b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » The Emergency Services » Page 3 | Search
This is a question The Emergency Services

Tell us your tales of the police, ambulance workers, firefighters, and - dammit - the coastguard

(, Thu 16 May 2013, 11:33)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Exactly 12 years ago
Thinking about it, it was probably 11 years ago. I remember because it was near the mother-in-laws birthday and she's 61 now, and she was 54 at the time. We got her a little baby dingo for her birthday, cute little fella til it fell out the back of the forby ute and got scoffed by an angry roo. There's nothing cute about half a baby dingo.

We were 50k's south of Woop Woop and the Sheila was getting aggro coz she'd got us lost. Don't rattle your dags I told her as we roamed around like a lost sheep. The whippersnippers in the back were getting as bent as a scrub tick, so we made them sit on the roo bars til they were all wool and a yard wide. Then the wife hit a rock and jiggered the forby ute. We'll I was as happy as a bastard on Father's Day. I tried pushing the forby ute but was soon clagged out and wheezing like your mum on kookaburra. Time to call for help.

I found the phone and picked it up, then dialled the numbers. First I dialled the first number, then I followed the first number with the second number. Then, after dialling the first number and following the first number with the second number, I dialled the third number. I remember thinking at the time that I wished all those people at work who said I couldn't train a choko vine over a country dunny could see me here remembering all these numbers and in the right order, but that made me lose track of where I was. So I pressed the end call button and dialled the first number, then followed that with the second number, then third and so on, and so on and so on until I dialled all the numbers one after the other. "Hurro!" said the man who had answered the phone at the other end of the line. "Hello" I said back to the man who'd answered the phone, "Is this the police?" I asked. "No this Chang's Laundry wha' you wan" said the policeman. Then the wife wrestled the phone from me. I tried to stop her but she could kick the arse off an emu when she's angry. Turns out I'd rung the wrong number and it wasn't the police at all.
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 9:50, 37 replies)
Massive drugs and alcohol don't mix
Top Tip!

If you decide to indulge in a night of consuming massive drugs and enough booze to run a pub for a week, don't be surprised if upon your arrival to A&E for feeling "not very well" is met with general displeasure from us happy nursing staff.
Oh, and if you continue said grumbles at us happy nursing staff for not wiping your shitty arse because your bodily functions are currently out of order due to massive drugs and booze, then please, feel free to sign the self discharge form and fuck off home, so we can deal with the really poorly 80 year old lady in the next bed who is scared to fuck with your intoxicated ramblings and incessant swearing.
And no, we will NOT give you any pain killers to take away the headache or stomach cramps you have due to said ingestion of massive drugs and booze, as more drugs will probably kill you.

Oh, and I wholly concur with Amorous Badgers previous comments - namely "Don't be a cunt".
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 8:35, 7 replies)
Son of a Gun
Don't have any personal tales about the emergency services (that I want) to tell you but I did know the son of a Policeman and what a disgrace he was. Three moments stick in my mind - it was a long time ago. We were driving in his car on a rainy night to a pub when he saw a guy crossing the road and this guy was standing on chevrons in the middle of the road having crossed one lane. He had plenty of space around him but Greg saw this and swerved the car at him, steering away within a few metres. I still remember his face and how his body stiffened up, waiting for impact.

Greg told how he was on the way to work one morning on a motorbike and jumped a red. An old lady had started to cross and he clipped her handbag with his jacket. He looked back to see her spinning around in the road - did he stop? err no.

The last one was when Greg had been told he was riding too fast along the private driveway to his offices (life assurance) by a senior associate. After this he often tried to see how fast he could go and got a maximum of 112mph.
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 1:30, 4 replies)
Love at first sight
It's a Saturday afternoon in mid April and for once the sun is shining. Since the morning I've spent a bus journey swigging cans of cheap lager followed by a couple of hours watching my footie team batter the shit out of our local rivals on their own turf. After the final whistle it's the inevitable crossing of paths of the rival fans on the street just outside the stadium. Mostly it's pretenders trying to give it large but occasionally it does brim over into actual physical confrontation.

With most people pumped up on drink and the rivalry between the teams boiling over it unsurprisingly leads to a bit of a scrap, nothing over the top, but a scrap none the less. Noses are bloodied, shirts are ripped and the odd tooth is extracted by force. The old bill are amongst it all in full riot gear trying to separate the fans and that's when I spot her.

It's like everything fades to a blur around her and she's all I can focus on with any clarity; a vision amongst the mayhem. She's petite and slender, and there's something about the way she handles the pissheads despite her diminutive size that leaves me in awe. Through the veil of her riot helmet I can see that she is a beauty. Her blonde hair shines brightly like a beacon drawing me in and her eyes are intoxicating, even when they're narrowed above a nose scrunched up in determination to bring these troublemakers to heel. She stands her ground again and again and repels men twice her size, urging them to retreat behind an imaginary line.

I freeze on the spot and let go of the guy's collar I'm clutching, just to stare at her through the chaos. She's young, beautiful, confident and strong and I'm enraptured, almost forgetting that I'm involved in a brawl. It truly is love at first sight.

I just can't let this one slip away. I have to speak to her. I have to know who she is, and fuelled by the confidence of alcohol I decide that it's now or never. I push my way to the front of the crowd nearest her and wedge myself between two hoolies, just enough to reach out and tap her on the shoulder.

"You're gorgeous!" I say in a genuine compliment, amongst the chorus of shouting and swearing all around.

She turns and looks me dead in the eyes. I melt instantly, before tentatively squeaking out "can I have your number?"

"812," she replies bluntly, while raising her baton. "Now get back behind the line."

I never saw her again.
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 0:35, 5 replies)
University of Liverpool, back in the time of the Prince; 1999. Late November.

Having headed for a night drinking and smoking at the Uni's Friday night party, we left around 1am to head to a mates house in Kensington. Not quite the same as London Kensington. Rough as...

After a quick smoke and game of Tekken, I head home to my house in Anfield. I walk out of the house and go to spark up a Lucky Strike.

I'm walking down the street when around the corner an couple of police officers turn into the road, carrying firearms and not looking happy at being outside in the middle of a cold November night. I put my hand in to my inside pocket to get my smokes, and next thing I know, all I hear is


To be crude, I'm surprised I didn't shit myself. My hands went up quicker than a Frenchmen, and I just stood there as the officer in question proceeded to pad me down, take the fags out of my pocket, offer a quick apology, offer me a light and bid me farewell...

Never put my hand into my inside pocket again when copper has been about...
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 22:38, 6 replies)
Repeated for your pleasure
Polite and sensible policewoman in reasonable behaviour shock.
We were several sheets to the wind. It was 2 in the morning. We were bored. The milk crate dolly cart looked absolutely ideal for a bit of impromptu street go kart action.

She watched us race up the street. She watched us race back down. She approached the group of four pissed up blokes all by herself and told us "Yes the racing was very impressive" but that it was time to "sober up, grow up and go home". She was right. We did.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 20:16, Reply)
I took my daughter to A&E
... because she told me that she had a green bb pellet in her ear.

We signed in at the local hospital and were told that the nurse who specialised in objects in the ear had just come on duty, so we would not have a long wait.

The nurse easily removed the bb pellet followed by a length of cotton, half a pink bead, 2 sequins, an inch of metal chain, a blue bead and a ball bearing. The nurse was going to mount these objects, each in its own container, on her wall of along with previous contributions. She was rather pleased to meet my daughter, then aged 8, as it almost doubled her display.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 19:20, 6 replies)
Those albums Paul McCartney made with Youth were fucking shit.

(, Fri 17 May 2013, 19:18, Reply)
I wrote it in Spanish so I'll make no apologies...
Fui a España en Julio dos mil uno de vacaciones,
Fui con mi familia y Nuestros amigos la familia Burch.
Quedamos en un gran chalet cerca de Gandia.
Un día fuimos a Valencia en tren.
Volvímos a las cuatro de la tarde.
La familia Burch fueron al supermercado.
MI familia jugaron en la piscina y yo leí un libro.
Después de un rato me decidí entrar en la casa a buscar la cámara.
Al entrar en nuestra habitación ví mi cartera sobre la cama.
Al abrir mi cartera ví que todo el dinero había desaparecido.
¡ Nos habían robado !
Me llamé al representante de vacaciones "Wilf".
Wilf llamó la Guardia Civil. Dos guardias vinieron de Gandia.
Inspeccionaron el chalet y vieron que la habitactión de la familia Burch estaba muy desordenada.
Preguntaron “¿Estuvo el ladrón en Esta habitación ?”
Dije “No sé”.
Las guardias dijeron que tuvimos que ir a la Comisaria en Tavernes por la Mañana y salieron.
La familia Burch volvió más tarde.
Nos dijeron que nada faltaba de su habitación.
Ellos habían abandonardo su habitacion desordenada!
Por la mañana Wilf nos acompañó a la Comisaría.
Era nuestro traductor.
Esperamos un hora en una pequeña habitación en la Comisaria pero hizo el trabajo adminstrativo rápidamente.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 18:37, 9 replies)
Tenuously linked to the Canada Gate and Canada Memorial, Green Park, London
If you have stood next to this memorial, you will probably know why it happened.

For those of you who haven't:

The memorial itself is a water feature, and is regularly maintained by the company who installed it. I was sent there to carry out some work on the boring behind the scenes stuff that makes the water come out.

I live in Leeds and had never been to this part of the capital. A quick check of the map revealed it was VERY close to Buckingham Palace.

I set off at 4am, got there around 9am, saw the gate and the memorial, but quickly realised the memorial itself was inside the park.

Finding a suitable place to pull over I tried to find some contact information so that I could enquire as to where the fuck the contractors were who were supposed to be opening the gates allowing me to go off-roading.

It soon became apparent, that I had maybe chose the wrong place to mount the pavement and stick my hazards on, because Mr. Armed Policeman strolled over and informed me that I had in fact parked in front of Downing Street.

15 minutes of questioning and vehicle checks over I was allowed on my way. Unfortunately I picked the wrong lane and ended up circling past him, only to miss the turning again and have to make a 2nd pass.

The rest was ace though. Saw changing of the Guard, A helicopter land in the palace grounds, and a Cockney called me a cunt!
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 18:26, 5 replies)
I have no sense of direction
And as everyone familiar with the town of Dumfries will know, it has an evil one-way system.

I orbited the police station seven times before they finally pulled me over...
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 16:56, 5 replies)
A Blues Brothers moment
Sitting next to a first floor window in my sister's flat, I had an excellent view of the busy intersection in front of Brighton Pavilion. Off in the distance I began to hear sirens, and they were getting louder, so I had a look to see what was happening.

A car came hammering down the road toward the end of the T junction, with two police cars in hot pursuit. The fugitive made a pretty damn fine handbrake turn at the bottom, and hared back off back up the same road in the opposite direction. The first cop car attempted to do the same, but didn't have the same Mad Skillz and managed to stall it. Whereupon the second car slammed straight into the side of the first one. Both cars were out of action - villians 2, cops 0!

It was all over in seconds. Even if phone cameras had existed back then, I wouldn't have been able to react fast enough. Which was a shame.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 15:24, 3 replies)
Nothing but goodness
3 month premature twins, blues and twos back into London from far far away, the best service I have ever got from anyone, bar none and two beautiful baby daughters (now 12 and still gorgeous). When all is said and done, they are the family we need to lean on when times are hard.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 15:08, 3 replies)
Uncle jack
My uncle jack was a coastguard at Eastbourne During and before the war he had been a naval officer and by chance my father was a rating on the same ship Jack would have stayed in the navy after the war,, but the navy was downsized and even career officers had to leave So jack joined the coast guard and was assigned toEastbourne one day he was taking an inventory of the stations stock when a maroon blew up in his hands This was about 1960 or 1970,Both hands were severely injured,they managed to save his left hand but hehad to have his right hand and part of his right arm amputated Within a few weeks he had a prostetic arm fitted which he could control using the remains of the muscle at the top of his arm this arm had a number of attachments most of the time he used a hand, butIremember goingto visit him once to find he had swapped it for a scerewdriver to repair hisbike He was an absolutely amazing man and even although he's been dead foryears,I still think of him fondly
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 14:34, 17 replies)
I done a murder

(, Fri 17 May 2013, 13:55, 5 replies)
I know a clergyman who provides on-call, short notice cover for various ceremonies...

(, Fri 17 May 2013, 13:55, 15 replies)
my brother was a trainee in sussex police in the early 80's and told me this story in those days the A23 north OF BRIGHTON was mostly single carriageway with no flyovers just crossroads one evening a traffic cop was headed north toward gatwick when a message comes over the radio of an incident at hickstead, a notoriously dangerous stretch of the roadThis driver fancies himself as the best driver on the force, so puts his foot down to answer the call coming to a crossroad he sees 2 cars turning right, one in front of the other with a gap between them He puts his foot down to get between the cars only to run into the towrope between them totalling both cars and the police car He then charges both drivers with dangerous towing
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 13:52, 4 replies)
I used to have the ecstacy franchise at Notts County football ground.
A local baron wanted in on the action and offered me a partnership I couldn't refuse.
Our new firm was known as The E Merge N.C. Services.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 13:50, 1 reply)
I'll think of a witty title later
When I was a spotty student at uni, my favourite hash dealer was a woman. This was fairly unusual, but as well as being fit and friendly, she had the best Red Leb (a nostalgia trip for the old folk there) on campus. So I was very annoyed to hear that she would be leaving at the end of the year.

"Why are you leaving?" I enquired, "You haven't graduated yet, have you?"

"No, I'm only here on a year's course. I'm going back to police training college."

And with that she whipped her policewoman's hat out of a drawer, plonked it on her head at a jaunty angle, and passed me the spliff with a grin.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 13:48, 6 replies)
emerge in sea cervix
cba to work out a story
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 13:34, 5 replies)
Hyde Park Pea
1997. Three studes out on a conference trip in dat dere lundon all the way from Huddersfield. Got puggled and foolishly handed the map back to our hotel to the token frenchman. Got seriously lost and in our inebriated state we thought it would be really cool to moon all the traffic as it passed. We were stood on a low wall beside a massive roundabout or one-way thing at Hyde Park Corner. Much hilarity ensued until a police van passed us. Copper winds his window down and lets us know that he's got plenty of space in the back of the van.

As two of us deliberated over whether this was a threat or an offer, the token frenchman in the trio decides to ramp proceedings up a little by shouting 'fuck you pig!'.

Massive laughs were quickly punctuated by the sound of a slamming door. Copper made chase and it quickly became apparent that he was working towards a desk job via dunking donuts. We made our escape but the walk home was made in the shadows to avoid the rest of the fuzz.

And the map was repatriated in to the possession of yours truly.

Got back by 4:30 and had one hour of sleep as we needed to move the hire car to an NCP. I drew the short straw and I had to drive the thing for 400 metres with enough booze in my system to mollify a cuckolded bull rhinocerus.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 12:51, Reply)
Peas & Gravy? In a tub?
Old cop/Young cop.
About 8 years ago.
My missus was pregnant and said to me one evening "Go and get me some KFC, I want KFC, craaaaaaaviiiings!"
So into her Corolla Station Wagon I climbed and drove to the nearest place of poisonous deep fried batter & mechanically separated chicken places and acquired her (& myself) some tasty treats.
I should at this point say that the missus' car had a serious case of "blown head gasket" cancer, was about 20 yo. (which in some car-years makes Joan Rivers look young) and had a death-rattle which sounded like it had been sampled from Trent Reznor.
As I drove home with my vittles I got pulled over by "The D's" due to the obvious sickness of the car. There was a younger cop who bounced around the car pointing out all it faults and threatening to give me a "canary" (a yellow sticker which denotes un-road-worthiness) with much glee & an older copper who sat back and said not much.
Once the catalog of faults had been compiled the 2 orificers of the piece approached me and told me the bad news.
So I said to the cops (mainly aimed at the older fella) - "So you're going to send me home to my pregnant wife with cold KFC and a ticket that says we basically have to scrap her car?"
"Fair call" he said, "Off you go - get rid of this heap of shit as quick as you can." The young bloke sat there with his ticket-book open doing goldfish impressions.
I managed to get home, give SWMBO some KFC and a couple of days later we sent the Corolla to the Car knackers & got hold of a lovely "baby-spew yellow" Corolla hatchback that went the distance.
Not so much avoided arrest - but it's nice to know that there are some grizzled, road-weary cops out there that can remember what it's like to be married.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 12:45, 3 replies)
I'll keep it brief. Bullet points in fact:
many years ago.

1. 14 year old friend decides to drink vodka during daytime visit to shops (out of a Tango 'still' bottle if I recall correctly).

2. Friend goes a bit wobbly on Southend-on-sea 'pleasure' pier. Vomit all over the Fackin' shop.

3. Someone phones ambulance services.

4. Ambulance takes friend (and me) from pier to southend hospital.

5. Paramedic/Driver calls us a pair of cunts for being stupid sods thus making him finish work late and miss the football match he wanted to watch.

That is all I have to say.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 12:40, 17 replies)
I fell in with a bad crowd
Travelling back to university one weekend, I found my train delayed due to "a carriage on fire" at the preceding stop. That's probably a whole story on its own but in this case it merely provided the impetus for me, and a few other irritated patrons of Network Southeast to retire to the pub across the way for a pint while we awaited the next scheduled service.

There weren't many of us, and being alone I quickly got chatting to a gang of four or five chaps a little older than I who were returning to Staines for a Sunday evening curry. "Come with us," one of them said. "and try the best curry in Berkshire." Not an offer at which I'd normally jump but, by the time the train had been, inevitably, delayed another hour and I had quaffed another couple of pints, my curry craving intensified to unignorable levels.

Had I been a girl, I suppose the situation might have seemed sinister but the group seemed to be entertained by the nineteen year-old hanger-on they had acquired and were more than happy to keep bankrolling my steadily increasing intoxication. By the time we actually reached Staines, that city of dreams, I dimly recall having trouble effecting egress from the train without tripping over the door frame.

"I need to be back on the train by nine," I slurred them. "Or I won't make it back home to Brighton."

"Sod that, bud," came the confident reply. "You can stay at mine." In my present state this seemed perfectly natural.

The curry I have no idea about, but I do recall becoming nervous about the mounting expense and being astonished when they wouldn't let me even chip in for the bill. Again, a wiser man would have been concerned about what they expected in return but I was young, dumb, full of poppadom and possessed of a comprehensive lack of self-awareness such as only excesses of youth and lager can bestow.

We left the restaurant and, figuring that a free meal and bed for the night was fine but pinching a man's snouts was beyond the pale, I stumbled into the nearest tobacconists. Normally this would have been a quick transaction but there was a bit of a queue, they didn't have my brand.. long story short, the Beer Tardis came into effect and by the time I actually got out of the shop such a long time had passed that my guardian angels had departed and left no clue as to their destination.

So it was that, instead of relaxing in halls in Brighton this very middle-class white boy found himself alone and drunk in Staines at midnight on a Sunday night in the 1990s. Had Ali G been more of a thing, I might have been better equipped to deal with my situation but as it was I felt marooned in an alien landscape and was seized by social-displacement panic.

Blurrily, a Venn diagram began to form in my mind. Friend... near Staines... owns car... likely to be sober... clearly the centre spot was glaringly unpopulated but I did know a guy who ticked the first three and I called him. Of course when I say "him" I mean "his parents" who were as you can imagine thrilled to hear from their progeny's intoxicated aquaintance in the wee hours of Monday morning.

Chris, thank God, was uncharacteristically fit to drive and he agreed to come and fetch me from the big junction on the A30 "in about half an hour". I was saved.

Of course this was well before smart phones (indeed, in my skint student case, before any mobile phone) but sadly also prior to my having a working geographical knowledge of Staines town centre, so it took me a while to find the roundabout in question. When I got there I was tired and, unable to communicate further with my saviour, decided that the least hassle was to go and stand quietly on the top of the roundabout and keep a look out for his blue Fiesta.

Within 30 seconds I was bored.

It was a warm Summer that year (remember those?!) and what Staines council had intended to be a lush green mound had dessicated into fractured lumps of crumbly earth which looked like the surface of the moon in old sci-fi films. I pried up a good lump and hefted it in my hands. There was a lamp post on the far side of the roundabout and, looking around to see I was unobserved, I lobbed the mud at it. Missed. I flung another, which missed again.

The third connected. It was fucking glorious! The mud exploded into a cloud of dirt-dust and the pole resonated with a deep metallic gong sound that was straight out of a gothic horror film.

I was hooked. Occasionally glancing around to see if Chris was on his way, I must have lifted up and thrown about ten percent by weight of that roundabout at my target, and by the end I was getting a good ninety percent hit rate. It was wonderfully satisfying.

And then the riot van showed up.

No word of a lie, as I stood there dumbfounded a white Transit with metal caging on its windscreen screeched up to the roundabout and disgorged three fully-kitted riot police - helmets, shields, the lot - who rushed me and performed what, looking back, was a textbook three-sided kettling manouvre to enclose me facing a large uniformed man I presumed was their senior officer.

"We've had reports," he said to me. "Of a gang throwing stones at passing cars."

My first instinct being to save myself a night in the cells, I opened my mouth to deny the charge but then looked down and saw I was still holding a large clod of earth. Fucksocks.

"Erm," I stuttered. "I don't know about that but I have been throwing mud at a lamp post." Realising how unconvincing that sounded, I cast around for evidence to support my case. "Look! Look at all the mud in the road, barely any stones.. in it..." slowly my brain was realising what a total tool I'd been.

The cop, now that it was clear they weren't dealing with an outbreak of anti-government protest or wanton vandalism but rather just a drunken moron with a penchant for flying earth, smirked.

"Lamp post, eh?" He gestured up. "See that camera on the top of it?" And he was right.

Instantly, the image popped into my head of a mystified CCTV operator watching the young hoodlum throwing every projectile within his grasp and the image periodically blurring every ten seconds as the weapons connected. BONG! BONG! If they'd had the sound on it must have been rather like the intro to the News at Ten during the poll tax riots. Only shit.

I was utterly deflated. The cop was clearly fighting twin urges to (a) book me for various offences and (b) laugh uproariously in my face. At that exact moment, a very nervous looking Ford hatchback hove into view.

"Oh God, that's my friend," I said with relief. "He's come to take me home, I am so sorry I won't do it again, if I can just get out of your hair I promise I'll be good he's right there I'm not even from Staines.."

"Just go," the cop interrupted me. "And for fuck's sake don't do it again."

Personally, I blame Network Southeast and their flammable trains.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 11:56, 12 replies)
My mate threw up down a policeman's leg
We were about 15 and I, somehow, managed to buy a bottle of whisky so my friend and I downed half each and a while later the police found us somewhat inebriated. Mate suddenly vomits all down the copper's leg and we're then taken to the nick for being drunk and incapable.

To make matters worse for the police, I vomited copiously in the back of their transit. I can still remember it washing around on the floor as the van turned corners..
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 11:23, Reply)
We thought you might be lost...
Back in my youthful days I had finished being a student, got a proper job but still lived in temporary rented accommodation.

So in my mind it made sense not to have to change all my paperwork such as where my car was registered every 6 months, so I left it all pointing to my parents address for reasons of common sense.

Obviously being young and working in IT I had a bit of a twat car which I thought was the best thing in the world... a purple astra GTE. It may as well have had a big sign reading "Police, stop this car" as getting pulled over to "check" my details was a once a month affair.

It was Milton Keynes I lived in back then so I'd whisk along the dual carriageway at 60/70mph barely slowing at the roundabouts since you could see when it was clear.

Milton Keynes is laid out on a grid road system and I was on the far side of the "square" I lived in when I spotted a police car approaching the roundabout I was crossing. I could see where this was likely to go and with it being sunny I just wasn't in the mood.

So I quickly nipped off the main road into "my" grid square to follow the local internal roads to my house rather than go around the grid on the main roads. The police car followed.

I did a perfect 28mph, obeying every sign and junction as I approached the local shop. The police car followed.

I continued my perfect drive past the school, glancing in the mirror I could see the 2 police officers running my details through the radio. The police car followed.

I reached the long road I lived on and drove toward home, the police car followed...

200 metres from my front door, the blue lights went on. I sighed and pondered how best to deal with it this time. So I slowed but didn't stop.

100 metres from my door I put on the indicator and eventually pulled up outside my house.

I got out and the police went into the "Is this your car sir?" speech they love so much.

In time my details came back all clean, I'd explained that I was living here temporarily hence car was registered at my "permanent home" that was all fine etc etc.

Of the 2 coppers one had done all the talking while the other one ferreted around in the background, I can only assume they'd had a bet going as to who could nick someone first and he had lost as he was not happy to find I was a law obiding citizen. That's when he decided to pipe up.

"So, if this is where you live, we saw you on the other side of the area. Why did you drive through instead of using the main road, we thought you might be lost?".... Obviously fishing for some guilty secret.

"Honestly?" I ask.... they both perk up, perhaps they have landed an international criminal after all and I'm about to confess all....

"Yes" say the coppers.

"Well.... I was driving along minding my own business, when I saw I being followed by a police car". You could hear them both release their breath, evidently not the great score they'd hoped for. They exchanged knowing glances and without a word one went to the car and got out a little box, their spot check kit and proceeded to measure the tyre depth on all 4 tyres, check the tax disc, gave me a producer for insurance & MOT (back in those days it wasn't all on computer!).

Eventually I said "If you don't mind I'll take my stuff inside now as we both know me and the car are all clean", they didn't object and I went inside leaving them to work out what to do with the rest of their afternoon.

Now I'm older, everytime I see a chav racing around in a suped up death trap I always think to myself, "I wish I was a copper... I'd nick him for that!".
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 11:11, 2 replies)
Just like a bad dream
I was
only fifteen
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 10:52, 2 replies)
People with kids will know how silly you get over your firstborn. Wondering why they are so quiet and thinking they might have died, or wishing they would just shut up and go to sleep rather than having loud conversations about poo with the teddy bear.

Anyways, we had the usual routines of being woken up by shouting to find our spawn covered head to foot in reguritated pasta and tomato sauce, or maybe that nice fish and rice dish that he downed with some curdled milk. But there was one time.....

We were woken by our two year old son crying in the night. It was nothing major, just a little bit of sobbing. So I send the wife in to sort him out (I had done the past two night visits - it was her turn). Anyways, I hear the crying get worse and then I hear hysterical screaming.

"What the chuffing hell is going on?" I burst into the room trying to sound all angry. I see my wife trying to restrain my son as he wriggles around, screaming like he is on fire or something. Well, I basically went white as a ghost, nearly shit my pants, grabbed the phone and called for an ambulance.

They arrived in fifteen minutes and I had to describe how my son seemed to be having a fit. It seemed like the longest time ever. The ambulance men arrived, and by the time they got upstairs, the little snotbag was sat up all smiles and giggles.

They checked him out and gave him the once over. The verdict:

When they left I cried. Not sure if it was relief or anger.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 8:58, 20 replies)
My neighbor's boy, then aged about 14,
managed to invoke the wrath of whatever SO19 is calling itself nowadays, by mock-stabbing his friend with a toy batarang, outside the local Asda. This being the week after a copper got stabbed to death in town, everyone was a bit on edge, so he was probably lucky that they decided to ask questions before shooting.
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 8:43, Reply)
In common with every second cove one meets now-a-days I have a peanut allergy.
A single nut could kill me. By following scientifically proven homeopathic principles I've discovered that a second peanut provides a perfect antidote to the first. I keep track by shouting POISON and CURE as each nut is ingested.

Over the years I've saved the NHS millions by using this simple technique, though I have been banned from every cinema in the county.

I am my own best doctor!
(, Fri 17 May 2013, 8:07, 6 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1