Spot the Nazi

Must be the weather. Grey and horrible with scarcely a ray of sunshine to bring light into the gloom of an English Winter day. Today I was busy booking a bunch of people who considered it their God given right to block a secondary thoroughfare and was graced with one guy who made the Nazi salute towards me, sticking his index finger under his lip. Bad news chap, I’m not a member of the National Socialist movement and am not going to return your salute, no matter how much of a political fellow traveller you assume me to be. Just because I wear a uniform and do an unpopular job doesn’t make me something I’m not.

That kind of set the tone for the day. A day of wall to wall petty insults and insulting gestures. It was hard work too; I got pulled from pillar to post all around town from trouble spot to trouble spot. I know several of our guys are on leave at the moment, but what was everyone else doing? I found out in the mess room when I caught up with some of the other guys on tea break. A new controller has taken over who isn’t that familiar with town. Ergo; we get sent further to cover the same area, shunted from one side of our beats to another without any consideration as to what got patrolled and when. Not to mention the fact that they wanted it all doing right now.

Normally speaking we’re pretty much our own masters out on patrol, but today that all went to hell. My legs and feet feel like they’re made of aching lead and my idea of paradise right this minute is a visit to the chiropodist and a large malt whiskey.

Fortunately my next chiropodists appointment is coming up in a weeks time and there’s a bottle of single malt in the cupboard. Righteous.