From the Constabulary
As a village bobby, I'm often asked 'how much to look the other way?'. This was indeed the question posed by the person I understand to be the (un)usual writer of this weblogged journal. Said person is now residing in cell number 3, on a charge of dawdling without due care an attention.
On confiscation of his home computer (a rather fabulous bespoke Babbage & Turing 'thinking machine' with mahogany case, ivory keyboard mother of pearl decorative inlay) I of course did the normal background checks to see if there was anything on there that should not be. Unfortunately the file bearing the title 'Stroke Mag' turned out to contain nothing more than an article for a rowing magazine. Normal procedure is to check then the history of browsing on the interwebworldwide. There were the usual links to the more socially acceptable areas of the hard-right movement such as the Church of Scotland and the Royal Family, but nothing that indicated the server for any particular web-site may be in a cave in Afghanistan or Leeds.
It did throw up the link to his ego-stoking webloggarpage though and, after careful and painful seconds of deliberation, I decided that as the usual werelogger is currently snoring in cell 3 before, on past form, waking up and demanding gin, the world could benefit from a well chosen words from a rural crime-fighter.
Policing the countryside is not all about stopping blokes shagging animals. Mostly, but not all. For instance, the current hot weather has brought with it its own particular problems. Only the other day I had to caution a woman for being overweight in charge of a bikini. Thankfully a social worker was on hand and with the aid of powerful tranquillisers we were able to crow-bar the lady in question into a more acceptable form of attire - in this case her front room with the curtains closed.
Our own vicar, of course, sets a marvellous example. He wears a perfectly acceptable long black robe, beneath which he can and frequently does wear what he likes. With his beard and robe he is quite an exotic figure as he calls the faithful to prayer every night by marching into the saloon bar of the Bull and screaming and whipping at them until they line the pews.
Rural coppering is all about trust, you can't trust these buggers an inch and so have to watch them like hawks. Everyone has a gun or two, a dog bred to attack and a 4x4. It's like Lewisham with hedgerows. Thanks to a firm hand, policing by consent and a vigilante style execution now and again, I manage to keep a lid on things, the obvious exception being the riot at the judging of the jams at the local fair last week, but that's en exception.
The only thing to really trouble the village recently has been an outbreak of gnoming. Three times runners up in the regional heats of 'Britain Gnomes', the villagers take their gnomes seriously so the kidnapping of several of the little fellows over a number of nights was quite a shock. Who would so such a thing? Obviously, reprisal raids were launched against neighbouring villages but it didn't seem to halt the problem.
Modern policing did the trick. I was wandering back from the pub at three in the morning when I happened across an unnamed but prominent villager wearing an overcoat with a suspicious protrusion under it leaving a front garden of a lady of the village. Remembering that whole nasty business of 'The Case of the Convent Pervert' last year, I made sure the man was not a ranking member of the General Synod and promptly arrested him, as soon as he woke up from my coshing of him.
Beneath the coat - a stolen gnome. And an enormous erection. No accounting for some folk.
I shall gloss over the details but suffice to say the gnomes were found safe and well in this fellow's sub-basement, where they had been repainted - let's say 'pink' - all over and placed in suggestive positions in an artificial garden in front of a sophisticated web-cam set up. Apparently web-cam perverts will pay to watch gnomes in the wild before they are civilised and take up clothes, gardening and fishing in front gardens.
The gnomes were restored to their original bright colours and their original gardens. This was a relief both for their owners and for the boy scouts who had been standing in for them, sitting all day in 90 degree temperatures wearing jaunty red hats and false beards. It did mean however that the boys got their badges in fainting and heat exhaustion.
As for the village gnome-fiend - as usual the village tribunal sat in secret session and, on finding him guilty, conferred upon him the sentence of social death by ostracisation.
So next time you think coppering is easy, think on.
PC Peasee
On confiscation of his home computer (a rather fabulous bespoke Babbage & Turing 'thinking machine' with mahogany case, ivory keyboard mother of pearl decorative inlay) I of course did the normal background checks to see if there was anything on there that should not be. Unfortunately the file bearing the title 'Stroke Mag' turned out to contain nothing more than an article for a rowing magazine. Normal procedure is to check then the history of browsing on the interwebworldwide. There were the usual links to the more socially acceptable areas of the hard-right movement such as the Church of Scotland and the Royal Family, but nothing that indicated the server for any particular web-site may be in a cave in Afghanistan or Leeds.
It did throw up the link to his ego-stoking webloggarpage though and, after careful and painful seconds of deliberation, I decided that as the usual werelogger is currently snoring in cell 3 before, on past form, waking up and demanding gin, the world could benefit from a well chosen words from a rural crime-fighter.
Policing the countryside is not all about stopping blokes shagging animals. Mostly, but not all. For instance, the current hot weather has brought with it its own particular problems. Only the other day I had to caution a woman for being overweight in charge of a bikini. Thankfully a social worker was on hand and with the aid of powerful tranquillisers we were able to crow-bar the lady in question into a more acceptable form of attire - in this case her front room with the curtains closed.
Our own vicar, of course, sets a marvellous example. He wears a perfectly acceptable long black robe, beneath which he can and frequently does wear what he likes. With his beard and robe he is quite an exotic figure as he calls the faithful to prayer every night by marching into the saloon bar of the Bull and screaming and whipping at them until they line the pews.
Rural coppering is all about trust, you can't trust these buggers an inch and so have to watch them like hawks. Everyone has a gun or two, a dog bred to attack and a 4x4. It's like Lewisham with hedgerows. Thanks to a firm hand, policing by consent and a vigilante style execution now and again, I manage to keep a lid on things, the obvious exception being the riot at the judging of the jams at the local fair last week, but that's en exception.
The only thing to really trouble the village recently has been an outbreak of gnoming. Three times runners up in the regional heats of 'Britain Gnomes', the villagers take their gnomes seriously so the kidnapping of several of the little fellows over a number of nights was quite a shock. Who would so such a thing? Obviously, reprisal raids were launched against neighbouring villages but it didn't seem to halt the problem.
Modern policing did the trick. I was wandering back from the pub at three in the morning when I happened across an unnamed but prominent villager wearing an overcoat with a suspicious protrusion under it leaving a front garden of a lady of the village. Remembering that whole nasty business of 'The Case of the Convent Pervert' last year, I made sure the man was not a ranking member of the General Synod and promptly arrested him, as soon as he woke up from my coshing of him.
Beneath the coat - a stolen gnome. And an enormous erection. No accounting for some folk.
I shall gloss over the details but suffice to say the gnomes were found safe and well in this fellow's sub-basement, where they had been repainted - let's say 'pink' - all over and placed in suggestive positions in an artificial garden in front of a sophisticated web-cam set up. Apparently web-cam perverts will pay to watch gnomes in the wild before they are civilised and take up clothes, gardening and fishing in front gardens.
The gnomes were restored to their original bright colours and their original gardens. This was a relief both for their owners and for the boy scouts who had been standing in for them, sitting all day in 90 degree temperatures wearing jaunty red hats and false beards. It did mean however that the boys got their badges in fainting and heat exhaustion.
As for the village gnome-fiend - as usual the village tribunal sat in secret session and, on finding him guilty, conferred upon him the sentence of social death by ostracisation.
So next time you think coppering is easy, think on.
PC Peasee
1 Comments:
May I please have Personality #1 back? this is getting ridiculous. And, 90 degree heat?? I thought you measured everything in Celsius over there...Hmmm......
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