Oh, God. Just what percentage of my life have I spent sitting in a van looking at drunken people doing drunken things outside a nightclub in the early hours of the morning?
How much grief am I going to get for making him write out in his pocketbook ten times ‘Heroine and heroin are two different words. Possession of heroine with intent to supply is not an offence but seems rather controlling of the lady involved’?
Why do they have to keep on calling me when I’m trying to listen to Any Questions on Radio 4?
Oh, dear. Just what is a reasonable time for leaving the Christmas party before it gets messy, they start taking the piss out of the governor, or someone gets nicked again?
How is it that the entire team is now younger than my PNB cover?
Actually, have I done that online training that I keep bollocking the children about?
How many old stories can I get away with during an average shift? And have I bored this particular audience with this tale already?
Hmmm. Which is my favourite disabled toilet for a Club Class dump whilst still fielding numerous calls on the radio and phone about MISPERs who have come home but then gone missing again, and CADs that have been on the Open List for three days but now seem terribly important for some reason.
Christ … has he gone off to that smoking shelter AGAIN? Surely, I should say something …? A proper sergeant would …