Friendly Rozzers
A good friend of mine had a birthday party at his house last summer. We had a lovely old evening getting tipsy in the sun in his garden, then as night time lolled around and the hot day stretched and yawned, someone produced and emerald package - only serving to increase the joviality and warm contentedness in a smoky haze.

Someone pointed out, quite rightly, that the only possible thing that could improve the evening was a game of twilight frisbee, and by a stroke of remarkable serendipity, a frisbee was produced. We headed out into the somnolent country lane in front of the house, the last beams of light dappling the leaves quietly. The frisbee sailed back and forth, cheers erupting when its path lead straight and true into the eager hands of the recipient, more spliffs appearing as if by magic to egg the action along. Only the occasional passage of a four by four interrupted the merriment.

After a while it got properly dark, and concurrently we got a bit more wiggly. The frisbee seemed intent on increasingly frequent interludes sitting in the hedge just out of arm's reach. Eventually it hid itself so well that a full scale rescue operation was put into action, and just as we were contemplating giving up the hunt until morning, blue flashes appeared round the corner a few hundred feet away. Oh shit! I threw away the joint that had made its way round to me and winced at the thought of my crimson, distended eye sockets. The police pulled up and we all tensed, our good moods vanished in a flood of paranoia.

'Evening lads.'
'Evening officer.' Deadpan as possible.
'None of you boys know anything about stolen bikes?' We looked at each other, a small, wonderful flower of hope blooming in our stomachs, counteracting whatever stoned delusions we might have concocted.
'Bikes? No officer, Haven't seen a thing.'
'Oh no? Some kids, we reckon aged about fourteen of fifteen, have been on a bit of a spree this evening. Last we heard they'd made off in this direction.'
'Oh no, we haven't seen anything and we've been out here for hours.' (Possibly not really hours).
'No worries then gents, as you were.'
They made to leave when, with a flash of inspiration, a friend piped up,
'I don't suppose I could borrow your torch officer? Only we've lost out frisbee.'

Ten minutes later and both policemen were buried in the hedge along with a few of our more agile friends, torches shining on the frisbee high up in the branches. The battle against the wilful and contrary toy was evetually won when one got on the other's shoulders and, arms at full extension, strained and managed to hook it with his truncheon. A huge cheer went up, triumphant grins on the coppers' faces - presumably this was far more rewarding policework than tracking down teenage hoodlums.

Thank you officers for being such good sports, and thank you just as much for not throwing the book at us when we were all clearly baked out of our tiny minds.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Fri 6 May 2011, 1:27, Reply)