The PoliceSitting in my local pub late one night enjoying the landlord's flexible idea of what constitutes his licencing hours, a bunch of drunk blokes in raincoats burst in. Requesting to be served, one shouted at the barman "It's alright - we're not coppers!"
They were spitting images of Lt. Columbo to a man. The barman laughed them out of the pub.
(
chthonic, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 10:12)
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Oh dearHad a run-in with some young ne'er-do-wells at the end of my street a few months back; a bunch of kids hanging around near the pub started in on me for no clear reason, slapping me on the back and launching a few kicks. I took down the number of their car and phoned it in to the cops, who said they'd be round soon to take a statement.
Ah, I thought, hadn't quite thought about that, so I opened all the windows and embarked on a rapid and vigorous programme of ashtray emptying and putting stuff in drawers and cupboards. But when the cops arrived, I slowly realised that I'd forgotten about the small pile of human vertebrae and ribs* on one of my bookcases. The one that the police were standing right beside and eyeing with great interest.
*17th or 18th century, recovered from from the beach in Dunwich in East Anglia, rather than ripped from the backs of fresh corpses which I then dumped in the canal. Honest.
(, Thu 22 Sep 2005, 11:02, Reply)
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