Mirror, Signal, Maneuver
Some years ago, just across Selsdon traffic lights outside Croydon High school for Girls. On my way to the pub for a quick lunchtime pint with a mate and we're in my car stuck behind some amazingly slow bus. I grow increasing impatient, then angry, and after a few moments hesitation just think "sod it". I pull out into the middle of the street and accelerate past the slow moving bus at break-neck velocity and go roaring up the hill.

Seconds later this cop car comes screaming up behind me with all lights blazing and sirens on full volume. My heart sinks as I realise the coppers are not wanting to pass me, but are in fact pulling me over. I'm asked to step out of the vehicle and am asked if I know why I've been stopped. I think about this for a few moments and mention that I might have broken the speed limit.

"I'll tell you what you've done," says the Copper. "You didn't indicate before you pulled out. You crossed the chevrons in the middle of the street. You broke the speed limit. You overtook the bus going through a pelican crossing... outside a school... at lunchtime. But do you know what the worst thing is?"

I'm visibly shaking at this point. I tell him I don't.

"You didn't check your rear-view mirror before you pulled out, cos if you had, you would have seen we were right behind you."

Apparently I'd just achieved 13 points worth of driving offenses in 10 seconds. I swear the only thing that got me off with a warning was the fact I was clearly shitting myself in front of him and could hardly stop my teeth chattering.

G
(Gilbo, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 14:32, Reply)

At uni
There had been a few incidents on the campus, so whenever the police patrolled town in the evening and saw females on their own, they'd give them a lift home in the police car. I saved a bit on cab bills that way..
(albator, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 14:18, Reply)

The most eventful night of my life
This is going to be a long one. It all started waaaaaay back when. It was the late 80s, I was 17 years old, and I had my first car. A Skoda. Back when they were proper shit. It had a green vinyl roof. I was a laughing stock.

I was due to go to a party one evening, so happily set off on my way. About 5 minutes down the road, doing about 60, the Skoda started swerving wildly across the road, and one of the back wheels promptly fell off. I was going down the big hill on the road by Legoland near Windsor (or Windsor Safari Park as it was at the time) if you know it. I ended up careering into a ditch as the newly liberated wheel bounced off down the hill into the face of a stream of oncoming traffic. It was quite a sight, after a few bounces it was getting up some height. Caused an awful panic, but mercifully it didn’t hit anyone.

Crawled out of the car and, with not much alternative, started thumbing for a lift home. Waited a good half hour or so with nobody stopping, then a very nice black Golf pulled up and a well-spoken man offered me a lift back to my place. He looked and sounded extremely familiar, it wasn’t until he dropped me off and flashed me a smile as he pulled away that I realised who it was… Jeremy Irons.

Called out the AA, the breakdown truck duly arrived, hauled the car out of the ditch, retrieved the errant wheel, and set off towards the Skoda dealer in Slough I’d bought it from. The driver was… well, nowadays I’d think he was a complete arsehole, but at 17 years old I thought he was great. He insisted on dropping off the car then taking me on to the party to which I was headed anyway, and having a beer as it was the end of his shift.

The party in question was in the sports & social club of a well-known hospital near Slough. Newly freed from my obligation to remain sober and drive home, I proceeded to get utterly arseholed and regale the story of my eventful evening to my gathered friends. Just before kicking-out time, one friend came over and said that there was a swimming pool out the back of the club, and when the bar shut everyone was going for a swim.

We staggered out to the pool, I had a quick puke, then realised that the pool (a small hospital “therapy pool” for the poorly) was in fact locked. In my advanced state of refreshment I wasn’t about to let a fact like that stand in my way, so I duly ripped the door off its hinges and we all piled in. Had a whale of a time throwing each other into the pool, fully clothed, oh what fun. Until a few lads we didn’t know started getting rather lairy and throwing chairs into the pool, and shortly afterwards through the windows, at which point we decided that it might be a good idea to leave it there for now.

Our group split into two parties at that point, one group wandered off to look for a cab while myself and two others tried to see if there was more fun to be had around the hospital. We found ourselves by the hospital radio station by the front entrance and elected to see if we could have a record played and ask for a dedication. The DJ was a young lad of no more than 15, clearly doing a voluntary stint. The sight of three soaking wet drunken idiots was enough to leave him practically cowering in fear and he meekly allowed us to put on whatever we wanted, and to take the mike. So it was that we put on UB40’s “Don’t break my heart” and gave the on-air dedication “This is for everyone on the cardiac ward. Try not to have a heart attack.”

At this point we reasoned that we might not be the most popular people to be found about the hospital at that moment in time, so we departed and headed off by foot back towards good old Slough town. Half an hour or so passed and we happened to see the other group we’d recently left, also trudging along soaked to the skin and by now very cold. We shouted, waved, caught their attention, and just as we were about to catch up with them there was the sound of screeching brakes from behind us, and we turned to face a pair of police cars. Then another three cars approached from the other direction behind the second group. Oh dear.

We were gathered together and the head policeman began to ask questions of us, such as “Why are you all soaking wet?” It’s been raining. “No it hasn’t. You’ve been swimming.” Ummmmm… yes, in the river. “And what river is that then, there isn’t one anywhere near here.” Errrr…. it was the Thames. “The Thames is about five miles away. And I don’t seem to recall that it smells of chlorine”. Ah. “Furthermore we’ve had reports of a group of young lads matching your description smashing up the swimming pool at the hospital.” Oh.

They started collecting our names, and one of my mates Eddie, who was currently wanted for burglary, gave his as “Tony Riley”. The copper asked him if he had a middle name, and he said “Anthony”.

This did not act in our favour.

Her majesty’s constabulary provided accommodation for some time after this.
(Ali Bongo 9000 Ali Bongo 9000, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:56, Reply)

Herbs
Just `membered another one.

My cousin is a copper on the merseyside beat.
A few years back he says he was called to a domestic between mother beating her son.

He takes the son into the kitchen to interview him about the incident. So the guy gives his statement and afterwards ny cousin says
"By the way mate, you nicked!"
When asked why, he just points...

The kid was trying to grow the ganga plant on his window sill.
(Fishbone-didi, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:51, Reply)

Guns and the Police
I run a armoury company , so deal with the police a fair bit. It also seems to be, that every time i go through london and they have the dogs etc at the station, is always the time when i have a few spent rounds in a pocket, the occasional grenade ;-) or gunpowder on my hands which the dogs love.

Story however is from way back when i was a local cadet. We were doing a excercise in the local park round the back of the units. with FLW's (f'ing lump of wood in the shape of a gun) The problem was, that i was winter and it was dark. Cant remember the scenario but i was looking for two people.

I saw two silouhettes on the footpah, i combat rolled down to the path and pointed my FLW straight at them , lo and behold it was two old ladies out for a walk. so i said sorry and rolled off into the undergrowth,

about ten minutes later the entire park was covered by S019 and a helicopter going overhead.

Bit of a wrist slapping that night.
(Chance1234 up for parole on, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:46, Reply)

my encounters with the law
generally i'm a good lad, so i have only novel and pointless tales of old bill experiences.

many, many moons ago, hanging around as young teenagers in the park, consolidating our pocket money and trying to figure out how to procure some alcohol, when some blokes, obviously completely fucked on drugs, wandered up to us and proceeded to fall over a lot, tell wierd jokes, and try to stick flowers in our hair, etc.

so we asked them if they would buy us some booze from the shops, and one of the blokes, pupils like dinner plates, flipped open his wallet to revale that they were CID.

we ran off, they were laughing. looking back, they obviously busted some acid dealer or some such and were enjoying the perks of their job.

..

oh, and a few months ago i came to in a police station, after consuming a massive amount of gin, and apparently wandering down oxford st at midnight on a friday, with my cock hanging out. dear me. spent a night in the cells...
(Mildred is a slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:46, Reply)

Don't invite the filth to your party!!!
Had a bit of a gathering a while back, you know the sort, 200ltrs of punch, fridge full of beer, banging tunes and an endless supply of 'party prescriptions'. We were asked to keep the latter under wraps or at least be discrete because one of the girls new fellas 'didn't like that sort of thing'. About 10 mins passed and as i was clearly hammered i decided it was time to liven things up a bit and went to see the 'doctor'. After performing a lucky dip in the kitchen, the next thing i knew was this bird was going mad, screaming (and thanking me?) before her and the said fella flew the party. Apparently her fella was sitting in the kitchen while i had my hand in a bag full of smarties. I turns out he's actually a copper.

But the best thing is his name...

Constable Constable.

Oh, how i laughed.

Apologies for length, girth and excess skin.
(Go easy on me, it's my first post)
(I_Don't_know_WHY_I_BOTHER?, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:45, Reply)

Slip n Slide
This was witnessed by a mate of mine...
Last winter one evening the roads were quite icy and he was driving around taking it easy, some retarded chavs come screaming up behind him and over take on a blind corner. Upon seeing the police in a layby round said corner they slam on full anchors... but the road is icy and yes, they slide head on into a meat wagon. Aparently the coppers just sat there laughing for a few minutes before they go out and arrested them.
(Fishbone-didi, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:44, Reply)

Joke?
This sounds too good to be a real story, but ill tell it anyway. A mate of mine's brother was pissed in town one night, being quite loud and drunk. A policeman came up to him to ask him to quieten down and go home. He called him a fucking prick. The bobby said if you call me that once more ill arrest you. "What if I just think it?" He replied. "Then thats OK" said the copper. "Then I THINK you're a fucking prick". The copper couldnt do anything, and my mate'S bro just walked off laughing!!
(jimmy_stavros, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:35, Reply)

having just bought a stylophone
off of that ebay, I felt it appropriate to accompany the arresting of half of the family across the road with the theme from The Bill from my doorstep.
(rnuk http://flickr.com/rnuk, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:29, Reply)

Isn't it funny.....
how all these WPC's are 'a bit tasty'. Most of the ones I see have face's like a rat catchers glove.
(myohmy, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:25, Reply)

Illiterate fools...
Mate of mine is a copper. First time on beat in Christchurch, New Zealand, they pick up a young guy total delinquent type breaking into a house. He could barely read or write so they helped him fill in the processing form. He asked them what "Occupation" mean. They said "job". He said "ain't got one", so they said, you're unemployed...."how do you spell that??"......L-O-S-E-R was duly filled in on the form.

Also - whilst fingerprinting, they got a print of the tip of his nose as well because of a suspected peeping tom operating in the area.....
(essbeenz there done that, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:23, Reply)

Really Dad, would you care to explain
Quite a few years ago, I was at Gatwick Airport with my Dad. I don't remember why and it isn't actually important. We were sitting down, maybe having some tea maybe we weren't again, not really important, when I mentioned that the Old Bill were carrying guns. I had never seen a copper carrying a gun and told my Dad so.
My Dad has a lot of opinions on a lot of things and it was on this subject that he chose to opine (it is, I looked it up) that coppers who carried guns were all little Hitlers, drunk on their own power. I started to laugh and he took that as a cue to continue on his rant with me laughing more and more.
The reason I was laughing was that there were two armed police men standing immediately behind him. When he eventually realised, to his credit he looked them straight in the face and said 'apart from you two'
I laughed, my Dad laughed, the coppers didn't.
( spingers, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:20, Reply)

Sitting in my local pub
Having a few brewskies with a few friends I glance to the front door of the pub to see a cop in full riot gear. A few seconds later the pub is full of cops (it wasn't even last orders). The place was surrounded by at least 8 vans 6 cars 1 prison van and 1 helicopter (probably about 80 cops in total).They had backed up the prison van to the fire exit so when all the dodgy drug dealers did a runner they ran straight into the arms of the law.
They made the rest of us wait for about an hour before letting us go and as we left we were put against the wall of the pub and searched in front of the big crowd that had gathered to see what the fuss was all about.
That took some explaining to my boss who happened to be passing at the time :(
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:18, Reply)

naked
i have been stopped twice by the police in the past week. first on monday and then last night. my only crime running naked firstly around lewes road bus garge and then last night all the way up queens park road and across elm grove. the first time me and my flatmate got made to "put our todgers away". it would have been fine except i had a reasonable hot blond ausie lady pc. i will always live withthe shame of putting my trousers on the wrong way round and having to take them off again in front of her. ah well. brighton is usually pretty warm. shrinkage is not a problem.

wont appologise for length as many folk have already seen it but will appologise for chasing a man down upper lewes road with my clothes under my arm.
( bertisfantastic bert is a sleepy bear, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:10, Reply)

Got away with murder
Shot him 2 years ago, buried him in the park and the police have never caught me.
(If it could happen to me like that i'd shit my pants, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:06, Reply)

Driving into work
In my 160bhp MG at 5.30am with no traffic on the road I decide that it would be good idea to overtake the only other car in sight (a silver Skoda octavia). The Skoda then starts to match my speed of 60mph (in a 30 zone) and soon after that the Skoda puts on its blue lights and sirens. Bollocks I've only gone and overtaken a unmarked traffic/video car that is capable of 180mph.
They then sit me in the back of the car make me watch the video and give me a severe bollocking.
I got away with just the warning, I was very lucky.
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 13:03, Reply)

At a half-arsed amateur festival a couple of years ago
one of the ubiquitous scally dealers had been arrested and handcuffed by some visiting bobbies. He'd obviously been sampling his own wares and was bobbling around wide-eyed and mumbling.

As we watched (more interesting than whoever was on stage) a couple walked past him and the police car and constables. "Here ... la'! Mate! Want any Es? They're in me back pocket!" Shouts the scally, waggling his arse at them and pointing at his pocket with his handcuffed hands.

I don't know whether this constitutes a confession under english law, but it certainly put a smile on the officers' faces.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:57, Reply)

Reading festival 2004...
unfortunately (at 5am anyway) the people camping next to me had a stereo with just about every tv theme you can think of, including The Bill. Cue 150 people dancing like nutters to The Bill theme tune whilst surrounding a herd of coppers.
Classic festival moment.
(horseisbrown, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:50, Reply)

When an Evian bottle does not do the job...
Not me, but my brother - he deserves the credit for this corker.

He had been out clubbing, got very drunk and pulled an equally drunk lass. They went back to hers, and get down to it.

Sometime during business, bro needs to void his bladder, but when going to the bathroom, finds that the door-handle has fallen apart and he is unable to open the door. Non-plussed, he finds an empty Evian bottle, makes use of it, and tips now steaming, yellow contents out of the window, and gets back to work.

A few minutes later, she needs to void her bladder. Bigger problem. She isn't going to use the Evain bottle, so they have to get the door open somehow.

Plan B: They made some noise. Hammering on the walls, shouting, turning the stereo up to full volume, but none of her housemates were stirring.

Plan C: Through the window. It doesn't open the right way to get 18 stone of brother through. Lady is getting desparate, so she smashes the window with a desk lamp. Bro climbs out of the window on the first floor (American: second floor), and moves to front of house and starts hammering on one of her housemates' windows.

Now, picture the scene: A fat bloke, in his boxers, hammering on a ground-floor window. There is broken glass and strong smell of piss...

Two squad cars pull up.

Police: Do you live here sir?
Bro: No.
Police: Do you know someone who lives here?
Bro: Yes - I pulled a girl and am staying with her.
Police: I see. What is this girls name then?
Bro: ....errr....
(lardaholics anonymous, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:45, Reply)

"It was a good half ounce, officer..."
I was at Tottenham Court Road Underground station one evening, riding the escalator to the exit. Just as we reached the top, the guy in front of me whipped something out of his pocket and slapped it on the side of the escalator.

Being a nosy sort of git, I picked it up. It was a lump of dope resin, wrapped in cling-film. Bloody hell I thought, then looked up to see about eight policemen and two sniffer dogs right in front of the ticket gates. The dogs are already going nuts, barking at me and I was about to be arrested for someone else's drugs.

I thought about it for a millisecond and then did the only obvious thing to get me off. I pointed at the guy who was just exiting the ticket gates and declaimed loudly "I've got that man's drugs!"

He got nicked, still feel a bit bad about that but it was him or me and they *were* his drugs. I really don't think that the line "I've just found it this minute, I thought it was a toffee, honest" would have worked, despite being 100% true.

The police asked me to give a statement and I described the whole thing, word by word. The policeman asked me "What size was the object you picked up off the escalator?"

All I'll say is, the response "It was a good half ounce, I reckon officer" was the wrong one. Arrange the words Cavity, Search and Body into the sentence of your choice...

If the situation ever arises and you are asked to estimate the size of a drug find, describe it in inches or centimetres, not weight or street value...
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:36, Reply)

Hot knife & rozzer fun, o yes
Had a few mates round the folks' house while they were at work (this is going back 15 years or so...). Much rabid hot-knifing ensued (if you don't know what that means, it'd take too long here...), then mate no. 1 says "there's loads of old bill in the front garden". "Hahaha - good one" I merrily quip. "No really, there's four in the front garden, and two climbing over the gate to get into the back" he merrily rejoined. Feeling a put-on, I resignedly looked out of the window, and saw, indeed, several boys in blue peering into downstairs windows etc.
So I went downstairs, opened the door and told them to sod off. Which they did, eventually.
Seems like the little old lady who lived opposite thought the house was empty with everyone on hols. Seeing several lads in the kitchen bent over the gas hob, she called old bill.
O how we laughed.
( petuniadb, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:27, Reply)

"That was very professional."
Mrs Calgacus used to live in the noted English city of Newcastle (or Noocassell as the natives would have it).

She moved flat. Rather than stay in a poncey (ie nice) part of the city, like Jesmond, she took a room in a house in a "livelier" part of Wallsend.

So I hired a van to move all her stuff. I got to the Toon late on Friday. Met up with herself. And then drove out to house where she rented a room in the van loaded with all her furniture and stuff.

The owner was a petite twentysomething who got absolutely mortal every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. And whenever she did this, she'd pass out having locked and chained every single possible means of entry to the house regardless of whether La Calgacus was in or not. Many's the time ma cherie would spend hours hammering on the door in a vain attempt to wake the sleeping housemate.

Now, we didn't know this at the time so we rocked up in the van very late on Friday. La Calgacus goes to open the door. The chain's on. The windows are bolted shut. It's like a high-security green zone.

We ring the doorbell. No reply. So we hammer on the door for - oooh - an hour. No reply. We shout and scream through the letterbox. No reply. Then I get a big f*ck off slat from the bed out of the van, stand on the ground floor windowsill and start hammering at this lassie's first-floor bedroom window with all my might.

Picture the scene as the neighbours see it (apart from the big-time drug-dealer who lived over the road). There's a strange van parked outside the house of a young woman who lives alone. And there's a stranger man climbing up the wall, thumping on her bedroom window with a really big stick.

Ah, hello, officer. I was just, err... Get down? Yes, of course.

Mercifully La Calgacus is much better at dealing with the polis than me and persuaded them that we were not up to anything dodgy. They said they'd believe her if she could get the owner to corroborate her story.

Bit of a problem as we'd been trying for ages to wake her from the Land of the Newkie Dead.

They then observed that someone wanting to break into the house should smash a window in the garage with a nice big stick, reach in and open it from the inside. Not that they would suggest such a thing.

So that's what I did, cracking the pane in the bottom corner nearest the lock. Mercifully the drunken housemate was woken and duly slurred that she knew Mrs C.

As they left, one of the coppers nodded at the broken pane and said to me: "Very professional."

Thank God it was the right house.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:22, Reply)

When stopped by the Rozzers...
...for braking incredibly late at a roundabout and taking the perfect racing line at 2am in the morning - when there was no-one else around - the "naused-off for having to do the late shift" rozzer approached my car and I lowered the window. Cacking it because I knew I also had a bulb out in the brake-light, my mate who'd been smoking and drinking all night decided to answer the standard questions on my behalf..and in his best Alec Guinness voice bellowed out, "These arent the droids you're looking for..!" Breath test and car search followed, along with a ticket to produce documents in 7days. The dirty rozzer even took my FHM magazine.
(AveUseenIT, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:17, Reply)

Me this time...
I "borrowed" two of those heavy duty directional bollards (the ones with keep right or keep left on, big white fuckers) to use as speaker stands. They worked rather well.

My flatmate got broke in to, the filth came around and inspected the house. A couple of weeks later, I got visit. "which flat are you in?" they asked "I'm in the front middle" I replied. "Ah, the one with the bollards" one said. Pissing myself laughing at this "Yeah, that's me" I said. "Well, we are intending pressing charges for damage to public property"...

Fuck.

"Can I get rid of these?" which they agreed, I gave them to a dodgy irish man who works at our place...Never seen them since...

Now my speakers are on the floor.
(beatpig understands subliminalesbianmessagaying., Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:11, Reply)

My mate...
Works for the filth.

He is trained in dis-arming with those batons...You're only allowed to hit the arms or legs. His report "I went to hit his arm, but he ducked and I hit his head".

Another time he was run off the road by joyriders. As the car rolled over he thought about his unborn child, got out of the car to the joyriders (who had crashed) and beat the fuck out of them putting them in hospital. They tried to claim police brutality. His report "Injuries sustained during accident".

How many coppers does it take to push a crim down the stairs? None, your honour, he slipped.
(beatpig understands subliminalesbianmessagaying., Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:07, Reply)

My housemate is a member of the local fuzz
this past fortnight, he has arrested a bunch of kosovan refugees for attemping to steal fish from the local pond (its a bloody big pond)

not once, not twice, but four bloody times.
first time, they were given public order tickets, and had their gear confiscated
the second time, they were hauled in, had their details and prints taken, then released (due to the size of the group, and the lack of cells)
the third time, they were found wading around with nets. once again, they were hauled in, and much the same again.
the fourth (and so far final) time, they were caught with makeshift rods, constituting broom handles, fishing string, and safety pins
when they were all in custody, the super turns around to them and says "if you were in your country, you'd have been shot by now!".

more disturbingly, a few weeks ago, i was pissed outside my local venue, when a couple of our group decide to flash their boxers at the passing cars (me not included). one of the girls runs up, and pulls down my mates boxers, leaving him stark bollock naked as a police car pulls up next to him, with his cock aimed clearly towards the WPC in the car.
comedy ensues, but not as much as when my housemate invites a few of his collegues around next day, the (rather tasty) WPC included
( lo, the Greebo Warrior - Est. 2002, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:04, Reply)

Police, Camera, Achtung!
For full value out of your local authorities, dial your local police station and ask to speak to P.C. World, or if he's not available - his boss....D.I. Drayted.
(AveUseenIT, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:03, Reply)

I haven't been in any bother with the police...
...except for one pulling up alongside me as I was riding no-handed on my bike down the rather steep Mere Knolls Bank in sunderland. I was busy playing air guitar at the time while going ridiculously fast, thinking I was fucking amazing (I was only about 10 at the time, honest) and almost went arse over tit when i noticed the coppers car riding next to me with a stern face looking out the wound down window. He gave me a right telling off, the rotten shit.
(hazey, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 12:01, Reply)