I apologise in advance as this blog is mainly a trip down memory lane. The reason being the wilderness has been relatively un busy (See what I did there) for a while. I could write about the three day old driving complaint, or the speeding pensioner, but it’d simply bore you to tears.
So I’m throwing my mind back to my UK days.
You couldn’t beat Van Culture, especially at the weekend when you were on lates and Night Shift rolled in. You piled into the Van and it was a chance to actually kick back a bit with your mates and have a laugh.
There was certainly some sights to behold and some that required copious amounts of eye bleach. I never quite understood though, the British female mentality of wearing clothes three sizes too small, especially when all the wrong bits of flesh were poking out in all the wrong places.
I still don’t quite know what it was about any type of Police vehicle in the town, but it attracted a certain type of numpty. You know the ones I mean, they ask that special type of question “Does you head go to the top of your helmet” or “Can I see your baton”. The first time you hear such comical quips they are less than amusing, but after several years you soon learn that if you wear an ear piece you can get out of any situation.
Once you realised that the person you are talking to is a knuckle head, you simply put your finger on your ear piece, cock you head slightly, say ‘Roger, en-route’ into your mic and either jump in your car and dash off or run off around a corner somewhere, claiming an urgent job has come in. Worked every time and still does.
The other tactic was only allowing two inches of space when you opened your window when approached by said knuckle head or hen party. This was to prevent several things from occurring.
Firstly it kept bodily fluids and breathe out of your face, secondly it prevented unwanted ‘customers’ from leaning into the car and spilling their mammaries everywhere and lastly you could do the window up very quickly and drive off if required (See earpiece method).
The Van was a safe haven for Banter and shenanigans of every kind. Even back then, the bosses were trying to stamp out van culture. They failed. We had an epic Sgt called Trev who was simply one of the lads with stripes. He rocked the Van like no one else. One evening we came across a thief on a stolen motorbike, wrong way around a roundabout.
Now Trev being the sensible man he is managed to place the van tactically in the path of said Bike at around roughly 30 MPH. The bike came to a sudden stop, rider went flying and ran off into some undergrowth. We didn’t find him, but a week later we saw who we thought it was hobbling around in a full leg cast. Poor diddums.
The only embarrassing thing about the Van was when on a blue light run between towns. Being an old Transit it wasn’t the most effective in gaining speed. There was nothing worse than travelling on the dual carriageway on the A14 and being overtaken on any slight incline.
And then there was the prisoner cage.
Now I never, ever, ever wound a prisoner up while sat in the back. Neither did anyone else.
Also I wold like to say that many a prisoner was never wound up so much that when we opened the doors we had to spray them. Never heard of such things…I do recall one incident where I was one up at a Domestic and ended up being bitten on the leg by the offender.
The van turned up as well as an entire shift crammed in. I remember how they had such difficulty in getting him in the van. He kept insisting on bashing himself against the closed door. Poor fella must have given himself a right headache.
The Town Van was and always will be scared ground for the Thin Blue Line. As the saying goes…you can’t beat an old tranny-van
Written by one of the many admins of Emergency Services Humour who is also a regular blogger in our fortnightly eMagazine ’S__ts & Giggles’ which you can sign up to by visiting our Facebook page and clicking on the ‘sign up’ button or by visiting: ShitsAndGiggles.Online
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