The custody sergeant turned to me. "I think Mr. DiCaprio here might be under the influence of drugs or other substances, and to ensure we haven't missed any drugs on his person, I authorise a strip-search of the prisoner at this time". He took a quick glance at the whiteboard behind him. "Please use cell M5 to do the search".

I turned on the blues on the car, before doing a 3-point turn and pointing the car the right way.

"What the fuuuuuuuuu...", Simon wails, as his torch is spinning away into the darkness, creating a rapidly changing, ghoulish shadow-play on the walls, as the light from his torch is blocked by all sorts of rubbish on the floor.

Note: Due to the nature of this post, it might not make the best lunchtime reading. Unless you have a strong stomach; in that case, carry on!

As the bike shop owner was reading out the description, we were going through a red light, sirens blaring. Kim suddenly made a squeaking sound, and pointed at the intersection we had just gone through. I slammed on the brakes, and looked. True enough, there he was. Bright red T-shirt with a white logo on the front, and a bike that was gleaming in the bright midday August sun.

"You know what we're going to have to do, don't you?", Kim said to me, as she shoved her notebook back into her stab-vest. I nodded, curtly. It looked like the rest of the shift was going to be a race against the wits of a 14-year-old.

"We've had a report of a group of six youths fighting with knives in Guy Street Park, descriptions to follow," the familiar voice of the CAD operator crackles on the radio. "We have one IC3 male, around five foot five, wearing a black hoodie and a red baseball cap". The CAD operator is relaying from the 999 call in progress. "We also have an IC3 male, skinny, around six feet tall, wearing a dark track-suit with a large NIKE logo, and an IC1 male wearing jeans and a red sweater. Several knives have been seen. More descriptions to follow."

There was glass everywhere. I could feel it sticking into my shoulders where it had gotten caught under my Met-Vest. It was gnawing into my sides. My eye felt... Odd... but there wasn't time to find out whether I'd been hit by a shard of glass there as well.

"Uhmm, I don't really know how to put this, officer. Last night, I was walking up the street with my Xbox 360, and then a ninja came and punched me in the face. He stole my Xbox!"

"Mate, if you don't get back in your car and shut the hell up, I'm nicking you for breach of the peace". I'm trying to stay as calm as I can, as my face is about an inch away from his.

"You're about to make a very stupid mistake, my friend", I say to the man, as he is shifting his weight to his back foot. I know what is coming. I also know that there's a video camera pointing at us.

“I have my first amendment rights!” the man shouted. “You can’t tell me what I can say and what I can’t say! You’ll hear from my embassy, you fucking nazis! This is the last time I’ll visit your stinking little island! Fuck you, get off me!” he screamed, as he was struggling against the two sets of handcuffs. He wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Patricia Smith? What’s her date of birth?” asks the triage nurse at the other end of the phone line. I tell her. “Nope, sorry, nobody by that name here”, the lady says, and rings off.

His name was Jamie. “My friend, I have absolutely nothing against the police”, he confided, still leaning against the car, “but this really is rather a bit of an inconvenience, and I wish you weren’t doing this”.

“Call an ambulance”, I shout, as I’m running across the road to the man on the asphalt. He is making a horrible gargling sound. In the three seconds it took me to cross the road, his white t-shirt was soaked with claret.