I have been inundated.
By an e-mail.
It seems that the various satellite channels full of reality Police programmes aren’t enough for everyone. Well, at least not for an apparent insomniac from Tonbridge Wells anyway. He would like nothing better than to read about the thrills and spills of modern day policing to help him get off at night.
Even in my pre-gardening days I tend not to write about specific events in a journal style. Any particular incidents I mentioned were usually very old and had some details altered to protect the guilty. Likewise, any minor involvement I’ve had in headline making stories or dealings with ‘celebs’ I steer clear of writing about. Those are saved for leaving dos, and always get better the later into the night it gets.
Of course, as any officer will know, not everything we do is in the slightest bit interesting. That goes for about ninety five percent of the incidents I deal with. Of the remainder, a lot is identifiable and/or sub judice, therefore unblogable.
However, to try and stop the tossing and turning going on in Tonbridge Wells, I decided to make a note of the events of one shift:-
The Secret Diary of Brian, Aged 54⅞.
February 30th 2006
It’s a night shift and I’ve had to take drastic measures in the pursuit of appeasing a restless Kent resident. In normal circumstances I would be lucky to get one or two calls in before ending up at a disturbance on private premises call that kept me busy for the rest of the night. Fortunately, we’re pretty flush with officers and are putting a crime car out. It’s not something I’d normally volunteer for as it means working in plain clothes. Personally, I prefer to wear uniform just in case someone decides to bleed/spit/vomit/urinate/defecate/ejaculate/all of the above on me.
In a stroke of good planning; my partner for the night is also experienced, meaning I don’t have to drive. It’s slightly risky tactic though as not driving more than doubles my chances of having to run. As a driver you soon learn the value of using the power of an internal combustion engine in a foot pursuit.
Onto the first call of the night then; it can be best summed up as alcohol, angry words, weapons and blood. A busy street and twenty upstanding members of the public there before us, none of whom had seen a thing of course. That would be too simple. The victim (loser of the fight he probably started) spent most of his time trying to refuse treatment and speaking on his mobile in a language I didn’t understand. When he finally deigned to speak to me he had completely forgotten what had just happened and didn’t want to trouble us any further. He wasn’t quite that polite about it though. After eventually persuading him to give me his details he told me, in heavily accented English, he was ‘John Smith’ of no fixed abode. Now, I’m no detective, but I suspect this might be another violent crime statistic that we aren’t going to get a tick in the detection box for.
Cured your insomnia yet? Don’t worry, there’s more.
I’ll bet you can’t wait.
(…to be continued…)