Saturday, September 30, 2006


Love your boss.

"Boss...when are we going to get some troops back?"
"you're not"
"No boss, I don't mean get loads of new people, I mean when are we going to get our troops back from incident rooms and back from being off sick because you've burned them out with your performance culture?"
"Don't you have anything constructive to say general?"
"erm...well,that thing I just said was constructive, you just don't have the right answer. Those of us who are left are supposed to be getting the same performance figures as last year but we've got half the troops. So surely it's right that you half the targets?"
"Over my dead body"
"no boss, probably over mine."

Thursday, September 14, 2006


General grumpy learns to smile again...

Now I know that none of you know me, but I am usually a happy-go-lucky kind of kid. I can roll with the punches with the best of them and I class change as a friend of mine, but just lately, I feel a bit grumpy.

Well, not just a bit grumpy, a lot grumpy.

Usually when I'm grumpy, I soul-search and attribute my grumpiness to the following categories:

1. I'm tired.
2. I'm hungry.
3. I haven't had much sex lately.
4. People are treating me like a chimp at work.
5. All of the above.

1-3 are only short-term problems which usually require only a small amount of effort to address. 5 turns me into the Incredible Hulk.

4 is the snag. 4 makes me grumpy.

I woke up in my sleep the other night at about half two, sweating, having had a dream that my boss cut the tongue out of my head in a meeting in front of everyone who just stood there looking at me going "ooh, that must've hurt..." Claret was gushing out of my dish and nobody helped me. It was a sign.

I came to work and opened up my computer to find that I had inherited even more crimes to investigate than I had the day before when I specifically said that I could not physically cope with any more work. I have so many enquiries on the go at the moment, I am running out of brain space to take on the next one. I am on the crew that delivers performance, day in, day out, so I am heavily relied upon by those above to provide the results that they can then claim as their own and bathe in the glory thereof. But I understand my position. I work hard. I play hard.

I decided to close my computer back down and say " fuck it.I'm not going to phone any victims today, they can bite me. And I'm not investigating one more thing until some fucker starts listening to me.."

I turned to my good mate and partner, who, for the sake of this blog shall forever be known as Juice boy on account of his penchant for always drinking juice.

" Fuck this juice boy, I'm vexed. We can't sustain this pressure any longer, we've got to go and talk to our skipper"
"want me to book you in to Flint House General?"
" Thanks a lot Juice boy. I'll remember to kick you in the plums next time your'e down"
" Least I've got some plums and not marlies..."
" I mean it Juice boy, this is shit. We need help. Human help too, not computers, new chairs or some new forms to complete"
" there are no more humans to help us, they are all off whith stress General.."
" Right, thats it juice boy, I'm going to smash your head off the desk if you don't make me a brew..."
" You should try juice, it's good for you."

The next thing I knew, we have a prisoner to deal with. I walked down the block and met this kid who had just been pulled from his bed and brought in. It is 0812hrs.
" Hello kid. I'm General. I'll be spending the morning with you. You want a hot drink?"
"no. I need to smoke some draw."
" It's ten past eight in the morning.How many sugars you want in your tea?"
" five."
" are you serious? You will have no teeth left, no way am I being held responsible for your dental decay"
" OK. Four and a half then."
" Juice boy...can you make this kid a drink, I'm off to find a sword to throw myself on"
" you should try juice mate...much better for you than tea..."

My DS is a top man and that is fact. He is a good friend to me which is usually the way with DC's and their DS. I would take a bullet for him, that is how much I admire him. So being the good friend and line manager that he is, I let him have it with both barrels later that day.

My DS shall be known for the purpose of this post as "wise bloke" on account of his wisdom of course.

" wise bloke, I am unhappy. I have been telling you for some time now that we have too much work. I told you that I could not take on any more crime and that my brain is poorly. I asked for some help. I wanted some acknowledgement that the cavalry were coming after some well earned R and R. You said it was on the way. You have let me down. I am getting more and more emails from the bosses about performance and the end of year target. But you are setting us up to fail. They are leading from behind. not from the front. They say we are crap instead of showing us the way. And now you take one of the lads off our crew and put them onto the other team? The maths doesn't add up. You need to CONTRIBUTE to the team to get success, NOT REMOVE!"
" General...You are a great detective and a real asset to our division"

" stop blowing smoke up my ass, it won't work"

" You are doing a fantastic job under really difficult conditions. You must take some credit for that...
" look wise bloke, fuck the stuff about how well I am doing, what is being done about the 'difficult conditions'? It is this that needs addressing, not saying well done General you are trying really hard but it is still shit."

" My friend General. It concerns me that one of the Wayne Rooneys of my team has just stood and knocked on the managers door and said 'boss I ain't happy at United"
" Fuckin get some human beings in to help us then wise bloke. And not some thick fuckers either. Someone with a fuckin brain in their skull would help. Sorry for shouting but at the end of the year when our crew hasn't reached the target then it will be " general, why didn't YOU get the target?""
" I do understand General but we won't be getting any more humans. You are it. Fuck them. Let the wheel fall off. Maybe they will set some achievable targets next year without putting half the division off sick with stress"
" They can stick their job up their arse. If they can find any other person who can do the job better than us then they can have my job and I will fuck off somewhere else, I don't give a fuck."
" Now that would be a real loss. I don't want you to do that. I don't want you to do anything other than what you are already doing, very very well. I will bugle the cavalry personally and have them releive you in your trench, my comrade."
" you're a knob you are sarge."

" Now get out of my office before I start to cry. And get me a cup of tea before I tell the team what a moaning twat you are."

I came home that day after another 13-hour shift and did what I normally do when I am grumpy. I shouted at my girlfriend. Then apologised for being a complete tool. Then went to bed.

I woke up the next day feeling brighter. I had had the opportunity to speak with another wise man before I went to bed. For the sake of this blog he shall forever be known as dad, on account of his sperm which made me.

Dad said, " son. you have created a problem within yourself which you needn't have. Do not concentrate on the unseen problem which is over the horizon, the 'end of the year target'. Concentrate on the problem of today and deal with that. That is what I expect of you and that is what all the law-abiding people expect of you. You cannot make a silk purse out of a pigs ear. Do not overburden yourself with the inefficiencies and ineptitude of others. Be your own man, make a difference to the good and give shit to the toe-rags and you will not go wrong, I promise you son."

"thanks dad. I love you you know?"

" I love you too son. Keep your chin up and stay safe."
" I will dad."

Strangely enough, I find that writing this stuff on this blog helps me to keep these things in perspective. I've not been grumpy since and I even sang a few tunes today.

Saturday, September 09, 2006


You kiss your mother with that mouth?

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"She's a fuckin bitch...yeah,you!" she shouts at her mother who she has just ordered to iron her a jacket before she will come to the police station to answer questions about the stolen car her DNA was found in and then the house she burgled.

In any other place other than this shit-hole, this girl would be mint. She is 17. Bad, I mean really bad attitude. She hates the world. I chuckle to myself thinking that she is acting like the archetypal teenager, like Kevin and Perry.

But that chuckle soon fades away when I realise that this girl is fuckin hateful. She bellows at her mother, who incidentally I was hoping would come and be the appropriate adult. She tells her mom to 'get the fuck out of my way' as she slams past her to the bathroom upstairs. I can see the mother physically shaking. I begin to feel sorry for the mom because it is clear that this girl picks on her mom and her mom looks demoralised and bullied. The 17-year-old rules the roost.

"you look lovely can we go because we have now got to call social services for an adult for you because you upset your mom"
"do I look like I give a fuck? I'm putting some make-up way I'm coming to the station looking this bad"
"yeah because you might bump into a good-looking crack head or nonce down the cell block..come on please?"
" a minute! fuckin fucker.."

Long pieces of blond hair were coming away from between my fingers as I forced this mouthy piece of shit down her stairs. Her cheeks became bright red as the shock set in that yes, that friendly copper has just grabbed me, dragged me out of the bathroom, forced me down the stairs and bundled me out of my moms house in front of all the neighbours in the street, held me against the car and handcuffed me to the rear.

The line was drawn. I was polite, friendly and approachable but the foul mouth didn't know when to stop. That's the problem with teenagers, they never quite know when to shut the fuck up. This was part of her learning curve. Fuck with the old bill a bit, but don't step over the line. Lesson one.

Long blond hair, pretty face, lovely blue eyes. A great body and lovely white teeth. Perfect to some. But when this girl opened her mouth it was awful. We had lost this one, there was no going back. I wondered what she would be like if she was stranded on a desert island for a couple of years with some articulate, intelligent people? Would she return to civilisation pronouncing her words properly and forgetting to swear? Would she have grace and enjoy her femininity? Would she smile?

Or would she scowl,hiss and swear at me like she was doing when I looked at her in the rear view mirror on the way to the cell block at the nick.

"...anything you do say may be given in evidence. I'm going to tell you the caution in more simple terms now..."

"I'm not fucking thick, just get on with it you boring fucking boring fucker. Bore off..."
"please tell me why the stolen car that you say you have never been in or touched, but you did say that you walked past it in a road and then when you didn't see anyone in it you carried on...has your blood inside it on the front passenger seat and a beer can in the drivers door pocket with your DNA on it?..."
"I dunno. I never went in the car."
" hmmm. really...."
"...please tell me why later the same night, your blood was found at the point of entry of the scene of a burglary at..."
"I dunno. I told you I was with a mate who I don't want to tell you about cos' her mom will kill her if she finds out..."
"I cannot flower this up any other way Jade, other than to say you are a stupid idiot of a liar and I hope you go to prison"
"what the f.."
"officer, I must object to your personal comments with regard to my client!"
"you can object until you're blue in the face Mr Pencil-head, I'm right and you know it. I take it from your silence that you agree. good. I'm finishing this interview now."

Not exactly straight out of the "How to finish the interview" section of the 'Guide to advanced Interviewing' but hey, what the fuck, I'm a boundary-pusher.

Bang. Have some charges you foolish little bitch. And no. I won't give you a lift home. Get some respect first. Lesson two.

Lesson three comes later. Lesson three comes to me. Detective Constable General. Lesson three is when the magistrates give her a community punishment order of 40 hours. Lesson three is the sucker punch for me spending the time on this investigation and the anticipated not guilty file for this poxy fuckin outcome of a decision.

I'm not very happy. In fact, I'm so not happy I'm going out to get shitfaced.

you comin? My round...

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