Getting away with it...
Many years ago, when I hadn't long got my driving licence, I used to have a big heavy old Volvo 265 - the one with the big heavy old 2.7 V6 engine. The local constable who lived in the next village over and who served with a Hot Fuzz-like zeal had a fairly late model Sierra. Until he wrapped it, not being used to driving on twisty gravelly single-track roads. Then they gave him a Fiesta diesel, the 1.6 non-turbo version. Which he wrapped. On a twisty gravelly single-track road. So he got a shot of another Fiesta 1.6D with strict instructions not to even scratch it, or there would be Tea And Biscuits, and a Frank Discussion.

So I'm bimbling off to work as a jobbing arboriculturist at a little over 60... knots. Matey has a colleague in his car as he spots me, blue flashies, 75 in a 60, bugrit. Oh well, I was doing 75 in a 60, no question. Not much point arguing the toss, it only annoys them. *Not* arguing annoys them too, but there's not a lot they can say about it. After getting to site, cutting some wood, and heading home I thought "I know, I'll head round and visit my mate and play with some motorbikes, that'll cheer me up and distract me from my SP30-sullied licence."

I took a shortcut, along a twisty, gravelly single-track road, where leading up to a bend I could see black tyremarks of someone not really keeping on top of it coming up to a sharp left. Rounding the sharp left, I was greeted by the sight of a Ford Fiesta 1.6D in jammy sandwich colours, nose-first in a peat bog with the back end just barely on the road. Only one thing for it - stop.
Open up the back of the car, as the still rather shaken young polis - on his own in the car now, in the middle of nowhere, and in a bog - in the car he's not even supposed to get bird shit on - is unbuckling his seatbelt.
Root around among the weapons of mass deforestation for a big heavy bit of chain. Hm, he's looking nervous...
Hooked the chain around the towing eye on the front of the Volvo, and the towing eye on the back of the bog-snorkelling Fiesta.
Got in, not said a word to him yet, got back in, popped it into reverse, and with a rather menacing growl from the big heavy V6 slowly drew the chain tight, and s-l-o-o-o-w-l-y in case anything was caught underneath dragged the poor wee stricken Fordie back foursquare onto tarmac.
Unhooked the chain, and the constable got out of his car and inspected the damage to the front (muddy, nothing worse) as I rolled up the chain.
"Don't think anybody needs to say anything to anybody about anything today, do they?" I said.
"Uhm, no" he agreed. And drove off, very, very slowly and carefully. Especially round the twisty gravelly bits.
(gordonjcp, Mon 9 May 2011, 19:55, Reply)