Customs cabaret.
As with most things in life, the first time is always memorable. So it was with our first trip to Amsterdam.

At the time I was really into spliff. When my birthday came around the Mrs and I planned a city-break to stoners mecca. In the build up, i'd thoroughly researched where would have good smoke and how to avoid or dismiss the 'charlie whisperers'.

I made what I suspect is a common error among first-timers to the tokesters paradise. I couldn't resist sampling a bit of this from here and that from there and accumulated more wonderful than we could possibly consume during our short stay.

So came the final night before our early departure. I dared not risk so much as an arrest, what with my being an aspiring executive in a clerical profession. We were also on two flights the next day so double doses of security loomed. There was no chance of sneaking my glut home for later enjoyment.

Being also of the waste-not... persuasion I was determined to consume as much smoky goodness as I could manage. I started with the double bubblegum from grey area, a light cereberal high and worked my way through the handful of little zip-lok bags until the penultimate, a nice hash i'd bought on a whim from the dolphin near leidseplein. It was slightly translucent and formed into long rolls with just the warmth of the hand. I only just managed to finish the first 3skin when the squishy hotel bed and and soft drone of BBC news 24 became too much and I slumped into the delicious slumber of the hopelessly monged.

Thankfully my better half shoved me into the shower in time to leave for our early train to schipol. I was of course still disgracefully mashed. Under her expert guidance I shuffled through check-in and to passport control. The aryan cop seemed to double take at my documents before staring me out and saying something in a heavy accent that was unintelligible to my addled thinkbox. "Sorry?" I asked with my best not-caned-just-tired manner.

He nudged his colleague and showed them my passport pointing at something in it. They both stood up behind the glass. My mind raced with surprising sobriety, desperately trying to remember if I had any contraband in my pockets or bag. Just when I was sure I was in for a shit day of searches and missed flights he raised one hand as some sort of signal and it began.

Happy birthday to you. Happy...

I'd been semi awake for about 3 hours and hadn't realised that today was my birthday and the reason / excuse for the trip.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Wed 11 May 2011, 19:53, Reply)

Our village copper...
was Geoff Capes.
( Sallyrsm, Wed 11 May 2011, 17:39, 3 replies)

Was heading throught Leeds/Bradford Airport last thursday morning.
Off on my stag do with 8 mates to Majorca!

Get through the scanners with only a pat down and heading for the police check.

Bloke and woman make small talk with us, "where are you going", "oh, whos the stag", lads all point at me.

Another bit of small talk while they check my passport, copper looks again and says "your passport is out of date you know?"

cold, cold terror..... then I realise its not, i fucking double checked it, but hes deadpan.

Then he smiles and says, "you'll face worse than that off your missus when you get home".

I turn, call him a Bastard with a smile and he smiles. It was a fucking good prank but hes a fucker for scaring me...good show
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Wed 11 May 2011, 15:41, Reply)

Snooker Loopy
A bloke I know, lives in Plymouth and he only drives silver cars. When I asked him about his regular colour choice he said "there are no silver balls in snooker"

Aparently the local traffic police regularly play "snooker" where they pull over cars acording to the rules of snooker (red, colour, red, colour) Although it smaks of urban myth to me ;)
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Wed 11 May 2011, 15:31, 7 replies)

Scrumping: A delightful tale from a 1970s rural idyll which may contain traces of vomit
We were young, we were stupid, it was the 1970s, and we thought it would be a great adventure to break into the local orchard and scrump their apples.

On those long, long summer evenings, we didn't even wait for it to get dark before the five of us vaulted the gate, pluck big, round apples off the trees and stuffed our pockets.

And there, as we climbed the gate to get out, was the village copper.

He lived four doors down from us, and I knew I'd be in for a rocket from my folks when he handed us over.

But: "Eat them?"

"What?"

"Eat them. Eat them ALL."

So we ate handfuls of the bitterest apples you could ever imagine. Apple after apple, and the taste got no better.

Then, as the first of us bowked rich, green vomit into the gutter, he let us stop and sent us on our way.

Lesson learned? The field a few hundred yards over had sweetcorn. Lovely, lovely sweetcorn.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Wed 11 May 2011, 14:56, 8 replies)

I'm not a fan of coppers.
In fact, I consider them to be pretty low in the pecking order of society. So much so, that if one walked across my carpet, I'd consider buying a new one, or at least renting a steam cleaner to get the fetid stench of corruption and ignorance out.
...and with that in mind, I regale you with the tale of my drunken ex misses on her birthday many years ago.
My house had recently caught fire, the gas pipe had somehow caught light, which thankfully eventually burned through a water pipe which managed to save it from being raised to the ground.
It did, however, cause considerable damage. So much so that the place was uninhabitable and for a period of about 5-6 months, we rented a place about 1/2 mile away whilst it was being repaired.
Being the height of summer and in a tourist town, short-term lets were in short supply, and as such I ended up renting a bloody enormous house in a posh(er) end of town - all mock Tudor houses with Jags and Mercs in the driveway.
Shortly after moving in, it was the ex's birthday. We and a few friends frequented the local pub, made merryment etc... and generally had a pretty decent time of it. That is, until the short walk home:
"Some cnut has nicked my fags" slurs the ex.
"Oh well, I'm sure it wasn't on purpose. I'll pop out in the morning and get some more."
"No! Fkucing scumbags have nicked me faaaaags" etc...
We get back home, and she collapses in the driveway, with a slighly less pissed, but pissed all the same, me, attempting to pick her up and carry her indoors. I should add here, that all the while I'm trying to help her, I'm receiving clobbers to the face and scratches etc...
About 20 mins after I pay the babysitter and get the ex in her bed, a jamjar pulls up outside, no doubt after having been called by a pseudo-posh-bmw-owning-mock-tudor-house-owning-posher-than-they-think neighbour.
I go outside, and tell them that all is well, the misses has had a birthday party and is a bit pissed, fell over in the drive etc...I said "It was nothing really, she didn't even wake the kids up"
And then came the bombshell, "Right. We're coming in."
"Well, your not."
"Yes.We.Are."
"No. You're not coming in. Everyone, including my kids, is asleep, and you'll wake them up."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a solicitor" (frankly it's none of their business what I do and completely irrelevant, hence the lie)
"We're coming in. We have reason to believe that you've beaten her up"

...and so it continues for a while.
I couldn't bring myself to let them in. Seriously, what would my friends think? That I entertain THAT type of guest? No way.
It goes on, with the copper going on about the law, and how the law is the law (civil or criminal etc...) and that they're coming inside.
"I'm losing my patience with you" says one of the female coppers.
At this point, I got seriously pissed off, so drove my car up against the front door, climb out of the sunroof and pull myself up onto the porch roof.
"You're nicked. Come down now!"
"Of course, officer, that's exactly what I'll do. Right this second." ...are words that did not eminate from my vocal chords.
I climbed higher, and got onto the roof of the house. From there, I could see TWO police landrovers, and three more jamjars, who sprung into action, presumably radioed by the two coppers now in the driveway.
I'm not making it exactly clear from the dialog above just how sexist these two female coppers were being. The fact that I was a male, and my girlfriend female, in their minds, instantly made me a wife beater. They said as much on a few occassions.
I dropped down into a neighbours garden, climed over their fence and made my way up the hill.
I sat there smoking a roll-up, and watching as no less than six coppers went through all the neighbours gardens with flash-lights looking for me.
"Fuck this", I though. I made my way back to my newly burned house, opened the garage, where I had a phone, phoned the police station and made a formal complaint against the two original coppers for sexism. One of which, to my surprise was upheld (due, in no small part, to this unbeknownst to me at the time, not being her first complaint for it).
The misses (and kids) had since woken up by the coppers battering the back door down, and she'd been pissed enough to be hoodwinked into saying more-or-less what the coppers wanted her to. "Is he violent generally?", "Not really", "That's a 'yes' then" etc...
Thankfully, when they suggested that I'd beaten her she told the truth and seemed surprised that they would even ask, then twigged where their questions were attempting to lead her.
Still. That was the last day that we were together.
It turns out that I'd been to school with one of the coppers, and she'd wrongly remembered my name - for a similar(ish) one admittedly. In the PNC, it came up as an outstanding arrest for ABH or similar, and apparently she was trying to get us all inside so she could arrest me without me being able to leg it quite so easily.
The complaint was upheld about her and she has since emigrated to NZ, so those poor bastards have to put up with her now.
(dchurch bah, Wed 11 May 2011, 14:17, 9 replies)

Coppers are alright really.
I have loads of police stories; some are negative, but mainly the police are good guys. I've spent a lot of time mixing with scummers, scoring and whatnot, and the police do tend to go in heavily on these sort of people. I also got a hellish ride off some twat when I got busted for fraud.

However, in the main, the police re fine. I've been pulled loads of times, in the car, in clubs, on foot, and I've generally got away with it. Just be nice and polite, respectful and appreciate they have a job to do. They won't usually nick you unless they have no choice in the matter.

Provincial coppers are worse than urban coppers - the Met are great.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Wed 11 May 2011, 13:59, 1 reply)

Since living in Plymouth, I have been stopped by the Police 3 times
1) I was wearing a gas mask to a rock bar (strange I know but hey), two plain-clothes came up to me and asked if I was a terrorist. Didn't believe they were Police, showed me ID and then asked if was going to blow thigns up. One of the weirdest things thats ever happened to me.
2) Stopped for skipping outside a kebab shop
3) Stopped for "looking dodgy". I was walking down the street :/
I think those nights must have been very very slow for those particular cops.
(Buftoon posted this on, Wed 11 May 2011, 13:06, 5 replies)

Back when i was a little scamp
I was spending the day in the local Games Arcade.

Next thing, this Policeman in a Bikers uniform stopped me and asked

"have you seen this boy?!" he held up a instant photo of some young lad.

I did the helpful thing of point towards where i saw him - on the Afterburner game in the corner. He was with another lad - who was ugly and punk looking.

Looking back , i felt I did the right thing, he must have ran away from his family and the police man was searching for him.

I like to think i did a good deed that day, and that he went back to his family shortly after.

:)
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Wed 11 May 2011, 11:31, 11 replies)

HUGE MASSIVE drugs, importartion and victoria bus station...
Quite a few years back (wobbly wavy line alert)

~~~~~~~~~~~

i'd just spent a couple of nights dossing bout the big smoke of laaandaaan town, allegedly looking for digs for my then scouse girlfriend who was allegedly goin to uni down there...
usual thing had happened - cheap bottle of voddy, obliterated, no idea where to start...decided to just go home...with accompanying obligatory multi hour wait in bus station for next bus to glasgow.

as the hangover started to kick in, it was decided enough was enough, and a wee bifter would certainly ease the pain enough to see us through...

off mr nononononono trotted to the gentleman's powder room to prepare the goods...whilst doing so it was noted doors either side of cubicle were opened/closed, opened/closed by same pair of boots...shoulda been warning enough..but no...

leaving the powder room, the rasta attendant shaking his head at me shoulda been enough of a warning...but no....

looking up the stairs to see two or three 6 footers blocking the way - that kinda gave the game away, and i immediately thought "ah shite".

come with me young man etc etc...

"kind" enough to let me tell the missus i'd been huckled and the bus that was finally approaching would be missed...that was fun.

back of the van off to wherever the hell they take you followed by the dreaded interrogation....
"where you from? what you doing here?" ... i was all but waiting for the ravetastic - "what you on?" as well...let me down on that front...bastards...

"where'd you get it then?" - i'd just like to point out that "it" was about the size of a penny, maybe 1 more decent smoke out of it, but that was it...

long tale about pubs in glasgow, never met the guy before, all the stock answers/questions i'd expect them to come across in whatever passes for cop training...

then came the killer line. the one that almost made it worthwhile.

"you've come from scotland with this filth, brought it with you - you realise we could do you with importing drugs into our country??"

I'm glad the look on my face didn't quite convey the sentiment of "fuck off you cunt" that I was thinking and they let me go.

apologies for lack of honda's and supermodels. the scouse bint was a bit of a goer though.
(NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo, Wed 11 May 2011, 11:03, 4 replies)

I know my rights!
A few years ago I was on one of the Stop the War marches in Edinburgh - parading all over the town, with a plan to end at the American Embassy to deliver a petition asking for them to withdraw forces - that kinda thing.

We had made our way round the town happily enough, but when we came up to the Embassy, which lives on a cobbled side-street off the main road, there were barriers and fencing in position across the road, and a large collection of police, who informed us that there was a road closure order in force.

As a then-overenthusiastic law student, I decided to investigate. Wandering over the barriers I read the road closure order in great details, and discovered one fatal flaw in their plans - it applied to vehicles and not to pedestrians. I had done it! I had found a way to beat the authoritative regime and exert my rights as a free citizen of this noble land!

Smugly, I sauntered over to the nearest constable and asked to speak to the man in charge. After a few minutes a very large sergeant wanders over, and I begin to smugly explain how the road closure doesn't apply to us, how we can walk down the road, that they should move the barriers etc etc. He listens politely as I reel off my rights, smiles briefly, then utters the immortal words:

'If any of you lot try to wander down there I'll have you banged up for breach of the peace - so stop complaining about your rights and get back to waving some banners or something.'

Moral of the story: whenever you think you've got one over the legal system, remember its a very big book, and it'll still hurt even if they only throw a small part of it at you...
(Mattle, Wed 11 May 2011, 10:50, 3 replies)

Yank Police don't fuck about...
Some years ago now I was on a TrekAmerica holiday on the West Coast, started in LA then up the Pacific Coast Highway and onwards to Yosemite and the Grand Canyon in a Minivan...the minivan had very tinted windows...
Got pulled over on one of those amazingly straight roads that leads into the desert in Colorado and our tour guide was ordered to get out.
The Copper was very twitchy as he couldn't see who else was in the van because of the tints (9 women, actually, all unarmed) so our guide was on her knees, on the road, feet crossed behind her and her hands on her head looking at the business end of a Police Special.
Thank christ my inner comedian didn't shout BOO! at the copper.
Still don't know why we got pulled over. Speeding a bit, prolly.
( Sallyrsm, Wed 11 May 2011, 10:44, 1 reply)

Since there's a few stories like this floating about at the moment - here's mine - a proud moment for me:
A policeman came to our primary school when I was about six, to tell us all how to be good, law-abiding, unquestioning citizens. Afterwards he asked if we had any questions, and up shot my hand.

"Have you ever had anything stolen from the police station?" I asked, to huge laughter from all the little girls and boys.

Looking back, I am jolly pleased with the critical nature of my thinking.

Turns out the week before someone had, too - they'd left the motor running on the dog van, and someone had got in and driven off.

Sadly my mind didn't extend to asking if the perp had been mauled to death by having their face ripped off, exposing their teeth and ocular muscles, but hey - at least I'd wondered.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 11 May 2011, 10:34, 7 replies)

Vaguely on topic repost from yonks ago, apologies for MASSIVE DRUGS but I am simply too tough to tone it down
Many moons ago, I took a trip back to my particular corner of England for a much needed break from all things French. Catching up with friends and family was the main aim, and it wasn’t until I arrived that I realised that to do this unhindered by the proles that be I would have to drill twenty JJB England flags into my back and become fiercely patriotic. Enjoyed the football fever for my brief visit anyway.
Things started off pretty well. We were in an old local of ours, enjoying the sun and a few London priced pints in the beer garden, just chatting shit and perhaps talking too loudly for the innocents in our presence. Especially when donkey punching came up and had to be explained, with gestures, to one of our party. Things were good and we all had our lager heads on so we stayed on for a few more.
A few hours later we realised it was time to eat, lest we Stellarise ourselves into an unrecognisable, malfunctioning state of total fuckery. Not fancying the £20 steaks on the menu, we went back to my old place and ordered a take away. Inevitably, before that, the weed was produced. An ounce of normal grass and half an ounce of vicious skunk weed needed to be weighed up and distributed amongst our number. Got that sorted first, after a discreet run for cling film that reminded me of the hundreds of similar runs for film, foil and food made in times past, then the reefers were rolled. Off to the front patio to smoke them up. Faces crinkle and brains begin to flap in the wind. Especially those now unaccustomed to the chronic life…..
Jeers and baiting ensue as we lurch back upstairs, ready to take our places in the ceremonial Tekken battle and rekindle ancient rivalries.
After a few rounds we notice two or three police cars directly outside the house, lights flashing. Fuck. Bollocks. Cunt. What is it ? Get up to have a look and, with temporary relief, realise it’s absolutely nothing to do with a few mates catching up and getting lean, and entirely about the two mashed up cars outside. The relief ends when I see it’s my mate’s car that’s been hit. A large saloon car facing the opposite direction than it was parked, sporting some serious war wounds. We’re caned and the timing couldn’t be worse, but we’ve got to go out and deal with this one. Apparently the driver at fault was completely pissed, or severly retarded. He was also losing blood from a nasty gash in his forehead and muttering in a thick mockney accent, voice fluctuating from high to low like a punchy barrow boy, “look at my fuckin car, I can’t believ it. oh mate”. He had apparently tried to overtake two cars at once, lost control, crossed a lane of oncoming traffic and smacked into the rear of my mate’s car. Anyone in the car would have been pretty shaken to say the least. An unlucky pedestrian would have been killed. I think the guy must have known he was in trouble as his first reaction was to call his solicitor.
We had a lot to deal with, but the pizzas had arrived, and those cunts upstairs were getting the munchies.
The police were there until 1 in the morning. After much goading I was convinced that it was still alright to go and smoke three large biftas on the porch, just a few metres from the good officers, who seemed to be playing top trumps and taking holiday photos. They were right. My house paranoia needed taming. We continued to drink, to ourselves and the honourable death of an M reg Mondeo. The land of total fuckery would have us after all.
(impossibly witty twat No, YOUR Mum etc etc, Wed 11 May 2011, 10:12, Reply)

Policeman visiting preschoolers.
This was a faint memory untill i read all these police stories:

*Flashback in earthy hipstamatic colours*

When i was in preschool (Denmark, 1978) we got a visit from a policeman one day. He talked a lot about how to behave in traffic, always looking after cars, bla, bla. But in my mind the really interesting thing about him was his gun.

Probably because my parents were dirty hippies. Me and my brother weren't allowed any "war toys" at all.

So, of course i asked the the policeman if i could see his gun. Probably much to the dismay of my batik-clad teacher. And he promptly took it out, unloaded it, and gave it to me (i remember it to be very heavy), and told me to pass it around to the whole class. Which i of course did. Great fun!

"So what did you do at school today, son"?
(Robotnik, Wed 11 May 2011, 8:37, 8 replies)

Very long time ago
Back in the 80's when I was a reckless carefree young lad I got caught riding like a bit of a tit on the motorway between Newport and Chepstow. Nothing too bad, but I was speeding (90ish) and undertaking fast lane hoggers.

So, I pass an unmarked car and before you know it, I'm pulled over. The grizzled old copper then told me to take my helmet off and take a seat in the back of the car. He then threw a little photo album at me and just said "30 seconds, each page, look closely".

It was about 15 or so pictures he had taken at a number of fatal traffic accidents and lets just say ... they were not nice at all! very grim some of them. Once I had finished he got me back out of the car and said "I have trouble sleeping most nights because of the mess morons like you make and I have to clean up, and I hope now you have some nightmares too.

I was then told to get back on my bike and get the feck off his stretch of motorway and if he ever caught me riding like a moron again he would do everything in his power to make sure I would never be able to afford to ride a bike for a long long time.

To be fair, much more effective than fining me or giving me points. I did clean up my riding significantly after that. God those photos were grim!
( RadG Drinking Mojitos in the sun, Wed 11 May 2011, 8:26, 1 reply)

Before The Tony Martin Case
1) en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Martin_%28farmer%29 In my former life I was a farmer. The next door neighbours had been burgled and of course The Police went around asking the locals if anyone had heard / seen anything suspicious etc. Anyway 2 plain clothes guys interviewed myself and my dad and during the conversation one of the detectives asked dad if we had ever had any 'trouble' here. "Well the only problem we get is youths on motorbikes smashing down our fences so they can do short cuts across our grass fields which scares the heck out of our cows and also of course lets them out through the holes they have created" Dad replied. I kid you not the Policeman replied "Well you wanna go and do a bit of rabbit shooting and accidentally aim a bit high!"
2) A friend of mine told me another story. His mate heard a noise downstairs one night, he crept down the stairs only to find a burglar rootling through his stuff. Well unbeknownst to the burglar the friend of the friend was a Black belt or something in Tae Kwon Do and he "Apprehended the offender using reasonable force" i.e. pinned the bugger to the ground while his Mrs. phoned The Police. The result? The Police came and arrested the burglar but later on came back arrested the householder and charged him with assault!
3) The Police Officer that granted my uncle his shotgun certificate was later arrested for handling stolen firearms
(Mackeson_drinker, Wed 11 May 2011, 7:39, 10 replies)

I was walking home
And happened to walk past a big demonstration of some kind. Some policeman came out of nowhere and twatted me. Dropped down dead, I did.
(McChinaman banned, Wed 11 May 2011, 6:14, 2 replies)

The hitch hikers guide to police sarcasm
Many years ago while hitching across country, myself and a mate had the misfortune to get dropped off at the Baldock / Letchworth turn off.
Now this particular spot was famed amongst hitchers, and possibly still is. for being very difficult to pick up lifts from.
This being due to it being right on the motorway and there was quite often a police car acting as a very efficient deterrant.
We had heard of people being stuck there for hours, so the absence of any cop car was very hopeful and we slipped down onto the motorway.
Nearly 3 hours later we were still stood there, a sorry state of affairs when no-one will stop to pick up two lasses.
And then nee naw nee naw, up pulls a cop car.
Passenger cop gets out, opens back door and says 'you cant hitch here girls, get in'
After a bit of a sarky chat about the error of our ways they said they would be just taking us off the motorway.
So relief all round and at least we would be getting a bit further along our way, and we have a nicer chat about where we'd been etc.
Turned off at the next junction, did a few more twists and turns and then we were dropped off.
With a cheery wave, passenger cop said 'now remember girls, no hitching on the motorway' and off they went to park up just across the road
Leaving us right back at the Baldock / Letchworth turn off
Absolute and utter sods.
We had to walk into the town and hitch from there
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Tue 10 May 2011, 22:13, Reply)

Zulu's post reminds me
stuck in Kyrgyzstan unable to wait a week (!) for the next flight home, I hired a jeep and driver and took a couple of friends over the mountains to Almaty in Kazakhstan to fly out from there. No big deal, maybe a 5 hour drive.

But it's dark. It's snowing. The radio reception has fizzled out and I'm starting to wonder where the hell I am when we hit the border checkpoint. Most people don't go this way, up through the mountains. Especially not in a nice shiny mercedes jeep, in a suit, with two girls dressed up for a night out clubbing.

Nice men with enormous hats and dubious looking kalashnikovs spent about 45 minutes trying to convince me to have a go on my *prostitutes* as a favour for giving me my passport back.

If you ever want to see blood-chilling fury, try asking a ferociously proud Kyrgyz girl to interpret the fact that she is a prostitute and owes someone a freebie...
(pounana Slept well, and dreamed of large women, on, Tue 10 May 2011, 21:56, Reply)

Egypt
Lost in southern Egypt while on the bike, I got stopped at a roadblock and interrogated at gunpoint for 4 hours. Scary stuff. When I had talked my out out of it, the cops felt bad about holding me (oo-er). Anyway, to make amends they held up some passing cars (also at gunpoint) and handed me freebies from the respective boots etc. Which was nice of them...
( zulu eh?, Tue 10 May 2011, 21:35, 1 reply)

My mate

(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Tue 10 May 2011, 21:02, 5 replies)

Twunts...well, in my experience :)
I was a teenage runaway and had a few dealings with the police during that time, won't bore you with that now, funny now they are in hindsight...
I wanted to give something back to the community when I got back on the rails and joined the Specials (in the days before they were called Community officers or whatever - basically you had all the same jurisdiction as a regular, you just worked on a voluntary basis, 30 hours a month-ish)
Spent the first hour of my first shift cringeing in the passenger seat with my 'regular' partner while he and his other 'regular' mate had a filthy 'fner fner' conversation about what they were going to do with me on the back seat later on that night...
Stuck it for a few years though and in retrospect the vile times with the regulars (who saw female Specials as free fuck buddy challenges) loads better than the Specials knobs who'd spend an hour chasing round the town after spotting a guy pissing in a doorway (in the riot van ffs!!)
I have to say though, that my time with the police really opened my eyes (definitely not my legs) and I could see why my former 'friends' had had such a jaded view of them...Last experience I had with the police was during my only violent relationship - the guy I was with had had me down on the ground, kicking my ribs and smashing my face against the pavement (no cctv where we were, he wasn't that much of a trog I guess) and I managed to get away, ran up to a taxi rank - when he followed me and was trying to grab my hair and pull me away as I kicked and pushed him away...only for the rozzers to pull up and try to arrest me for assault...yeah, cos I did a really good job of beating him up, being half a foot smaller, about 3 stone lighter and with a bleeding face and swollen eye.
Cops are cocks...public servants with cs spray and some kwikcuffs...they only don't arrest you silly peeps with your tiny stash of hash because it's too much bother and they'd rather be racing each other than filling in paperwork...
I do apologise for this being totally unfunny and not at all lighthearted...I have some funny stories, may post later :)
nice being back on btw...missed the B3ta x
( curvylittlegoth heard the voices in your head on, Tue 10 May 2011, 19:57, Reply)

The cops come to the rescue
Recently enough I witnessed some kids running rampage in a house. The house was completely thrashed and threats dealt out aplenty to the carers present.

Well, the cops were called and duly arrived much to relief of neighbours and carers alike. The kids scarpered onto the roof were they traded insults with the police for a good half hour. Then the police got into their car. And drove off.

:P
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Tue 10 May 2011, 17:34, Reply)

I quite like police (now I've stopped the funny fags)
I used to live in a flat above another flat occupied by this highly strung lady and highly strung teenage son (years of her whinging and moaning must have made him like that as he was a nice lad under it all). One Sunday afternoon they had an almight row about something.

A bit later I saw from my sitting room window a police car speeding up the street with its lights on, which was unusual in that part of leafy west london. "Shit" I said to my wife "It's the rozzers and they're stopping next to our house". Out jumped two burly policemen and rang our bell.

I went down to see what was up. The one asked if I had called 999. I said no. He said there'd been a 999 call from our address and asked who I lived with. I said my wife and baby son and told him they didn't call either. They insisted on seeing them before they would leave. Despite the obvious implication that I might be a lying, wife-beater/child-murderer, it was really reassuring.

They then went down to the flat downstairs and dished out a massive bollocking to whichever of the mother/son called them.
(Xyza, Tue 10 May 2011, 17:13, Reply)

The Severn Bridge
One evening, whilst getting stoned, some friends and I agreed that it would be a superb idea to drive to the Severn bridge and walk across it. Stupid idea of course but it's amazing how grass can transform the idiotic into the sublime, but there we go.

So the three of us get into the car and begin the 60 minute journey to the bridge. It's an entertaining trip, there's good music on the stereo and we're passing the joints around freely. We're almost there when suddenly, and for no explicable reason we see a blue flashing light and are being pulled over.

The driver, having some vague presence of mind suddenly cries "fuck! There's a half an ounce in the back with you guys! Quickly, chuck it out of the window!". Sound advice. But the trouble is we can't find it. A half-ounce brick has gone missing somewhere in the upholstery and we're about to be pulled over. Things do not look good.

So we stop and the driver is politely but firmly asked to step out of the car and go and sit with one officer in the police car. Me & my friend sit in the back in terrified silence until the other officer comes in and sits in the front seat and firmly but politely starts to ask us our details. We're convinced the car must absolutely reek of dope and that this is the start of a "good cop, bad cop" routine but he seems unperturbed and keeps asking simple questions. What are our names? Where do we live? We're too scared to lie.

Thankfully he doesn't ask us what we're doing out there in the middle of the night as that would have taken some explaining away. However he does want to know what we do for a living. We're students, we tell him. He seems to find this very interesting which fills us with yet greater dread. What do we study, he wants to know?

"Biology" I squeak. "Chemistry" my friend squeaks. This seems to excite the police officer even more and he wants to know why my friend finds Chemistry so interesting. Still to scared to lie, his mouth runs away with him and he blurts out "well because there's lot of animals and plants and stuff that are just full of really cool chemicals that do all sorts of interesting shit to the human mind and I really want to find out more and maybe synthesise my own and ..."

"Oh, I SEE" Thunders the cop in a sudden loud and aggressive voice and he gets up and leaves.

We've convinced we're looking at twenty years at best.

After a short while our driver is returned to us and the police go on their way. Turns out our vehicle matched the description of a recently stolen car and that's why we were pulled over. We sat there is complete terror for about half an hour before we pulled ourselves together sufficiently to make it home and we never did find out whether or not you could even walk across the Severn bridge as a pedestrian.
(MattDP (Squiggle), Tue 10 May 2011, 17:10, 5 replies)

Gatecrashed
When I was a student in Cardiff me my girlfriend and her house mates all decided to gatecrash a ball that was going on in the city hall. We had been told about a way of getting in by one of the students who had actually stumped up what ever the horrendous cost of the ticket was.

So the girls were looking gorgeous dressed up in ballgowns & I was in a Tux and since it was 1990 me I wasn't fat, grey and haggard ;)

We got to the hall to find the "secret" way in had been well and truly busted and was barred by a couple of bouncers.

Fucksocks, all dressed up and nowere to go. But we hear loud music coming from a nearby building so we wander over to investigate. It's the police station & they are having there own ball. Emboldened by our getting ready cocktails we just walk in follow the noise to the social club on one of the floors. It's a big bar and quite busy but there is a empty table. The girls sit down and I get the drinks in. Turns out it's a subsidised bar and the drinks are ludicrously cheap. We are spotted as gatecrashers but they don't care. So we end up getting thoroughly bollocksed, chatting to some nice policemen till the wee small hours. Top top night out.

The ball, aparently, was expensive and dull, so that's a win win for us
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 10 May 2011, 15:48, Reply)

Bootboy
You know the formula, if theres someone at the pub who is driving there is always x - 1 spaces available (where x is the number of people in the group).

So 6 of my mates are drinking late one night when last orders are called and then not long after they amble out into the street. 6 does not go into 5 and so they start to discuss options:

*taxis for some
*walk home
*2 journeys

Someone pipes up with the genius idea of put someone in the boot! Its a short distance for 1st drop off so it wont even be long. A fairly eccentric mate leaps in and they take off. About 300yards around the corner they are flashed by a squad car and driver is asked to step out and come to their car.

Everyone is shitting it, they somehow knew....but how!?

Mate is taken to cop car where after a few innocuous questions he blurts out "theres someone in the boot!"

Cops are baffled, utterly fucking gobsmacked.

One steps out and walks back to mates car, "alright lads, anything you'd like to tell me". Everyone is bricking it and no-one speaks. Copper walks to the back and pops the boot, up pops one idiot with a big stupid grin on his face, "Wahe....wha!?".....

"get out will you son"

Turns out there had been some break ins around the area and the description they had was a saloon with 5 people in. Mate was seriously bollocked for:
1. having someone in the boot and
2. being so stupid as to confess

They told him they could do him for kidnapping as well as driving offences and then told him to go straight home with lessons learned. Told the bootboy to get in the back and just squish up with the rest.
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Tue 10 May 2011, 15:35, 4 replies)

MASSIVE DOGS
When I was just a nipper and still living with my parents we had an elderly neighbour. She was lovely and a family friend for many years until she hit her nineties when unfortunately dementia took hold and she started to get quite aggressive. One lazy Saturday afternoon my parents were enjoying a cup of tea when there was a knock at the door. Upon opening it my parents discovered two huge, burly policemen (but then everyone is huge and burly to my parents, neither of whom clear 5'3.)

"We've had reports of three large, aggressive dogs intimidating your neighbour" one said, officiously. "She says they have been jumping over the fence and she is scared to go out. Mind if we take a look?"

Bemused, my parents led the coppers to the back garden, which contained two Jack Russels and a small and rather stupid spaniel who immediately attempted to nuzzle the crotch of one of the policemen. The fence between us and the neighbour was over seven feet tall.

The cops took in the scene. "Sorry to have wasted your time" is all they said. They left.

The elderly neighbour went to an old folk's home not long after.

The next story is a festival one, unsurprisingly. For Glastonbury 2008 my group of friends got cheap tickets to London and spent the night before the festival watching My Bloody Valentine at The Roundhouse, which was fucking incredible, then staying in a manky hostel before heading to Paddington Station the next morning to get the train to the festival. We should have expected it to be crawling with police but unfortunately suffered from a lack of foresight and wound up observing the cops running sniffer dogs up and down the queue to get on the festival train while we watched from the upper footbridge with lots of weed in our luggage. "Shit," was all we could manage to say as we saw one guy being led away in cuffs while police tore through his camping gear.

While we were wondering how to get on the train without ditching our stash a policeman with a dog appeared behind us. We shat our collective pants.

"Hi there," the policeman said. He had a thick scottish accent, a buzzcut and looked like he didn't fuck around. "We're looking for drugs today, mind if my dog here has a sniff of your stuff?"

Unable to say no we exchanged terrified glances and stood stock still. The dog sniffed at us excitedly and jumped up at my friend. Unable to think of anything else, my friend began to pet the dog. "hey boy, how are you doing?" he said excitedly as he ruffled the dog's ears and made a fuss of it. The policeman looked at us oddly but clearly couldn't be arsed and waved us on. We got on the train just before it was about to pull away, unable to believe our luck.

One of our friends who we were meeting inside the festival was not so lucky and was pulled out of the queue for the coach when a dog sniffed out an eighth in her rucksack. My friend was, and still is, a small and unfeasibly pretty arabic girl. As soon as they took her into the portacabin which served as a makeshift police station she turned on the waterworks.

"I'm a good muslim girl, please don't do anything, my parents would kill me!" She sobbed. "I don't even drink! A friend gave me the drugs because I was going to a festival, just in case I wanted to try them. I was thinking of throwing them away! I've never touched anything like this before, honestly officers!"

This was a pack of filthy lies as my friend loves the weed. Her story worked and the cop's expressions softened. "Well, you've clearly learned your lesson. We're keeping the weed but we're letting you go. Stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Of course officers, I'll never dream of touching drugs again," my friend solemnly promised. She spent the rest of the weekend skanking spliffs from the rest of us and a happy Glastonbury was had by all.
(orestes is shitting in the 1940s, Tue 10 May 2011, 15:10, Reply)