The Police
I think they're bloody wonderful. The best police force in the world, ours. Bravo the Police!

I got arrested once, in Soho. It was "disorderly whilst drunk". At first I was alarmed by the fact they thought it would take five of them to bundle me (weedy, vaguely effeminate) out, but then my confidence grew and I abused each one of them dreadfully, calling them all sorts of things. "You disgusting, revolting, ugly, steatopygian, unctious turd of odium," I said to one. May not have said steatopygian, I forget. "Take your hands off me this instant you fucking c***ing slimy festering grunting pig," I said to another, and so on and so on and so forth.

In every other country in the world, The Netherlands included, I would, as a mere entree to the feast of violence that nature dictates must be brought to bare on a drunk who is abusive to a cop, have been beaten black and blue. At the very, very, meagrest and scantest, most tinysome least.

But was I? Did they? Not a bit of it. Not even slightly. Not even a hint. They locked me in a cell, brought me water when I banged on the grill, called out a psychiatrist when I said I'd throw myself off Westminster bridge if they released me (it was four in the morning by this time), and on booking me in, indulged my request for a phone call. I called a friend who had witnessed this all and was waiting in the reception area; we gossiped for fifteen minutes, as if nothing had happened. No book was thrown: no charge was brought; I was paraded before no snivelling PLMC magistrate. At six thirty in the morning I was set free to roam home.

I really must hand it to the police. Restraint personified.
(petrofski, Mon 26 Sep 2005, 20:20, Reply)