Call me a Panda.

Two o'clock, Monday afternoon. I am tucking into a free latte provided by the friendly local garage and trying to finish a statement which should be hand-written in an irritating booklet that is hard to photocopy, but which I have decided to type as no one in the entire legal system apart from my sergeant actually cares which way I do it.

Then:
"PC Bloggs, can you attend the High Street. Ambulance asking for assistance with a violent male."

I do not know about other areas, but I imagine that, like in Blandmore, police generally try to provide speedy attendance for other emergency services especially if they are in trouble. It is partly camaraderie and partly a hope that the same will be returned (particularly when it comes to waiting in A&E).

I consider waiting to scoop the chocolate off the top of the latte, but duty calls and I race to the scene with all the blue kit fired up. I see two paramedics (both considerably bigger and maler than me, I might add - yes, yes I know it isn't their job), and TD (the Town Drunk). TD is sitting on a bench with his head in his hands, the paramedics are stood either side of him peering at a minuscule cut on his temple.

PC Bloggs: Er... you called?
Paramedic: TD's fallen down again.
PC Bloggs: Is he ok?
Paramedic: He's fine, just a bump. We're not taking him in.
PC Bloggs: Good... Um... you called?
Paramedic: We took him home last night.
PC Bloggs: Good show. Well done.
Paramedic: He can't walk.
PC Bloggs: Terrible. The perils of alcoholism.
Paramedic: He'll fall again.
PC Bloggs: I imagine that is a strong possibility.
Paramedic: Well... we'll leave you to it.

I approach TD and establish he is beyond sozzled, in that he thinks I am his brother. I also establish that he wants to go home more than anything in the big wide world.

PC Bloggs: Shall I call you a cab, TD?
TD: I got no money, broth.
PC Bloggs: I am female.
TD: Take us home, broth.
PC Bloggs: No.
TD: Please.
PC Bloggs: No.
TD: I'm about to be sick.
PC Bloggs: You're not selling me.

The paramedics are still lurking and exchange shrugs with me, as if to say, "You aren't just going to leave the poor man there, are you?"

PC Bloggs: I'm not a taxi, you know.
Paramedic: Nor are we.
PC Bloggs: Why did you call us, by the way? Something about violence?
Paramedic: It's your turn to take him home. We've had enough.

And they drive off. I leave TD sitting there, but he is wobbling backwards and forth like a skittle. In the end I fear he will fall, hit his head and die, and I will be suspended and have all my clothing seized. I take him home. On the way to the car, he falls from my shoulder and hits his head. Hoorah, I call the ambulance back and leave them to it.

There are ways to get a lift home from the police, by the way. Here are some of the phrases that work:

1. My girlfriend's just kicked me out following a fight. I'm just going to hang around here and wait until you've gone, then go back in there and smack her.
2. I've just been abducted and dumped in a country lane.
3. It's dark and I think someone is following me.
4. I've just been raped (if you don't mind going via the medical suite).
5. Ooh, Mr Policeman you have such a shiny car. Please may I get in it with my long non-Chav-like legs and mini-skirt?

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