Friday, 2 September 2011

PC Marcus Tyson lives!

Today I had one of those magnificent happenings that so very rarely come along. I crapped on an agent of the ruling class. Yes! A copper tried to "do" me and failed. 

It was like re-living the days on the picket outside South Africa House when PC Marcus Tyson was on duty. Marcus, quite frankly, was a pillock and I have always been amazed that he never appeared as Commissioner of the Met. For all I know he's dead, but Marcus was such an idiot as to make it pure joy when he was standing outside the entrance to the embassy, grinning his inane grin.

I once got on a bus at the end of Whitehall and Marcus was sitting opposite where we sat. He grinned his stupid grin at us and my dear friend Natasha (gay man) said very loudly, "Oh hello Marcus, didn't recognise you with your clothes on." Marcus spluttered, " Watch it you, " jabbed his finger at us and carried on, "I could have you!" Natasha, "You already have love!" Genius!

Anyhoo, today I was driving to my Friday garden in Berkhamsted and a brave boy in blue stood by the side of the road, ray gun in hand and pointed to a lay-by for me to pull into. Jesus, he looked smug.

I was very confused, as I had been doing 55 in a 60 stretch of road, but I do have a rather bald near side front tyre. But ray guns can't spot that can they?

Here is the conversation:

Copper (strolling towards my car with that smug "bang to rights" look on his face. Taps on my window, which was already half open. He signals for me to lower the window): In a hurry are we sir?

Me (not lowering the window any more): Not particularly, no.

Copper (unbelievably superior): Huh, 55 in a 40? What do you have to say to that?

Me: Errr, 55 in a 60, it's national speed limit along this stretch.

Copper (superior look changes to incredulity): Eh?

Me (getting out of the car): That (points back about 800 yards) is 40; that (points forward 400 yards) is 40; this (throwing my hand theatrically along the immediate stretch of road in front of us) is national speed limit, I E single carriage way 60mph.

Copper (jaw drops to his chest): Ah.

Me: You, are a pillock-

Copper (walking away from me): No need to get abusive.

Me (shouting as he walked away): You are lucky I just called you a pillock, you pillock! Can I suggest you go back to Police school or maybe acquaint yourself with the roads around here. PILLOCK!

Unbelievably he just got in his car and drove off. I so wish I had got his number, but I was so gobsmacked I couldn't react quick enough.


Happy Anarchy...