uniforms get to wear those. When you get ‘promoted’ to detective you need to emphasise that you are no longer a mere wooden top. So, along with all thoughts of ever going out on the streets again, the black tie is discarded.

Some other answers to this question were considered. Like being colour blind, making up for a lack of personality, to divert attention from the cheap suit, to brighten up endless days spent in front of a computer or because Jack Regan wore some shockers. But they were all ruled out.

Why do armed officers swagger?

Because it’s difficult to walk normally with an extra penis strapped on.

Why do female officers all resemble Jennifer Lopez?

Sorry fellas I’m not referring to frontal views or musical and thespian attributes here. No, I mean they all look like her from ..err.. a certain angle. Contrary to popular belief it’s not because they always get to the doughnut box first. Nor is it due to genetic heritage or any thyroid inactivity; despite what they may say.

It’s much more straightforward than all that. It’s because the Throbbing uniform makers are all big J-Lo fans. Either that or they haven’t yet realised that female officers wear the trousers now.

Why do all new male officers resemble Tom Cruise?

Sorry to get your hopes up here ladies, it’s not what you think.

It’s just because we don’t have a height restriction anymore.

Quality Street Officers

I’m sure the Hendon recruitment people do their best.

To sort the wheat from the chaff of the many thousands who apply to join our merry band. Fortunately they get a mixture of personalities, you wouldn’t want thirty thousand robots would you? There’s obviously a mixture of abilities too, but we’re doing our best to make sure no-one has to think too much for themselves. So that isn’t much of an issue anymore. We now have a procedure for nearly everything and I’m just waiting for the day when a sign with a diagram on it appears above each urinal. It won’t be long.

As someone really clever once said :-

“Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.”

I may not know exactly what we’ll be getting from training school; but I can almost guarantee they’ll fall into one of these selections:-

Strawberry Dreams- Now, you know when you find yourself scratching your head thinking “What the blazes is this person doing in the Police?” Well the chances are you’ve encountered a Strawberry Dream. Whether it was the lure of the polyester/cotton mix uniform or the promise of a policy maker’s position in their first six months, I don’t know. Usually extremely pleasant with no nasty aftertaste; yet somehow not quite on the same page as everyone else. They’re always the first to go.

Toffee Pennies- Some like these, some don’t. Not as smoothly made as other selections and are a bit rough round the edges. They’re the least pretentious and most natural of the selection and are not hiding anything within; what you see is what you get. Very likely to have recently left the armed services. Longest lasting of the selection by far.

Noisette Triangles- These always catch the eye. With their shiny silver foil and unusual shape they are the most popular among the discerning connoisseurs within our management. Although they’re not sure what the substance is. Can often be found going from one plum job to another with no-one able to quite work out what it’s doing there. But it looks good so it must be good.

Milk Chocolate Hazelnuts- These have a very thin outer layer that hides a shock underneath. An unexpectedly hard centre that can cause damage to the unwary and are best treated with care by all those who come into contact. Always very popular with the IPCC.

Caramel Cups- The total opposite to the hardcore Hazelnuts. They’re by far the most pleasing to the palette and never likely to offend anyone. They can usually get away with just being pleasant for long periods of time. That is, until they come up against some hard nuts. Then they melt into an office somewhere.

Hazelnuts in Caramel- A combination of the previous two selections. They have three distinct layers with a soft texture to warn of the hard centre to come. With all of the right qualities, they’re always a favourite of colleagues and sergeants.

Orange Chocolate Crunches- These are always the ones left behind in the box when everyone else has long gone. They look like the rest of the selections. They desperately want to be as well thought of as the others too. They just never quite make it out of the box first. Or at all.

Still, they keep the sign makers busy.

Reverting To Type

As a Police Officer I have certain rights.

Chief among these is the right to whinge. I feel a really good whinge coming on. So, if you’re of a nervous disposition please stop reading now. This is a standard disclaimer; if you choose to ignore it please don’t tell me. Tell someone who cares. Okay?

There is a very short list of things that give me the hump. Jobsworths have to be in the number one spot. But there is a close second: people who cannot make a decision. I know you may find it hard to believe, but occasionally one or two slip through the net and make it into the modern Police service. They are the current bane of my life.

If this applies to you, listen up for a minute or two.

You’re an adult so I’m just guessing that your mum didn’t dress you this morning. Your choice of underwear for today was completely down to you. Well done, that sounds like a decision to me.

You managed to find your way into work. There must have been a decision or two involved in that. Again, congratulations.

Now we hit a snag. You see, I too have coped with the daily boxer shorts versus skimpy leopard-print thong debate as well as remembering the route to my place of employment. This is only good news for one of us, and that isn’t me. Seeing as my presence has completely absolved you of any more decision making for the rest of the working day.

My diary does not say:-

1000 Hrs- Cure Cancer

1030 Hrs- Launch manned mission to Pluto

1100 Hrs- Break for elevenses

No, like you, my diary is blank. This can only mean one thing:-

Another day of standard police work involving dealing with stuff I’ve dealt with before.

Yes, I understand that I may have been dealing with this ‘stuff’ a little bit longer than you. This is why your diary doesn’t say that you’re heading a murder enquiry team today. Yes, there is a greater chance you may come across something that you haven’t done in the past; in which case you are allowed to contact me.

BUT if you haven’t:-

1. Decided right from wrong

and

2. Gone as far as you can before phoning me

I reserve the right to swear at you. Although I’m familiar with an awful lot of swear words, you’ve been forcing me to search the internet for some new ones. The short pause before me launching into a long list of expletives was caused by my mouth hanging open in response to your very stupid question. A question I know you know the answer to.

You don’t always wait for us to get out of the station before you want me to play mother. You aren’t allowed to drive police cars yet, I can’t think why, so this makes the probability of you having to walk to be somewhere around ‘dead cert’. This means you will require the larger of your two hats. So why ask me every day which one you’ll be needing? I understand this is going to increase the likelihood of messing your hair gel up. I also understand that you believe by wearing a big hat the chicks won’t ‘dig’ you. I even understand that none of the trendy TV cops wear big hats.

Get over it and stop whingeing.

That’s my job.

Jeremy's Wet Dream

You really are an inquisitive lot.

Questions, questions wherever I go.

Normally I’m able to answer very succinctly and without much beating around the bush. Popular responses include:-

“Five past three.”

“Down the end of the road and turn left.”

“Because I said so.”

I think you’ll agree that these seem pretty straightforward. Occasionally, I have follow-up questions to field for the hard of hearing or hard of understanding; in most cases repetition seems to work. Now, I know the original questions may not have been too taxing and well within my capabilities to answer. So, what do I do when I get a toughie?

You’d be surprised at some of the enquiries we get, sometimes it seems as if you’ve kept those burning questions to yourself until the day you bump into me. Many times I’ve had to double-check my uniform to see if there’s been a ‘Sponsored By Google’ patch sewn on without my knowledge. Fortunately, I can usually phone a friend for any police-type questions I don’t know the answers to; or point you towards the right people for an almost-police-type question. Theoretical physics queries are referred to Stephen Hawkings, whose number I have on speed-dial.

The enquiring among you will be pleased to hear that I won’t be seeking promotion in the near future. So I won’t be needing a place on the popular obfuscation course which is a requirement of any Police officer climbing the career ladder. Every step brings a more advanced course, with Bramshill teaching the PhD level.

This is the only way I can explain a strange policing phenomenon. With each rank, the words used are doubled in response to any question. At the same time the prospect of actually getting an answer halves. In the Throbbing Metropolis structure there are ten ranks above me (not counting PSCO’s). So, that’s a lot of words and precious few answers.

Ever since we entered the world of sound-bite management, abstruse is the new buzzword.

Not everyone is ‘on message’ though. We have a dissenter in the ranks. As a member of the Throbbing Metropolis management board you would have thought that Mr Tiplady would know better. Especially when you consider that as our HR director he should be King of the Buzzwords.

But alas, Mr T regularly displays an old fashioned style in his monthly intranet question and answer session. A quick tally shows that ninety percent of his responses are shorter than the original question. Single word replies have been spotted too. Even stranger is the fact that he answers the questions asked of him. Wow.

Of course there has to be a simple explanation as to why the current Personnel Director of the year chooses to act in this manner. There is; he’s not a policeman so he hasn’t had the courses. Best he sends himself up to Bramshill to straighten this out before the BBC get wind and ask him for an interview.

Paxman would be lost for words.

Mind That Statistician

If you want to give the government something to count.

Then a membership card to either of the last two groups of driver is a good way to go about it. Although I’m guessing that you probably wouldn’t set out to add to this particular list. Seeing as it involves a high degree of pain, or death.

The Yoof- These can often be found wrapped around various pieces of immovable roadside furniture. After passing their driving test they soon find that insurance companies aren’t too keen on covering them. Three grand for basic cover on an old banger anyone? Surprisingly not many Yoofs take them up on this. So it’s into mummy or daddy’s car which is a lot more fun than sitting next to an examiner who can press the brake. Experientia docet is not in their vocabulary.

Driving for a fortnight on their own makes them much more highly skilled than any other driver on the road. After all they have been playing driving video games for years. Disproportionate Killed or Seriously Injured figures say otherwise. Still, they give us the chance to practice our Death-o-gram skills. Recommended action usually involves calling all three emergency services and an undertaker.

The Tipsy- These like roadside furniture as well. They get themselves involved in one sixth of the KSI stats too. Not for them the night bus, a Hackney Carriage or one of the thousands of Throbbing Metropolis mini-cabs. Why bother with all that when they have a perfectly good car parked in the pub car park? Obviously they can drive; a drink or two doesn’t affect them.

So, when I see a car being driven at 29 miles an hour at half eleven at night I’d never be able to spot that they were over the limit. I’d never notice the uneven line, the clipping of kerbs, the braking for no reason nor the late reaction to hazards. As entertaining as it is to follow you and laugh, I feel I should really do something about it.

Why is it then, that when they can hardly stand up, they’ve only ever had two beers? Even when my little box says otherwise? Then we get them back to the station and they blow triple figures I realise they weren’t lying. It was just the two beers. Two gallons. Recommended course of action is to explain how they will need to find out which bus will be taking them to work for the next year.

I don’t think there has been too much dissent about the laws that have been introduced to try and cut the statistics for these two. I have heard and read the odd dissenting comments about other policies though. Even safety cameras get a mention from time to time. Strange that; when inappropriate speed keeps the KSI statisticians in business far too frequently. It’s also strange to discover how long this debate has been raging.

“It is often tragic to see how blatantly a man bungles his own life and the lives of others, yet remains totally incapable of seeing how much the whole tragedy originates in himself, and how he continually feeds it and keeps it going.”

As Carl Jung (1875-1961) once said.

Mind That Driver

Some time ago Carl Jung identified several categories of people.

I’m sure he spent a lot of time researching and studying the human psyche to come up with his theory. It’s still a must read for the psychology under graduate today, although I haven’t bothered reading the whole tome as there are far too many big words for me.

You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve been doing a very similar study too. Not of humankind as whole you understand, just the parts of it I regularly come into contact with. The phone lines have now closed, the results are in and the first of my theories is ready for publication:-

Brian’s Driver Types Theory©

Foreword: I would like to thank the many hundreds of drivers who have unwittingly taken part in this research. There are far too many to name individually, but I’m sure you’ll all be able to identify yourself from the types listed below.

The Nervous Nelly- These can be identified by their inability to pull out into any sort of major road from a junction, preferring to wait until the rush hour is over. They find right turns slightly more difficult than solving a Rubik’s Cube, blindfolded. They are often found at the head of inexplicable queues of traffic. When stopped, a word or two of encouragement is the recommended course of action.

The Vicar- These are the drivers we thought were hardened criminals and weren’t. Sometimes our nasal radar has an off day and we get it wrong. Sorry about that. Still, at least it gives you something to say at your next sermon/dinner party or in an outraged letter to a broadsheet. Recommended action is a polite thank-you for their time.

The Bemused- These are on the increase and can be identified by their inability to notice a fully marked Police vehicle following them for two miles, coupled with a confused expression when they finally stop. Often their first words are “I’ll have to call you back”. The recommended course of action with this type is dependent on their score in the attitude test.

The Bus Driver- These appear in a variety of guises. Most either carry fare paying passengers or are driving a four by four. They consider the use of indicator bulbs to be an unnecessary waste of the planet’s resources. Kamikaze U-turns and braking are oft practiced manoeuvres; millimetres are very important to them. 99.9% are male. 99.8% of them will have points on their licences from previous ‘fit-ups’. Recommended action is reliant upon the number of vehicles involved in the crash they’ve caused.

The Professional- Their years of experience behind the wheel of a company car or white van make them completely exempt from any of our current traffic laws. Expect to hear a much rehearsed tale of urgent medical supplies/imminent bodily function and or a dying granny. Recommended action involves the maximum amount of checks. Words of advice are of no use, you might as well talk to the exhaust.

The Martian- Easily identified by their refusal to listen to our interpretation of the relevant parts of the Road Traffic Act. They usually tell us why they believe they have been stopped. Several times. Expect to be called Anti-Martian. Several times. Recommended course of action is to attempt to get a word in edgeways.

The Chav- These come in all shapes, sizes, cars and colours of baseball caps. Unlikely to be fully au-fait with the provenance of the vehicle they’re driving. They may know the details of a close relative who possesses one or more driving documents. Very likely to say “Just give me a producer, innit”. Recommended course of action involves a pen.

Sartorial words of advice are optional.

(…to be continued…)