Wrong name wrong place.
Picture the scene. It is 2009 in Sheffield and it's my mates 21st. This coupled with the fact that we were also in our last week of University meant that much alcohol was going to be imbibed.

Following a truly magnificent effort to break my personal best of 9 quadruple vodka and diet coke's in Corporation Nightclub, no mean feat with any Vodka but attempted suicide with the gut rot vodka you got from there.

I can barely manage to stand but in my inebriated fashion decide that drinking more is the only way to go. We all start making our way back towards the the house in Broomhill. En route we pass several pubs and as is the want of drunken students we decide to "liberate" copious amounts of street furniture. Amongst the collection of signs and cones we swiped we also managed to get several empty beer barrels from the back of the pub.

As you walk back towards Broomhill from the City Centre you pass the rather nice Weston Park. We all decide that we should recreate Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling in the park using the beer barrels as a suitable substitute to the cheese.

We managed a couple of rounds of shenanigans before the Gendarmes appeared. Now in a flash the entire crowd barring my friend and I disappear like the extras in a Paul Daniels show. The police are not exactly pleased to find us arsing about inside a locked park. We are invited to join them in the back of the car along with the two barrels. We explain the situation and the coppers take pity upon us.

Officer: "Ok lads, you're not in any major trouble just tell us where you nicked the barrels from we can drive you round there drop them off and then you can fuck off home"

Me: "We found them at the back of the pub by the Students Union."

Officer "Ok we'll drop you off there and you can then bugger off"

As the car pulls up the Officers walk us back round to the pub where we nicked the barrels.

Then it happened;

Officer "Ok lads because we have stopped you and had you in the car we just need some details. It wont go any further but its just for admin sake. Whats your names?"

I give the officer my name and address and then it suddenly dawns on me what's about to happen.

Officer (turning to my mate) "What's your name?"

Mate: "Gene Hunt".

Now this was his genuine name but he had no identification on him having lost his wallet while moshing to some rock based nonsense earlier in the evening.

Obviously Monsieur Plod was not overly pleased with this perceived sleight to his good nature and repeated his question this time with a more aggressive slant. Again my friend responded with his name. This went on for several minutes by which time the officer had developed something of a nervous twitch as this insolent young man continued (he believed) to blatantly take the piss.

We both were arrested for giving false names to an Officer. We were taken down to West Bar Police Station and sat there while Dibble phoned my mates Mum. This being 3am she was not overly pleased to be woken and was really rather miffed that we had both been nicked. SHe did however confirm my friends name.

Before they let us go though the arresting officer took a photo of my mate stood next to the white board on the wall in the custody suite. Upon which can clearly be seen the now legendary line "Cell 3 Gene Hunt"
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Mon 9 May 2011, 19:16, 5 replies)

Dads a nutter
When I was a mere suckling I met my girlfriends dad. An absolute madman in CID. Few things he did;

A) checked me out on the police computer before he would let me shag his daughter - yeah like she waited for that check to come through.

b) knobbed a policewoman who then got thrown out of the force as he was her superior.

c) threatened to duff up the landlord of the flat we were about to leave as he wouldn't return our deposit. Only a couple of fag burns!

d) called our new landlord a faggot on moving in day. He was, but no need!

Couple of things he did well;

a) when we were burgled the entire force appeared on the scene within 5 mins, as we had seen the little scroat leg it out of the backdoor. 10 mins later he asked us to identify said scroat, who happened to have fallen over a few times 'whilst resisting arrest'

b) topping himself on a railway line age 46ish. I'd left said girlfriend by then as there were some family traits.

You were mad R.E. RIP.
(Suck it and Sea, Mon 9 May 2011, 18:35, 11 replies)

And another one
This time about old fashioned police interview techniques....

My Dad was a policeman and tv programmes like Life On Mars are very near the truth apparently for the average nick in the 1970s and 80s. My Dad was full of stories about what happened then...some of them are exactly like LoM and some are more like Heartbeat....none really have the style and panache of The Sweeney...

Just as in LoM they didn't use tape machines to record interviews which meant that a certain amount of 'leeway' could be employed...

Yes, they could bully their way to a confession.

This did mean that on some occasions the result would actually be humorous (well, for the outside world perhaps, maybe not if it resulted in you being banged up for a long stretch just because the man in uniform didn't like you...but I digress...).


On one particular occasion a man had been brought in for questioning regarding a crime that the police knew he was responsible for but he refused to budge from his story.

The decision was made to attempt to provide a little 'pressure' to ensure the required outcome was arrived at....

One of the coppers on duty was a member of the police diving squad and just happened to have his wetsuit and gear with him.

This was at a coastal police station so someone was sent down to the pier and a large fish was purchased.

The accused had been left in the interview room for a while, alone...then the door opened and in walked a frogman - full kit including flippers and facemask, and carrying a large fish....The questions were posed again and this time with each 'incorrect' answer the accused received a mighty wet fish slap around his chops.

Eventually the chap 'coughed' to the crime and it all went to court in due course.

Once on the stand the defendant withdrew his earlier confession as it had been made under duress, and explained the situation surrounding it....

The judge had him sent off for psychiatric assessment.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 9 May 2011, 18:24, 17 replies)

mmmmm, roasty pea
many years ago, i was dating a man who is known locally as Creepy Thin Man, or CTM. at that time, both CTM and myself were heavily into weed. no, this isn't a MASSIVE DRUGS story.
one night, CTM and i were enjoying a spliff or three whilst walking to the train station for him to catch the last train home. the train came, we said our stoned goodbyes and he left, so i set off home.
walking through the park(which was/is always unlocked at night) took about 5 minutes off my journey, so this is what i decided to do.
halfway through the park, i noticed blue lights. a police car was coming through the park towards me. i stopped and waited to see what the occupant of said bacon cruiser wanted. out jumped a rather angry-looking plod, who stalked over to me.
"where do you think you're going?" he barked at me.
"home," i replied, before telling him where i lived, which was just around the corner.
"you don't live there!" he yelled. "i know the man who lives there and he hasn't even got a daughter!"
angered by this, but still managing to keep my cool(probably due to being a bit stoned), i pulled out my pass and showed him my name and address printed on it. he didn't like that at all. calling me a liar and threatening severe punishments, he followed me home and waited whilst i knocked.
when my mum answered the door, i turned on the waterworks.
"mum, this policeman says i don't live here! he's calling me a liar and says he's going to arrest me!"
to say mum was displeased would be putting it mildly. she yelled at the cowering policeman, demanding his name and number and telling him she would be giving his superiors a call straight away, before ushering me inside and slamming the door.
she did phone his superiors, who got both Hyacinth Bucket-esque barrels and threats of legal action.
naughty plod got a telling off, i got an apology. result!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 9 May 2011, 18:17, 2 replies)

Polite awakening.
A little over a decade ago I was a second-year student failing my first year of my second degree.
Being a depressed, hormonally-affected, emotionally-retarded dropout I took to drinking, a lot. Since I knew I was out on my ear at the end of the year I also made no effort to go to classes -- meaning that I tended to sleep whenever I felt like it. My flatmates, mates and I also used to smoke a little pot -- nothing compared to our booze intake but we knew a few dealers so it wasn't that rare for one of us to have a teenth, or even a half, somewhere around.
Anyhow, I was sound alseep one bright morning -- probably around 10:00 as my housemates were in lectures but the sun was still rising -- when I heard a loud knowking at the door. At this stage I'd had a few hours kip, was drunk and stoned from the night before, and so actually managed to get to the door.
I opened the door to three adults: A woman in a suit and two smart-casual type guys (jeans+shirt or something). The woman wasted no time in intruducing herself "Good morning, Mr I'm not, my name is and these two gentlemen are Policeman1 and Policeman2. My heart started to beat (until then I think walking and breathing were pumping my blood, I was that out of it). "May we come in?" asked Policeman1 politely. "Er, OK" says I, trying to recall whether we finished up last night or there's a block of weed on the table.
The two police officers came in, but the housing department lady stayed outside. This was a good job because our communal living room was covered in "Page 3 Stunnaz" and other rubbish.
"Love the decor." says Policenan2. "Well, you know how it is, bit of fun." says Me.
As we're chatting I notice my still assembled "hammer" pipe is on the table, next to an ashtray full of roaches "OK, stop chatting and arest me then" thinks Me. But, no, Policeman1, whom I think was in charge, is looking out of the window nodding. Then he says, quietly but not secretly, to his colleague "This would do.".
Now I'm confused, what the hell is this? Two coppers in a flat that smells of marijuana, has an ashtray full of roaches with at least a decent amount to get a caution to stick and a drunken, stone, insomniac Me and they're sounding like they're buying a home.
Thankfully, before my addled brain could start any real paranoia Ploliceman1 came to the point "Would you allow us to use this flat for observation of the estate below?". I said something like "Er, well, my flatmates, I can't speak for them.". "Well, yes, OK -- we're investigating some drug dealing in the estate, so need a few places to observe from. We'd appreciate it -- just tell housing if you re willing.".
I muttered the same "Can't make a decision for everyone." and told them I'd ask, and the officers left.
When my flatmates got home I told them in fits of laughter and none of us knew what to make of it.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Mon 9 May 2011, 17:55, Reply)

I deal with the police aaaaalllll the time...
... being a Bar/Nightclub manager.

It still makes me giggle everytime they come in on a home football matchday and do a "walkthrough" - the DJ cuts out whatever music he has on and plays The Bill theme tune, last season we even programmed the disco lights to flash red and blue on one of the preset buttons.
( Mister B is eating an icanhazcheezburger with lmaonaise, Mon 9 May 2011, 17:06, 2 replies)

My ex downstairs neighbour was a copper...
One time I locked myself out and didn't want to pay £100 for a locksmith. He was able to kick my door in with such precision that the frame was barely damaged and I could fix it with a couple of screws and some wood glue.
Top effort, Glenn.
He also turned a blind eye to the smell of massive drugs in the communal hallway.
( Sallyrsm, Mon 9 May 2011, 16:50, 1 reply)

possible pea
Years ago I was heavily into bikes and would ride pretty much every day. My mate and I would finish our daily toil and go to his so he could change into his gear and get his bike then he'd give me a lift, pillion to my house for me to do the same before our blast round the countryside.

One particular day we were en-route to mine and were followed and stopped by a panda car. "Do you realise what speed you were just doing?"
"Not really"
"You were doing 40 in a 30 zone and your passenger isn't even wearing a helmet"
"We're really sorry. We're just on our way to get it now."
"How far away does he live?"
"Just a couple of streets down there." *points*
"OK he walks and don't let me catch you again."

Oh, we were 11 and riding a ten-speed racer bicycle.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 9 May 2011, 16:24, 22 replies)

My mates were once arrested for stealing helium baloons from a carsales parking lot.
Stoned, diring home, see a bunch of heluim baloons, obviously these baloons had to be in their posession. They went home for scissors then came back and started to snip baloons and put them in the car. On the 3rd trip they came back to the car to find Police waiting for them. One of my mates was a bit fidgety and started moving around, he was ineptidtely stopped by one policeman who told him to stand with his mates. When enquiring why they were told that it was to prevent them starbursting.
"Like this?" my fidgity mate asked, jumping up and down and waviing his arms around.
"No." said the officer, "That's star jumps, star burst is where you run away in different directions."

They went to the station and were told not to do it again, then were taken back to the parking lot and were told to put all the baloons back.

and they avoided being searched.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Mon 9 May 2011, 15:47, Reply)

GETINTHEBACKOFTHEVAN

( Michael Ellis contributes nothing, Mon 9 May 2011, 15:44, 4 replies)

(not much) Help with enquiries
~~~~~~~
The time: Evening, the late 80's - 'shroom season
The place: a shitty back-to-back on the (far) outskirts of studentland in a northern city
Officer attending: DS Walter I.Dunn-Todeservethis
Others present: 3 long-haired scruffy mongs
~~~~~~~
I attended the above address to obtain witness statements following an assault at a party close to the university. On arrival, I introduced myself (to the response "That's nice"), and explained the reason for my visit. The occupants appeared to be planning to stay in for the evening, as they had made a pungent herbal tea time some time before my arrival (which I was pleased not to be offered), and were watching a video, which I later established to be Pink Floyd: Live at Pompei. They presented as restless & excitable, at times verging on hysteria, and had difficulty recalling the details from a few nights before.
After a few minutes of attempting to obtain a coherent statement, apparently on some signal I did not observe, one of the occupants rose, inviting me to accompany him upstairs. I found this a little odd, and considered whether vice would soon need to be involved, but agreed to the request. On doing so I found myself shown into a typical male student's bedroom, with unwashed dishes & clothes, comic books, LPs, a traffic cone and a small amount of academic material radiating from the unmade bed. In one corner was a 4 foot tall hookah pipe with 12' hose. After some further time I came to the realisation that I had obtained all the information that was likely to be forthcoming, such as it was, brought the interview to a close and left the premises.

Conclusion/recommendation: I do not believe those interviewed would make reliable witnesses in court, as they are clearly a bunch of doped up morons who will be lucky to scrape a Douglas between them.
He was right too!
tl;dr version in replies
(sarcastic fringehead feet of clay, buns of steel, head of lettuce, Mon 9 May 2011, 14:51, 9 replies)

T in the park 2005
got caught with ecstasy. very naughty I know. ended up going back and forth to court for a year trying to prove I wasn't a drug dealer. i kinda was i must admit but not the bad kind. i had been the one to bring them solely for use by my friends and I.

the whole mess started with me in my tent rolling a spliff. when it came to the point to burning the gear I realised i had no lighter in my tent. I stood up outside and asked my friends who were littered around outside my tent if they had a light. they stared back at me, some agog. I asked again punctuating my speech "does. anyone. have. a lighter?" I then realised they were not staring at me agog they were staring over my shoulder. I turned to see what had caught their attention and there he was. Officer McKay standing looking at me with a half assembled joint and a bit of dope in my hand.
"is this your tent you've came from?" he asked
"yes" I replied, too drunk and high to try and lie.
"well we'll be searching it then."
in my camera bag they found more hash and 7 ecstasy pills. and, here's the rub, £680 in twenty quid notes.
now, here is where i should clarify where it came from: I was dealing drugs. to my friends. I was the only one with contacts to get us supplies to take to the festival and there was 20 of us all wanting drugs in some form and I was the one who brought them. In glorious hindsight i should have distributed said wares and collected the dough beforehand but I had friends from all over i wouldnt see until the festival and I am, or was, basically a complete fool.
so yeah I was charged with supply and had to traipse up to perth once a month to be accused of drug dealing. but heres the thing, I got away with it. "how?" you ask?
well, and heres the lols, my friends x and y were good enough to come and testify that the money I had (the £680) was a kitty to buy booze and that I had been trusted with it. I had by some celestial intervention completely mad with it moment of clarity type moment told the police upon them finding the cash that thats what it was for, within earshot of my friends, who immediately backed me up. so I stuck to that story all the way to court.
upon being in the stand I was a nervous wreck but managed to stick to the story and X was much the same but Y, god bless you Y, was in his element. the procurator fiscal (the prosecution for yall on the other side of the pond) was grilling ross and trying to catch him out. Y was completely unfazed. the procurator put it to Y how exactly we were planning on getting 680 quids worth of booze from the booze tent to our tent, with out hesitation or any inkling of lies Y looked the wig and gown wearing man straight in the eye with a look of disdain on his on face and said "we had a wheelbarrow."
Y said it with such inflection as to accuse the procurator of being an imbecile for not asuming we had a wheelbarrow. this question must have been a major keystone in his offence because after that he crumbled.
"i think you're lying" he said.
"no im not" said Y as quickly as he had been asked.

I walked away with 180 hours community service. the procurator pushed for the maximum sentence for possession as he knew I had been dealing but couldn't prove it. he was furious. i could have ended up with 6 months in jail if found guilty. I swear I made no money from supplying my friends that weekend. I passed it on for what I had got it for. I've never been the one responsible for coming with the goods again and it suits me fine.

while on my first day of community service a boy who was also on his first day had slashed another boys face permanently disfiguring him. he received 80 hours community service. 100 less than me. something is rotten in the state of scotland.

EDIT: and ive just realised i missed a chance to use the term 'massive drugs' in there somewhere. ah well. next time.
(Raol Duke, Mon 9 May 2011, 14:03, 6 replies)

So you're allowed to swear at us, then?
Going home from a midweek Manchester 1990s Indie club night, four of us in the car, me in the back with my girlfriend. Us three passengers had been drinking, not excessively, but S the driver hadn't touched a drop.

S did manage to get in the wrong lane on a (deserted) roundabout, turned off anyway, only to see a police van going in the opposite direction. Of course, it drove all the way around, caught us and pulled us over. S winds his window down, Mr Policeman leans out of his passenger-side window, glares disapprovingly at us long-haired types, and barks;

"YOU'RE DRIVING LIKE AN ARSE!!!"

This is instantly the funniest thing I've ever heard, and panic sets in as GF and I catch each other's eyes and realise we are thinking the same thing. We're about to get a potentially disastrous case of the giggles. I turn and stare down in to the footwell, concentrating on not getting thrown in the back of a police van for laughing at a policeman. S, contrite and cool as you like, calmly talks his way out of the situation, no sir, I haven't had a drink, I just got lost for a second etc. Eventually, the "can I go now" bollocking ends, they speed off to do more good, and three of us burst out laughing. S just sits there smiling at us all, eventually saying "Well, that's a relief".

"You've really not had a drink though, have you?" front passenger friend asks.

"No, no, I never drink and drive", he replied. "I am tripping, though".
( The Vomiting Hitchhiker Mephistopheles is such a mouthful in Manhattan, Mon 9 May 2011, 12:47, 2 replies)

Loads of police stories
Rather prescient that a question on the police should come up this week....My dad retired from the police force about 14 years ago and sadly passed away last week. It's rather nice to be able to put a lot of his funny stories down.
This one I told before in 2007.

My Dad is was a Scot but lived down South and served in the local force.

One morning my Dad had gone into work and was called down to the cells where the custody officer was a fellow Scot.

Apparently a drunk had been brought in overnight and now the custody office decided he was going to teach the drunk a lesson....

My Dad and the CO go to the door of the drunk cell which is open and a very forlorn young man sits on the edge of the 'bed' (they didn't have a bed, it was a step with a mattress on it so if the drunk fell out of bed he wouldn't hurt himself - see, British policemen *are* considerate! Mind you, they would probably thump him later...). So there he sits, head in hands muttering about never drinking again - yep, we've all been there.

He looks up at the two officers, "Where am I?" he asks,
"A long way from home pal" says the CO in a broad Scots accent.
"Eh?" replies confused drunk,
"You're in Glasgow Central"

The drunk denies this and insists that it's impossible for him to have been out drinking in Kent last night but this morning to be nearly 500 miles way in Glasgow, Scotland. He insists that the policeman is having a laugh....

The CO turns to my Dad, "Tell him"
"Glasgow Central pal. How'd you get up here?" answers my Scots father.

The drunk begins to look horrified.
"You're 'avin' a laugh!" he still refuses to believe....

So now the police begin to get really evil....
"Hang on a moment pal."
My Dad disappears into the corridor and finds another uniformed officer...who just happens to be a fellow Scot....."Tell this joker where he is"

The large policeman puts his head around the door, looks slightly quizzically at the drunk and then says, "D'ye no ken y'rin Glasgow Central?"

At this point the drunk began to shake his head and tears appeared in his eyes, "My wife is going to kill me!"

The policemen offered no sympathy with his plight, they were hard even, refusing to agree to his pleas for some sort of help to buy a train ticket, or even allow him a phone call home. Instead they kicked him out of the police station onto the mean streets of Whitstable, Kent.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 9 May 2011, 12:41, 12 replies)

Bad news
Many years ago my grandfather sold his house, moved to a tiny retirement bungalow and then proceeded methodically to plan and realise his exit from life with the aid of an overdose of painkillers. This isn’t his story.

The police, alerted by a concerned neighbour, broke in and found him. It was summer, I was 19 and the only one at our family home when the police car came down the drive. Much of the detail has now faded with time and was anyway blurred by the numbness that accompanies such a visit. I remember the copper’s gentle sympathy and concern even now though.

He was almost apologetic when he said they needed a formal identification and would I go over to the house. I searched for the car keys; he looked at me and said “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a lift”. In the car he pulled out a pack of B&H, offered a much needed cigarette saying “We’re not supposed to smoke in these but who’s going to know.” When I sent us the wrong way he just grinned and did a three point turn on a roundabout. “That’s the beauty of driving one of these - everything’s legal”. He hung around while we did the formal stuff and while I rang my dad. He missed his break to drive me home again.

So this is about Gary, a stranger, who did his job with a kindness and humanity for which I’ll always be grateful.

[First post, please be gentle, sorry for lack of funnies etc]
( custardthehedgehog, Mon 9 May 2011, 12:24, 3 replies)

What's your favouwite type of gig, PIG?
Bawwy Manilow?

or The Black and White Minstwel Show?!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 9 May 2011, 12:02, 9 replies)

Rodney King UK
Heading back into town after doing some filming on the cliffs nearby, we found ourselves in the middle of a "ring of steel", which was in place because the government were having their annual conference in town. Armed police everywhere, metal detector arches on the streets and a general feel of paranoia and tension all around.

Now, the star of our little film, who was in the passenger seat, was shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. This was interpreted by the police as an attempt to hide his face, and we were pulled over. A very shouty man stuck his head in the window and bellowed at us.

"You! Why are you hiding your face?"

"I have a hangover"

"What's your name?"

"Martin #####"

"Where are you from?"

"Erith."

"What part of Ireland is that?"

This question baffled us, as Erith is in Kent and decidedly - almost painfully - English. So English that Kate Bush was born there. Correcting the cop's dubious knowledge of geography did little to sooth him, and we were subjected to a more shouty questions, and threats to haul us out and generally make Martin's hangover something he'd look back on fondly. Eventually, however, we managed to convince Mr Shouty that we were not dangerous revolutionaries, and he waved us on.

As we drove away, we all commented that we thought we were going to get arrested / body searched / beaten up / disappeared. At that point I noticed that the video camera, which was sitting on my lap, had been accidentally switched on and had been recording the entire encounter.

It's kind of a pity he didn't get violent. Would have made great news footage!
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 9 May 2011, 11:33, Reply)

The force
My brother joined the police. Now he's not what you would call athletic, and he had his sights set on a detective's role, but (at least in those days) everyone had to start off on the beat.

So one day my chubby brother was running after some naughty person when he fell over. He was knackered and couldn't get back up so he yelled 'STOP' as loudly as he could. And the crim was so surprised that he did stop, allowing my brother to get his puff back, catch the guy and arrest him.
(Smale is stuffed, Mon 9 May 2011, 11:32, Reply)

A little pea
Out on patrol one day, sat at the front of a queue at traffic lights, i see a guy on his mobile phone* come to a halt directly infront of me, as he's turning right. I can't really justify doing a u-turn to stop him as i was on the way to a higher priority job, so decided to give him a little shock.

I turned my siren and lights on for about 2 seconds, at which point he sees me just as he's setting off, panics and drops his phone - out of his open window! It smashed on the floor and most likely driven over several times by following traffic.

It may not have been professional, but i laughed all the way to my next job.

*one of my pet hates, along with children without seat belts.
( Another_tragic_case wished he hadn't eaten all the cake, Mon 9 May 2011, 11:08, 10 replies)

Mistaken identity
Many moons ago, in the time before broadband, we needed to get (what was considered then) a large amount of data from our office in London to a customer in Liverpool. We dug out one of the very expensive CD-Rs and burned all 200meg of the data onto the disk, gaping in amazement at how we could make our own CDs. This was a while ago.

We then drew straws to see who got to drive through the night to deliver said disk. The young lass who worked for me at the time "won", was handed the keys to a company car and was handed an A-Z of Liverpool, so she could find her way.

And off she was dispatched.

When she got back into work a day or so later, I asked her is she had any problems. She said "no", then "well, sort of". Panicking that something had happened to the precious, expensive CD-R, I asked her what had happened.

It transpired that she had been driving along the M62 in the manner of someone who was driving a car that was not theirs i.e. thrashing the life out of it, when she saw blue lights in her rear-view mirror and she, quite rightly, gets pulled over.

Now, she was doing what she called "licence threatening" speeds not long before she was pulled over and was bricking it. So she does what any 19-year-old, very good looking, busty lass would do, she pulled her top down low enough that you could see the tops of her nipples and puts on her best innocent look. When the officer comes to her window and asks her if she knows how fast she was going, she gives it the full "I don't know officer, it's my first time on the motorway and I don't know where I'm going and everyone was going so FAST and I was so SCARED and I didn't know what to DO and there was so many CARS I've never driven this car before and... and..." and then squeezed out a tear. And was duely let off with a "don't do it again".

Now, this would be fairly unremarkable, were it not for the fact I drew the CD-delivery short straw about two weeks later. I was proceding down the M62 in the same company car at reasonable (sub-90, at least) speeds when I saw blue lights in my mirror. I pulled over, wondering what the fuck I'd done. The copper saunters up to my window, looks at me, looks crestfallen and then says "sorry mate, thought you were someone else" and slinks back to his car. Perv.
(ScousersPet, Mon 9 May 2011, 10:52, 3 replies)

When I was a student and living in Shepherd's Bush I got stopped by the police
the reason being, I was driving through the geopolitically incorrectly named 'White City' area at night, so they flashed their blues (so I stopped my comedy Mini Metro to find out what was afoot) and curtly ordered me to follow them OUT of white city as they didn't fancy filling out multiple crime reports later on that evening.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Mon 9 May 2011, 10:38, 6 replies)

On-flight interrogation
One of the first holidays the missus and I went on together was to the sunny isle of Gran Canaria. We were in our early twenties and had enjoyed a pretty decent 2-week break.

On the flight home, we got chatting to a lovely guy in his late forties who was really interested in what we'd done, where we'd been and who we had chatted to on our excursions. After we'd filled him in, he was then particularly interested in what we both did for a living, where we lived and who our friends and family were.

The alarm bells really started going off when he started to question the authenticity of the designer labels we were both wearing (it was the 90's and everyone wore snide CK and Ralph Lauren). Suddenly the lovely chatty guy seemed a little more intense and the rest of the flight was used as an impromptu interrogation.

Completely soured the holiday, I guess a copper really is never off duty.
(BinDipper, Mon 9 May 2011, 10:34, Reply)

(only mildly related to the police) Long time ago, the first Weatherspoons in N.Ireland had a new barman.
He wasn't well liked around the town. The main problem being that he treated every job as a position of power so he could talk down to people and generally act like a cock. Now it was common in my hometown for coaches to be organised to ferry crowds of yobs and louts up to Kelly's nightclub in Portrush every weekend. They used to gather at the local petrol station until the police busted them for loitering. So they started to meet in the new Weather-spoons simply cos it was "good cheep booze 'hey". The crowds were often large and rowdy too.

So Terry, not being liked very much was put in charge of serving drinks for the whole party before the coach picked them up. My friend, the manager at the time, issued him the order:

"Don't let them take any glasses out of the pub and onto the bus"

So Terry set about his duties like a cross between Al Murray's landlord and Hitler. Not long into it the crowd started taking the piss and this only made him worse. So to cut an already long a story short, the party bus had arrived and the drunk revelers started to pour onto the bus, when a guy at the bar said:

"Here, Terry! One of them has taken a pair of glasses onto that bus, I seen her put them into her handbag"

and so Terry storms onto the bus, yelling and demanding the return of the stolen property, and won't let the bus leave until he gets the glasses back. It escalates to the point where Terry calls the police, the police arrive and ask nicely if everyone can empty their bags, pockets etc so they can just get the possibly dangerous glass back and get out of town and go clubbing.

A few hours later and nothing was found and the police give poor Terry a dressing down for wasting their time. Terry then started to chastise the punter who had tipped him off:

Terry - "You told me you seen that woman put a couple of glasses into her handbag you knob!"

Punter - "No I didn't, I said she had a pair of glasses. I seen her take them off her face and put them into her handbag, just like I said"


And the the pub erupted in laughter, including the coppers.
( Bamboo Steamer, Mon 9 May 2011, 10:28, 2 replies)

The house alarm
in the house across the road from me went off while the owners were on holiday.

Several days later we were visited by the local Police who were asking near neighbours if they'd seen or heard anything, since apparently (I found out later) the house had been burgled.

While the very nice Policewoman was standing at our door asking pertinent questions, my golden retriever bumbled up behind her and, by way of a doggy-type introduction, shoved his head right up her skirt.

She didn't bat an eyelid.
(Freakmandu, Mon 9 May 2011, 9:34, 5 replies)

And more Airport Police
Back in the early 2000's people will remember there was a spate of mail powder bombs floating round. Well, one day myself and my co-workers were walking round and noticed the police station was cordoned off.

What had happened was a couple of months previous the ol' Police station had received a suspect letter. As I said above this was round the time when letters full of Anthrax were making their merry way through the postal system. So, it was left on a pile on a desk for a few months...

Until one budding officer a few months on decided, "thats been sitting there way too long, lets see whats in it!". And promptly exploded a letter of fine powder all over the station. Thankfully it was only one of the hoax letters but all the same I'd say there were a few sweaty brows that day.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Mon 9 May 2011, 9:24, Reply)

i h8 da filf cos i iz gangsta til i dy innit lol
tugz 4 life
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 9 May 2011, 9:10, 31 replies)

Hampshire's finest
Having smacked into a set of railings on the old Thunderace i finally regained my senses, surrounded by paramedics, ambulance, doctor and firemen. Also the biggest t**t of a copper. Who else would possibly slip a producer note into your pocket while out cold? And how was i going to produce my documents in the allotted seven days............when i'm in hospital for over a month? A lovely letter to the chief plodder produced a warm feeling when he mentioned disciplinary action against the overzealous one.

Lovely
(vamp1refrog, Sun 8 May 2011, 21:40, 5 replies)

Our Local Coppers Rock
Literally.


(1UP! Socially Distant, Sun 8 May 2011, 20:50, 5 replies)

Answering a radio call
Getting a lift home by our local copper (he found me somewhere I wasn't supposed to be, doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing).

The radio pipes up that everyone in local area could move there arses to a small town in the Yorkhire Dales to support the fire service who are attending a possible (and probably very hazardous) toxic waste spill.

Local copper turns the radio off and lets me off without the usual chat with my parents.

"Timrot (says he), today we have both been naughty, so let's just both go home and pretend today never happened".
(Timrot, Sun 8 May 2011, 19:42, 1 reply)

Hiding from the fuzz
Three stumbling, mumbling, cider riddled, drunken young northern idiots all 15 years old decide it'll be fun to take some traffic cones.

They decide to wear the traffic cones on their heads.

The fuzz appear, driving slowly up the street.

Rather than run, the drunken idiot in the middle of the three decides the best plan is to try to blend into the surrounding like in that cool Predator movie.

Three drunken 15 year old idiots stand motionless (spread eagled) facing a red brick wall wearing traffic cones on their heads.

The fuzz drive past very slowly just shaking their heads.

I was the middle idiot.
(Timrot, Sun 8 May 2011, 19:37, 1 reply)