Policing London’s mean streets can be an exacting and extremely dangerous business, even during the so-called festive season.
In actual fact, the Christmas period can be one of the most lawless times of the year due to the propensity of Londoners to over indulge in alcohol, which as we all know, often leads to a variety of problems.
Take last night for example. I was patrolling my usual beat in Whitechapel in East London when I heard raucous laughter coming from an upstairs window in the living quarters of The Royal London Hospital.
Fearing that there’d been a break-in and that drunken thugs were making off with the possessions of the doctors and nurses that live there, I called for backup.
Two of my colleagues and I then battered down the door and entered the flat in question.
Sure enough, there were a number of people in the room, many clearly the worse for wear. A few were wearing Santa outfits and were swilling alcohol from cans, blowing party squeakers as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
I noticed too that some of the raiders had cleverly disguised themselves as medical personnel by wearing scrubs, green rubber wellingtons and stethoscopes. One even approached me and shook my hand, wishing me a ‘merry Christmas’. When I challenged him as to why he was on the premises, he claimed to be a paediatrician and that he lived there, but I was having none of it.
My copper’s instincts told me there was no time to lose and I radioed in for a Special Patrol Group vehicle along with extra officers in riot gear.
After my colleagues had cleared the room and had left for the station with the villains, I piled into the grog that was left behind until I was sick down the curtains.
I then kept the premises under the surveillance for the rest of the night, laid stretched out on the floor in a pool of my own vomit and piss.
PC Ted is vice chairman of The Comatose Lawman’s Society of Great Britain