The Station Sergeant ….... is feeling festive.

Call me a cynic, but I can't help thinking that the Story of the Nativity would be greeted with some scepticism if it was reported to me at the front counter of my nick.

“Let's get this right then, Miss, shall we?  You were minding your own business when you saw an apparition which seemed intent on telling you some important news.  It had wings, right?  Oh, and a halo.  I see.  Said his name was Gabriel.  Bathed in light.  Well that's the Princess of Darkness off the list of suspects then.  And what was this news?  I see.  You're pregnant.  But it's not your fault.   I'm sure it wasn't.  You can't remember anything happening like that.  No, that's not the first time I've heard of that.  OK so then you had to go back to where you were born to take part in a census and pay some council tax.  Doesn't surprise me.  Right, so you and your partner decided to go by donkey.  Good idea, what with the state of public transport and at least you could have a drink.  Well, not yourself obviously, what with being pregnant, but I'm...

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• Like the rest of the country I was delighted and, admittedly, surprised when nine year old Shannon Matthews was found alive in West Yorkshire.  In the preceding 24 days, however, the national press had excelled itself in its double standards; columnists routinely trumpeting their statutory ‘I grew up on a council estate and had it rough; kick one of us and we all limp’ credentials, whilst also sniggering at the lives and loves of the underclass that had been dragged from under its collective stone and exposed to the cold light of day.  Much was made of Karen Matthews’ seven children by five fathers, including her apparent definition of twins was two children from the same male bed partner.  The extended tribe of spongers and unemployables who appeared in the background of news reports with monotonous regularity was spectacularly comical.  “I’m on the phone to some other b*gger” snarled one female to the reporter when he asked for her...
  
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• The award for Politically Correct Imbecility of the Week goes to Northamptonshire Police for their investigation into alleged racist comments by Basil Brush.  Yes, it’s true.  Basil made a gag in 2002 that a fortune teller stole his wallet.  This has been repeated eight times on television and appeared on the Basil Brush DVD.  Now it has been deemed to be offensive to the Traveling Community so is being investigated as a hate crime by Northants officers who clearly have nothing more urgent to occupy their time.  Such incidents detract from the importance of investigating real hate crimes.  Has it come to this, that real police officers are so anxious to please the Government that they are investigating the comments of a glove puppet?  And in any case, if New Labour hates foxes so much, why has it banned hunting?        

• The State Nannies strike again. This time, they have told the armed forces that it is too dangerous to go out in uniform around town for a drink so if they want to relax they have to get a six pack from the NAAFI and head for the nearest air raid shelter.  These same desk warriors happily send troops out on the streets of Basra or the dusty byways of Helmand Province without proper equipment.  Last night, I met a group of squaddies who happen to the British Army Rugby League champions, on leave from Iraq.  They were not allowed to carry out a lap of honour at the match they were attending as guests or to venture into the local city centre after the match, in case they got attacked by some locals.  The Nannies not understand the mismatch between an elite band of professional soldiers, and a bunch of drunken morons who can barely sign their own names on a benefit claim form.  Or perhaps they do and are frightened of being held responsible for...
  
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     It was, as usual, raining today and blowing a gale as I made my way across the car park and into my nice warm station.  The parade room was stuffed to the rafters with PCs who had suddenly found an urgent need to catch up on their crime workloads instead of getting out in the foul weather and doing something useful.  This is despite the fact that the taxpayer gives them warm and weatherproof clothing at vast expense so that they are not at any real risk of hypothermia.  I kicked them out, of course, but it is only a matter of time before the Health and Safety neurotics latch on to it and ban anyone from stepping outside unless it is a nice, warm, slightly overcast day with no risk of freezing, drowning or sunburn.  We don’t help ourselves, of course.  Whenever the weather ventures gingerly beyond being a bit nippy, inevitably the media announce that police are advising to stay at home and avoid unnecessary journeys.  I’ve never found out who at Force HQ is tasked with staring out of the window and deciding when...

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• Spot the Loony Part 1  I see that it’s not just the Police Service that suffers from institutional dimwittedness.  The London Fire Brigade’s bosses have decreed that their officers are not to pay routine visits to private houses where someone has been smoking in the hour prior to their attendance.  Of course, if there are flames as well as smoke, it is likely that the house is burning down so that’s a different matter. Yes, it’s the Health and Safety fascists again, having decided that houses count as Trumpton’s workplace so smoking is verboten.  Don’t get me wrong; I have the utmost respect for fire-fighters and I am not blaming Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub as no doubt the average fire officer thinks this is absolutely ludicrous as well.  Perhaps if they wore breathing apparatus whilst they wandered round fitting smoke alarms and reminding the residents to turn off their chip pans, that would pacify the desk-bound jobsworths at Brigade HQ. ...
  
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   It appears that officers up in the broad acres of North Yorkshire have been serving the wrong kind of sandwiches.  Police Review’s article on this grave matter thoughtfully featured a photograph of the ham sandwich which, it appears, caused widespread offence in the Northallerton area.  It was not made clear quite who has been so grievously offended by the aforementioned morsel gate-crashing an otherwise joyful and harmonious community luncheon.  However it is safe to assume that someone in the ivory towers of Newby Wiske Hall has concluded that someone, somewhere potentially might have been, even if no-one actually was.  Neither does anyone get round to explaining why North Yorkshire Police give out free food.  The solution is to send every single community officer, from CSO to Chief Inspector, on a sandwich course which takes ‘between six and eight months’, presumably at the taxpayers’ expense.  Officers will have ‘protected time’ to concentrate on their sandwich-making.  At least they will get a lunch break,...

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• Now that OSPRE looks like it is falling out of favour, I can now reveal my foolproof method for getting through the Part Two exam.  The basic premise is that the same situations always crop up in every assessment, and they can be dealt with very simply, quickly and effectively.

1.      The Disciplinary Matter.  A sergeant or PC comes to see you because they are not performing satisfactorily.  Ask them what the hell they are playing at.  They will tell you some sob story about problems at home.  Key phrase to show you understand what the scenario is about: “You are a waste of space.  Get back out there, get a grip and get on with some work before I resort to violence”.