Big mistake?
I made the mistake of watching TV a couple of nights ago. Big, huge, humungous mistake, as anything but a movie only serves to make me angry. The news is PC and slanted, any wildlife programmes are anthropomorphic dross; the ‘Dramas’ are all soaps in disguise, and reality TV is complete Sierra Hotel India Tango.
For example, ‘Space Cadets’ on Channel 4 has to be one of the most expensively pointless programmes ever made. Its premise appears to be; “Hey, let’s fool some poor gullible sods into thinking they are going into space so everyone out there in couch potato land can laugh at them.” There is a rich vein of Anglo Saxon invective I would like to heap on the programme makers but I just can’t be arsed. All I can say is this; those who commission such programmes must be a complete load of Charlie Uniform November Tango Sierras. This sort of thing cheapens the idea of human endeavour and ridicules anyone who aspires to actually achieve anything worthwhile. It’s a one trick pony that isn’t even funny. Serves me right for even watching five minutes of it.
Just to enliven any doom and gloom I might inadvertently be spreading; today I was busy dealing with a couple of vehicles just off the main drag this afternoon. I get one guy to move on, but I’ve just issued to the other when I hear running footsteps. Oh-oh. This could be trouble. The footsteps stop a few paces away.
“Are you Officer 515?” Demands a breathless female voice from behind me. My mind automatically goes into ‘Oh shit’ mode at this point and I put on my ‘professional’ face while right hand drifts down to panic button.
“Yes madam, how can I help you?” I say brightly as I turn around, ready to duck, block and dodge.
“Thank you!” Next thing I know a quite attractive dark haired woman, in her late twenties I think, has wrapped her arms around my neck and planted a very solid kiss on my lips. “You got the bastard!” She drops off and stands back a little, looking very happy and bright eyed.
“Sorry, er, Miss.” Okay, I’m confused. I’m trying not to drop my hand held with the surprise.
“You got my ex’s car.” She says by way of explanation. “He’s been nicking my parking space ever since we broke up.” She bobs up and gives me another kiss. “Your ticket got rid of him at last. He’s completely out of my life. Now I can move on.”
“Right Miss.” I’m a little stunned. For once, words fail me.
“Thank you!” She waves as she almost skips off down the street. Well I never. They’ll never believe this in the mess room. So I didn’t tell the lads, they’d only be jealous. Even one of the new girls who is openly gay.
A short while later, memory blossoms into focus. Last week I was having a bit of a blitz on residents permits and caught a black 3 series BMW with an out of date permit on the next door beat, two streets away. The driver had turned up and given me some verbal, but as usual I simply stood my ground and he went away muttering dark threats about ‘Reporting’ me. As I recall he was a surly yuppie type with a higher than justified opinion of himself. Who knows? Maybe I did do her a big favour?
All I know is it beats hell out of the usual tellings off we get from the general public. Mrs Sticker’s mock-jealous response is that I am not to make a habit of getting kissed by younger women, or the dog will have someone to share his basket with at night. What the hell. Back to reality again.
For example, ‘Space Cadets’ on Channel 4 has to be one of the most expensively pointless programmes ever made. Its premise appears to be; “Hey, let’s fool some poor gullible sods into thinking they are going into space so everyone out there in couch potato land can laugh at them.” There is a rich vein of Anglo Saxon invective I would like to heap on the programme makers but I just can’t be arsed. All I can say is this; those who commission such programmes must be a complete load of Charlie Uniform November Tango Sierras. This sort of thing cheapens the idea of human endeavour and ridicules anyone who aspires to actually achieve anything worthwhile. It’s a one trick pony that isn’t even funny. Serves me right for even watching five minutes of it.
Just to enliven any doom and gloom I might inadvertently be spreading; today I was busy dealing with a couple of vehicles just off the main drag this afternoon. I get one guy to move on, but I’ve just issued to the other when I hear running footsteps. Oh-oh. This could be trouble. The footsteps stop a few paces away.
“Are you Officer 515?” Demands a breathless female voice from behind me. My mind automatically goes into ‘Oh shit’ mode at this point and I put on my ‘professional’ face while right hand drifts down to panic button.
“Yes madam, how can I help you?” I say brightly as I turn around, ready to duck, block and dodge.
“Thank you!” Next thing I know a quite attractive dark haired woman, in her late twenties I think, has wrapped her arms around my neck and planted a very solid kiss on my lips. “You got the bastard!” She drops off and stands back a little, looking very happy and bright eyed.
“Sorry, er, Miss.” Okay, I’m confused. I’m trying not to drop my hand held with the surprise.
“You got my ex’s car.” She says by way of explanation. “He’s been nicking my parking space ever since we broke up.” She bobs up and gives me another kiss. “Your ticket got rid of him at last. He’s completely out of my life. Now I can move on.”
“Right Miss.” I’m a little stunned. For once, words fail me.
“Thank you!” She waves as she almost skips off down the street. Well I never. They’ll never believe this in the mess room. So I didn’t tell the lads, they’d only be jealous. Even one of the new girls who is openly gay.
A short while later, memory blossoms into focus. Last week I was having a bit of a blitz on residents permits and caught a black 3 series BMW with an out of date permit on the next door beat, two streets away. The driver had turned up and given me some verbal, but as usual I simply stood my ground and he went away muttering dark threats about ‘Reporting’ me. As I recall he was a surly yuppie type with a higher than justified opinion of himself. Who knows? Maybe I did do her a big favour?
All I know is it beats hell out of the usual tellings off we get from the general public. Mrs Sticker’s mock-jealous response is that I am not to make a habit of getting kissed by younger women, or the dog will have someone to share his basket with at night. What the hell. Back to reality again.
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