So the Chucks have gone and done it, and now those of us in the 'green zone' will no longer be required to mutter 'black bastards' under our breaths after we've been asked for our particulars by the boys in bottle green.
Today's events in Dublin make me kinda nostalgic for the old RUC, in a perverse, twisted sort of way. On one occasion, when I was about 17 or so, I was stopped by one of their finest (who was very anxious to up his tout-count) whilst on my way to school.
'Where are you off to, sir?' asked the peeler, who stood about 6ft 2" and was better tooled up than Robocop.
I took a quick glance at my blazer and tie, and gave him a look that said, 'Are you for real?'
'School', I finally, sheepishly, replied.
'Ah right', said he, and after taking my name and address, made some meaningless chit-chat about A Levels and university. He then came to the crunch.
'Do you ever notice anything up around here?' he enquired.
'Like what?' I asked.
'Like things that shouldn't be going on, you know what I mean. Do you ever notice people acting suspiciously?'
'Can say that I do,' came my reply, at this stage trying my hardest to contain my total indifference.
'Well, if you do...', our intrepid law enforcer stated, 'give me a wee call at the station. Constable Norman Brown, extension 2442.'
And off I went. I pondered Constable Brown's request for a few days, and then I DID spot something suspicious. Well, my law-abiding instincts kicked into action and I phoned the RUC switchboard.
'Constable Brown? Hi it's .... here, you were talking to me the other day, remember? Well I have something for you, it's about my next door neighbour'.
I thought he was going to spunk his trunks in excitement, thinking that before too long the peace of our little cul-de-sac would be shattered by the aggressive revving of grey Land-Rovers.
'Well, I think she's having it off with the fella round the corner. Big Seamy I think his name is. He comes to her back door every afternoon at 3.30, and all I can hear is the thumping of the headboard about 10 minutes later. It's that loud, he must have a cock on him that can knock six-inch nails into the wall. Lucky bastard he is too. I've been hoping that she would show me a few tricks, older woman and all that. You did tell me to contact you if I seen anything suspicious....'
'CLICK! BRRRRRRRRRRRR!' went the line.
And thus ended my brief career as a spook. It's not all it's cracked up to be, you know.
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5 comments:
At least you have a middling competent police force who'll beta the head off you just for looking at you.
Here in Cavan, the town drunks beat up the Gardai. Boylesports even run bets on it.
In my experience Dario, I have found the Gardai to be a ruthless pack of bastards. Like a few years ago, in Eyre Square in Galway, when the guards gave my friends and I a bit of a reminder who's boss when we were playing hurling in the park. Ok, so we were playing hurling in the park at 4 in the morning, steaming, in the centre of Galway, but violence is not the answer.
The PSNI, despite what people may think, are not a competent police force. They're about as much use as tits on a nun, and I'm speaking from first-hand experience.
Those must have been young guards you ran up against. They have a point to prove to everyone that they're not just boggers who can beat people - they're boggers who can beat people hard.
By the way, keep up the good work on your blog. I'm glad to see you put me on your blogroll, it's always nice to get some recognition.
And the same to you. Hopefully word will get around that I'm the Voice of Treason!
It's refreshing to see a nOrthern blogger who doesn't jump down everyone's throats .... I'll be keeping an eye on your posts, they're promising so far anyway.
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