Sunday, 8 February 2009

The perils of being married to a Bobby.

This is not a recent event so don't worry you won't catch anything by reading this.

It all started with a domestic dispute and getting sent to it. Upon arrival I could see the female in the front garden, it was beautifully sculpted with all sorts of intricate broken children's toys and empty cider cans and bottles. There was a fair amount of dog poo in which the female had stood.

She starts the conversation by bringing his parentage into question (ie "that B$s%ard) has done this that and the other. He is looking out of the front room window at us and starts calling us all the names you can possibly think of. Apparently I may not be heterosexual according to him. I ask her what has happened as she tells me that they have been drinking all day, it is July by the way, and have run out of money. It is approximately 8 in the evening and it is still very very warm. I am sweating profusely in my body armour and black trousers. I can see he is swigging away from a 2 litre bottle of white lightning cider and there is still a goodly amount left. She is regaling me with tales of all his wrongdoings and he is shouting similar stuff from the open window. I really have lost interest by now, no-one has been assaulted, there is no damage caused but the situation is alcohol fuelled and volatile. The neighbours are now enjoying it and being the lovely area it is have brought garden chairs out in the front to watch the spectacle. Gutter rats are coming into the garden and are asking me if I have a gun and is that pepper spray. One of them even tries to take my car keys off the karabina they are attached to.

Eventually the male takes it one step too far and with the window open issues threats that amount to a public order offence which is now the last straw. He tries to close the window whilst laughing at me. He is somewhat surprised seconds later to find the window being wrenched open and 6 foot 2 of police officer hurtling through it. He even dropped his bottle. He decides that he is not coming alive and a brief struggle follows. He lost. I am sweating a lot as mentioned before and following the brief exertion my arms are now sticky as well. He won't stop writhing on the floor and some further control techniques are used. The end result was him being handcuffed but only after lots of physical contact, there was no blood and surprisingly he was hardly bruised. He is still struggling and didn't want to get up off the floor. More physical contact with sweaty arms and he was on his feet with me now opening the front door. I have noticed that he really smells. That peculiar smell of bad feet, alcohol, cigarettes and weeks of never having seen a bath or shower. He was nasty. He tries to run away despite being handcuffed once outside but needless to say it didn't work. Eventually in the back of the car and locked up for a BOP because I couldn't be bothered anymore. Lodged, bedded down, charged and sent to court in the morning. Job done.

Roll on a week and I notice strange reddish/pinkish marks on my arms. I put it down to too much sun and ignore it. They start getting itchy and look nasty soon afterwards. I go to the doctors and they gaily announce that I have scabies! Oh joy! The cure? A lovely smelling cream for me, my wife and my 5 year old. All clothes washed on a hot wash and effectively me looking like a leper. Luckily S + J did not suffer the effects and mine went after a week or so.

It is not always just the officer who is affected by life's events it involves his family too. I am left with areas on my arms now that get red quicker than others in intense sun as a result of this encounter. I hope that this is the worst my family have to put up with for the last 13 years that I have left prior to retirement.


Annette said...

Yuk, that's awful.Poor you.

Lakeland Jo said...

How dreadful is that?? Urgh.