November 29th, 2010

Fit for purpose

Posted in The Job - Experience by 200

Some years ago I nicked one of the local lads who was always in trouble. He would have been about 18. I can’t remember what I nicked him for on that particular occasion, but it was usually something to do with his drink & drug habit. He used to burgle people in his own road, he robbed his mother, he even beat her up to get her PIN number on more than one occasion.

She never pressed charges & whenever you nicked him & went round to tell her, her first question was usually, “what evidence have you got?”.

Anyway, he got nicked & put in the back of the car. At the last nick I worked at a major proportion of my time was single-crewed. We had to learn to police with our mouths rather than our muscles most of the time as backup was usually 20 minutes away.

I drove the 15 miles or so to custody & must have been in a benevolent mood because I let him out of the car for a smoke before we went into custody. He must have been waiting for his chance because suddenly he was on his toes like a bloody jack rabbit, straight out the rear yard & off across the road.

I ran as fast as I could but he was 18 & I was forty-something. Luckily for me he wasn’t the fittest teenager I ever nicked & his sprint lasted about 200 yards before he was completely ****ed. He found a parked car & ran round the other side just as I reached it. To be honest I was pretty puffed out by now. The way I policed didn’t involve sprinting; if they got away you just made an appointment with their dad & saw them later.

Anyway, the next minute or two was like something out of Benny Hill. I went one way round the car as did he. If I stopped & went the other way so did he. My assertion that he wouldn’t get away fell on deaf ears & we went round & round & back again until both of has had recovered a little & then he took off again, inexplicably back towards the police station.

He tried to jump the fence into the police station yard & that’s when I decided to go for broke & launched myself at him, rugby style.

I was around 16-17 stone & he didn’t get up for a while, which gave me enough time to recover my dignity before dragging him back to the cell block.

This episode has no relevance really & is not really cutting edge policing. I was simply reminded of it tonight when I took my sister’s dog for a walk & thought it might be a good idea to run it round the block.

Sitting on your arse in the control room for 8-10 hours a day does something to your fitness levels that I’m not too proud about. Still, January the first just round the corner, a good time for a new start.

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