Diary and observations of a police officer in the UK.
This is the entirely fictional happenings of a uniform beat officer and accompanying reflections.
First call of the day was to consume most of the shift. In all my time as a uniform officer I can count on one hand the amount of times I have turned out when I have a cup of tea on the go. This was one of those times and I think it was the opening line from our control centre over the radio that had me to my feet and breaking into a job.
'Yankee Echo 04, this is control you are required for an immediate call to reports of a female being assaulted'
'Any more detail?' I said
'It's a strange one this one, the report is of a female in the middle of the road, she has been punched and she is lying naked'
Ok; maybe it was the second line that had me breaking into a jog.
She was naked too; save for a spiderman bed sheet. Don't read too much into that, she wasn't a young girl, not even close, she was approaching middle age at a remarkable rate, the sort of pace where the aging process has got such a grip that the face is experiencing g-force at the same time as sag. She had bruises to her face, centred around the eyes and a lump to her forehead. She wasn't crying or even particularly upset and had seemed to have taken her beating with an air of expectancy; like it was nothing out of the ordinary. She did break down at one point though. It wasn't when she realised her cigarette had been snapped in the commotion. But when she realised that she didn't have any more.
People then should learn to get along better. Or they should leave. I've met plenty of people in my time that are not compatible with me, I don't like them but with these people my life tends to go round them, avoid them almost completely. Never do I consider spending any time with them, perhaps even living in the same house as them, maybe lying next to them on a regular basis or getting to the point where I think the best option is to wrap them in a spider man bed sheet and punch them in the face.
The man responsible was sat in their shared flat. Himself topless with a belly overhanging dirty white shorts and 'spiderwoman's' name tattooed across his chest and almost completely concealed by a thick hunk of matted hair.
'What happened?' I said.
The man looked up at me and then back down at my handcuffs that I had just clicked round his wrists forcing him into an 'arms-crossed' stance.
'Nothing' was the reply.
I managed to hold his gaze long enough for him to get uncomfortable.
'Nothing?' I said; leaving another pause.
'That's right'
'Is that your partner sat out on the pavement, wrapped in just a spider-man bedsheet with the lump on her forehead, black eyes and a bloody nose?'
'I don't know, I haven't looked outside'
'Where is your partner?'
'I don't know. She went out earlier'
'Was she wearing just a bedsheet?'
The only response was a sort of snort, like he'd found a truffle and I got bored of our meeting of minds and he was taken in to custody.
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