Policing London’s mean streets can be a very challenging, not to mention, a downright hazardous business at times, and we guardians of law and order are frequently asked to put our own lives on the line in order to protect the public.
Take last Wednesday for example. I was in the canteen down at the station, fortifying my tea with generous helpings of Tescos vodka, when we were called out on a shout to deal with an armed robbery which was in progress at a building society in Whitechapel High Street.
Without a thought for my own safety, I hid in the toilets until the other lads had gone down to the armoury to collect the firearms that might have to be used in an armed confrontation with the desperados.
As soon as I heard the sirens disappearing into the distance, I quickly made my way to the Chief Inspector’s office on the top floor and levered the door off the hinges with a crow bar.
Realising that time was of the essence, I broke into his desk and drank 3 bottles of 25-year-old malt whiskey that I knew he kept there.
As I collapsed over his desk and began vomiting into the wastepaper basket with shit and piss running down my legs, I felt the kind of pride and sense of achievement that only a serving Bobby would understand.
PC Ted is vice chairman of The Law Enforcement and Chronic Liver Disease Association