I kept a diary in the early part of my career. I found it in an old laptop. Thought I would share a 'day in the life':
Today was a bit of a quieter day and me and the rest of the team had to entertain ourselves by playing 'Showaddywaddy'. The rules of which are very simple in that the first person amongst the team to say the word 'Showaddywaddy' over the radio would win the pack of biscuits. As long as the control centre didn't challenge the use of the word; so it would have to at least appear legit.
The shift was just fourty minutes old when I got called to a shoplifter who had made off. There was a very sparse description so I used a little artistic licence and broadcast the descritption as 'male, early to mid 30's, large build and wearing a Showaddywaddy t-shirt'. I had no idea these t-shirts still existed, let alone that there would be a totally innocent, youngish lad with learning difficulties and an old Sony Walkman walking down the high street sporting a Showaddywaddy t-shirt with a personality disorder that did not mix well with police.
I later heard there was a hell of a struggle and the town beat officer came back in with a dent in his 'tit' hat, a scrape to his cheek and holding a broken walkman.
I did consider walking one of my victory biscuits down to the lad in custody but at this point he had stripped himself naked and was smearing his mother's maiden name in large letters of the wall of the cell with his own faeces. This is impressive at any time but his mother was Russian and he had to go round a second wall.
I also had a call to a blob of a man who lived in the top flat of a busy road and told me he is registered disabled due to his weight. He went on to say that he has been fighting the council for 18 months to get moved to a flat on the ground floor as he struggles with the stairs. I agree with the man that this is a worthwhile fight and I told him so, what I didn't tell him is that I believe he should indeed be moved to a ground floor flat but that his fridge should stay at the top. Then he can at least get a little bit of excersise on a daily basis. I have very few rules and I pride myself on not judging people, but when your eating habits have you so large that you are registered disabled; change them.
And what does being registered disabled get you? A parking space closer to the food on offer at Tesco.
Anyway, he said he had been assaulted by being punched in the face. I believed him because his torso was still wobbling. The alleged offender lived just a small walk away and when I knocked on the door his wife let me up. She apologised for the mess, said she hadn't had a chance to clear it up. I assumed this meant since the the 80's. Cat shit had been left so long it had fertilised the carpet, there was left over food on every conceivable surface and the smell was so bad I was half expecting to find a relative sat up in a chair and long dead.
Instead, in a high back chair pointed at Jeremy Kyle I found my offender. Somehow managing to smell worse than a long dead relative he offered me a smile but couldn't offer any teeth to go with it. I told him I had information that he had assaulted someone earlier in the day by punching them. His reply?
'I never touched the fat c*nt.
People; why can't they just get along.