Christmas Isn't

Christmas isn't Christmas for the boys and girls in blue.  But not for the reasons you might think.

For the police, Christmas isn't the stream of violent domestics.  It isn't the fight in town, the drink-driver on the High Street.  It isn't the stabbing on the Porle and the family it tears apart.

Christmas isn't leaving while the rest of the family are arriving.  Or dragging myself out of bed for turkey and presents.  Or passing on the champagne and port.

Christmas is a box of Roses in every department.  It's an empty inbox.  It's having no crime reports put in your name.  It's not seeing anyone with more than two pips.

Christmas is the A&E nurses in Santa hats, it's the fairy lights on the custody desk, the mince pies in briefing.

It's finding the missing grandfather and taking him home.  It's going nowhere without blue lights on.  It's saying, "Thank you, I will," or "As it's Christmas..."

Christmas might not be the same for me as for the rest of my friends and family.  But I get to be a real police officer for a day, which means it isn't all bad.

Happy Christmas to all my readers.

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'Diary of an On-Call Girl' is available in some bookstores and online.

Newsflash: Criminals are Anti-Police

Thank goodness The Guardian is here to point out that rioting burglars don't like the police.

Having identified that over 75% of those convicted as a result of the riots had a prior criminal record, why is this latest study being hailed as a discovery of national significance?  The Guardian need only look to its own study for the answer to why their cross-section of rioters harbour such a hatred of the police:

"Two-thirds of those interviewed said they had been cautioned by police or convicted of an offence in the past."  

And yet it is supposed to be a sign of institutionalised thuggery and racism that these recidivist criminals dislike the people who try to bring them to justice.

Next, we'll be reading breaking news that there lives a robed man in Vatican City who is a member of the Catholic religion, and that animals of the ursine persuasion occasionally deposit faecal matter in areas with a high density of trees.

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'Diary of an On-Call Girl' is available in some bookstores and online.

The Man in the Black Suit

Somewhere in Blandmore right now, a man is sleeping.  He sleeps well, he does not dream.

Before the man went to bed, he hand-washed and waxed his van, and parked it carefully on the driveway at work.  He drove home, he ate a square meal of meat and vegetables, brushed his teeth and shaved.  He checked his hair, and cut away any stray locks.  He polished his leather shoes, then carefully pressed a black suit, and hung it from his wardrobe door.  He closed his eyes.

At some point tonight, or tomorrow night, an alarm will sound.  The man will rise and silence it.  He will step into the shower and carefully soap and scrub himself.  He will dry every inch of skin with a clean towel.  He will slide his arms and legs into his black suit, and do up his black tie.  The man will check himself in a mirror, from every angle.

Outside the door of his workplace, waits another man in another black suit.  They collect the keys, they climb into their pristine van, they produce a map and drive to a location.

Inside, could be desolation.  There could be hysteria, disbelief, anger or remorse.  There might be silence and loneliness.  Whichever awaits, the man in the black suit is the same.

Blood, vomit, bloated flesh and rotted skin, are all one to the man in the black suit.  His handshake never falters; his words are soothing and low.  I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances.  My condolences on your loss.  Perhaps you would prefer to wait over here, madam.  We'll take it from here, sir, don't worry about a thing.

Tha man in the black suit can cope with narrow stairwells and soiled carpets.  He can navigate a decade of phone bills, a generation of ornaments.  He has strength and pride and compassion.

No one asks the man's name.  No one remembers his face, nor wonders what he thinks, where he lives, whom he loves.  He is just a man, in a suit, who answers the phone when you call.  He will come to witness your darkest hour and fill it with quietness and dignity.

Thank you, to the men in the black suits, who undertake the duty of which no one speaks.

 


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'Diary of an On-Call Girl' is available in some bookstores and online.