Copper Blues

Something I thought I might have grown out of by now is a general dislike for uniformed authority. I cannot walk past a policeman in London without thinking, ‘Shiny-buttoned twat!’ or something equally sophisticated.

I have never met a copper I didn’t dislike immediately and enormously. I have at least a dozen stories about encounters with London Metropolitan goons and their laughable stupidity, and I shared a few of them with one of my recent acquaintances on a long coach journey. I made a crude and limited use of my vocabulary.

My friend smiled benevolently throughout. Later in the conversation I asked him what he plans to do when he gets back to the UK. You can guess the answer. I asked him why he would want to do such a thing in spite of evidence of him possessing intelligence, sensitivity and humanity. He smiled and said, ‘I just want to kick people’s doors in.’


2 Responses to Copper Blues

  1. mieke says:

    One of my new found friends used to be a sniper in the Dutch marines. I never thought I’d see the day either, but hey… There it is.

    (and he’s going to teach me how to shoot soon, yay!)

  2. Ray says:

    You’re not alone. Wat Tyler has another example at

    This decline in the reputation of the British police has happened during your lifetime. A number of my contemporaries couldn’t wait to retire – they hated what it has become, not just in the Met.

    One such guy, who I would have said was the perfect PC, told me how he was clocking off & overlapped in the cloakroom with a couple of young PCs clocking on. He heard one say to the other “Let’s get out there & kick ass”. That, he said to me, was when he started ticking off the days to retirment on a calendar. He hadn’t joined the police to do that, yet the attitude sumnmed up what the force had become.

    To help me cling on by a hair to some sort of faith, blogs by PC Copperfield, PC Bloggs and Inspector Gadget still seem to represent a fairly human face of British policing, but even they know that they are in a minority.

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