by Harry Morris
Having been briefed by Tam as to how we were going to deal with the situation, the three of us entered the pub, where inside the atmosphere and mood of the place could only be described as ugly.
Fortunately, we spotted our suspect immediately, sitting at a table to our right, near the door with about nine or ten other males.
The table was full of pints of beer with a large cigarette ashtray about 10” in diameter on the center of the table.
Tam leaned across the table and asked the suspect politely, if he could speak with him outside.
‘Are you blind big man? Can ye no’ see I’m drinking and I’ve just got a round in for the table?’ Replied the male suspect, as his friends sitting alongside him laughed at his response. He then lifted up a pint glass of beer and drank it down, after which, he then put the glass back on the table and joined in the laughter with his friends.
Big mistake! Not a man to mess with, Tam remained very calm and again politely asked the suspect male to come outside so he could speak with him.
Having gained some bravado from his daily intake of alcohol, coupled with the support of his many friends sitting around the table with him, the suspect replied, ‘Are you still here? Either get a round in or get yersel’ tae fuck oot ma face, I’m busy!’
As he turned away, he picked up another pint glass of beer from the table and muttered under his breath, ‘Arsehole!’
An even bigger mistake than the first as Tam leaned over the table and wrapped his hand around the ned’s wee hand that was holding the pint glass and began to squeeze it. The ned squirmed with the pain and the thought that the glass would smash in his hand, he put it back on the table.
At this, Tam grabbed hold of his collar and with his other hand he picked up the large table ashtray and promptly walloped the ned across the head with it, whereby all hell broke out as Tam then hauled the ned over the table with glasses of beer spilling everywhere and smashing onto the floor.
Tam then dragged him past Jim and I, ushering him straight out the door, followed by us, but not before we stopped several objects with our bodies, such as bottles, glasses, ashtrays and other missiles, thrown in our direction.
Once outside, we were able to draw our batons and put them through the door handles to retain the irate punters inside just long enough for more police support to arrive and quell the situation.
As for our gallus suspect, by the time we arrived at the police office, he had turned into a sober, quiet little mouse of a man, with a thumping large lump on his head!
As for Tam, whenever I had the good fortune to work with him, I ignored all police strategy being spouted by him and just played it by ear. It was definitely a much safer option!
High Court Trial
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During a trial at the High Court in Glasgow, a male witness was giving evidence and referred to himself as being a ‘flying saucer’, which he then explained to the assembled jury and the beleaguered judge, that it was a Glasgow term for a dosser or, down-and-out person, with a serious alcohol problem!
‘You mean, you’re an alcoholic, don’t you?’ asked the advocate depute (prosecution).
‘Well, you could say that!’ he replied.
‘I am saying that, Mr Barnes!’ said the depute. ‘Now, tell me, when was the last time you worked?’
‘The last time I worked, was the last time I was sober, sir!’ he answered.
‘And when was that?’ asked the depute.
‘I don’t really remember, but it was a while ago!’ he replied.
‘OK!’ said the depute, before changing direction. ‘Tell me what you did on the day of the incident?’
‘I bought a carry-oot wi’ my Giro money and went to the bench in the park to drink it.’ he said.
‘And how long did you drink for?’ enquired the depute.
The witness searched his brain for an answer, all the while pulling several funny facial expressions as he tried desperately to recall the moment. Then, his eyebrows raised and he proudly blurted out in all sincerity, ‘Until I fell off the park bench pished, sir!’
A short adjournment had to be called, when the jury members, fell off their bench seats laughing!
Television Psychic
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This is a story related to me by a TV licence detector van inspector.
While working in a certain area they had been detected by the locals who quickly spread the word of their presence around the housing scheme.
One particular female, who did not possess a valid TV licence, rushed up to her local post office straight away and purchased one.
As it was, the TV detector van, just happened to call into the street where she lived. The female, having obtained her licence, was heading out to her work and, on seeing the TV van she knocked on the window and said, ‘If you’re going to number six, tell my man, the TV licence is behind the big clock on the mantelpiece!’
With that said, she hurried on her way.
The TV licence inspector decided, since they were there, they might as well check it. They knocked on the door of number six and the husband, who was unaware of what had passed previously, answered it.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked. Whereupon, the TV inspector identified himself and asked to see his TV licence.
The husband hesitantly said, ‘I’m not sure where it is, [bluffing] but we do have one, it’s just that the wife isn’t in and she would have put it away [still bluffing]. Now let me think – where would the wife keep it?’
To which the TV inspector said, ‘I’ll save you some time – it’s behind the big clock on the mantelpiece!’
The husband went back in and sure enough, there it was. Returning to the front door with his TV licence in hand, he said, ‘That’s some bloody machine you have that can tell the exact position of where the licence is kept!’
Recognition At Last
…
Walking around a car boot sale, I was delighted to find an old Morris’s Motorcycle News Magazine I had written it about twenty five years ago, while in the police force, to raise funds for a children’s charity.
Eagerly picking it up, I thought to myself, ‘Recognition at last, I’m for sale in a car boot.’ I asked the price.
‘You can have it for fifty pence,’ said the stallholder.
My expression dropped as I thought about all the hard work I had put into writing it, only to learn that it was being sold for such a paltry sum of money all these years later. Sensing my hesitation, the stallholder said, ‘Oh, all right, you can have it for twenty-five pence then!’ I looked at him with utter contempt and said, ‘No, thanks, mate. I’ve read it.’ Then under my breath I uttered, ‘Ya Bastard!’
Alfie and the Star Wars Game
…
During one of his many drinking binges, Alfie was accompanied by one of his booze buddies, wee John Scott, or Scotty as he was better known.
As they sat in a small booth in the pub, they noticed that the table they were using was in fact an amusement arcade sci-fi Star Wars game, which was plugged into the wall socket and required a pound coin to activate it, in order to play the game.
Alfie and Wee Scotty had enjoyed several Star Wars battles that day during their boozing session and when they were getting up to leave the pub Wee Scotty said, ‘I’d love wan o’ they game machines fur the hoose!’
‘Whit fur?’ enquired Alfie.
’cause the telly is pure pish at night!’ replied Wee Scotty.
‘But, where wid ye get wan frae?’ asked Alfie.
‘Nae idea, but … ’ As Wee Scotty was replying to Alfie, a penny dropped with both of them and they looked down at the game machine they had been playing with all afternoon.
‘Whit dae ye think Alfie?’
‘Alfie looked over at Wee Scotty and said, ‘Quick! Grab an end o’ it!’
They both grabbed hold of the machine and, as they lifted it away, they pulled the wall plug from the socket.
Bold as brass, they walked straight out the
door of the pub carrying the table, completely unnoticed by staff or, patrons in the crowded pub.
Unfortunately for our two opportunists, they only managed to walk a few hundred yards carrying their Star Wars game machine when a passing police patrol car spotted them and stopped them in their tracks.
‘Look out Scotty boy. The Klingons are about to circle Uranus!’ said Alfie.
Wee Scotty looked at the police officers approaching, then looked back at Alfie and said, ‘What do you want to do, Alfie? Run?!’
Quick as a flash Alfie replied, ‘Don’t be stupid – the polis can travel at warp speed.’
‘Well what do you suggest then?’ asked Scotty.
Alfie paused for a moment, then blurted out, ‘Beam me up Scotty!’
Both of them then fell about laughing as the two big policemen approached.
Try as they might to conjure up a believable excuse, the police officers were having none of it and the pair were promptly arrested and, along with their booty, returned to the pub.
Fortunately for the both of them, the landlord knew them as regular customers and in their state of intoxication he saw the funny side of their prank and did not press charges against either of them.
Alfie and Wee Scotty were over the moon by this gesture. However, it taught the landlord a lesson and from that night, all three gaming machines in the pub were chained to the floor to prevent any repetition of their act.
As a final piece to the story, you’ll be star-struck to know, the landlord just happened to be called James ‘Jimmy’ Kirk! (Retired captain of the Enterprise perhaps?)
Frankie, The Make Up Artist
…
A few years ago, I was approached by a traditional Scottish/Irish Folk band and asked to manage them. This entailed organising proper rehearsals, raising their profile and performing all administration duties.
Several months into the job, I negotiated, arranged and prepared to go on a 21 day tour to Moscow, Russia.
This was an exciting prospect, having never visited the country before, but I was pleasantly surprised by the fantastic reception we received and the agent organising our concert performances was very competent and confident we would be a success.
The members of the band were all very excited and up for it, as we looked forward to our first stage performance.
Frankie was the percussionist in the band and very much in love with himself and his appearance. With this in mind, he purchased a long piece of braided hair and would attach it under his own thinning, short hair, to hang down and make him look a cool dude.
Not finished there, he would wear a feileadh-mhor, which is the long tartan kilt material you wrap artistically around you, with leather straps, wrapped around both wrists and legs.
Finally, to complete the image, Frankie decided to give himself the St Tropez look with a cheap bottle of false tan he had acquired from the Glasgow Barras market, advertised by the salesman as, ‘The genuine article, cost £49.99 in the shops, selling today for only £3.00 a bottle, or two for a fiver!’
This, to Frankie, who was a total attention-seeker, would definitely make him stand out from the other members of the band on stage, so he purchased the bargain two bottles.
The opening concert appearance duly arrived and the auditorium was buzzing with expectation from the assembled audience who had seen the band being interviewed on Moscow television.
‘Where’s Frank?’ I enquired from the other band members in the dressing room.
‘He’s just in the toilet boss!’ replied Hamish. ‘Probably a bit of first-night nerves, but he’ll be OK!’
As I gathered the others together and wished them all the best for a good concert, I could hear our Russian promoter going through his build-up announcement of the band, then, we were on. As the others began to file past me onto the stage to a rapturous applause from our Russian audience, I shouted on Frankie.
Click! The toilet door opened and out came Frankie, looking like Michael Jackson in reverse. He had gone in white and come out brown!
With no time to say anything, I ushered him onto the stage and stood back to watch the reaction of the others as he made his appearance alongside them, but like true professionals they didn’t make a big deal of it.
However, his obvious change in appearance didn’t go unnoticed and prompted the Russian promoter to enquire of me, ‘Harry, what is wrong with Frankie? His colour?’
I did my best to play it down. ‘Oh, it’s just an old army ritual, Vitaly. He used to be in the Black Watch and out of respect he still likes to put on some camouflage now and again!’
Vitaly looked at me totally unconvinced and said, ‘The Black Watch?’ Come off it, Harry – I am Russian, not stupid. He looks more like one of the Four Tops than a Celtic folk singer!’
‘Aye, all right, Vitaly!’ I admitted. ‘He’s overdosed on his cheap St Tropez false tan fluid!’ That said, we both had a laugh and then went out front to take our seats and enjoy the performance.
Everything was going fine and the sold out Russian audience were extremely appreciative of the music and songs being performed for them. Then disaster struck for Frankie, who was posing like a complete and utter fanny, trying to look ultra-cool.
Well it would have been OK if he had stayed cool, but due to the sweat worked up with the performance coupled by the intense heat from the stage lights, poor Frankie began to perspire profusely and it wasn’t too long before his St Tropez false tan was running off his face and leaving obvious white stripes.
There was also another very noticeable mistake made by Frankie. You see, Frankie had decided to give his legs the same treatment, but had rubbed the cream onto the front of his legs, forgetting that you really should rub it on the back of your legs as well. As a result, when he turned his back to the audience, his legs and neck were pure white, which was blatantly obvious to everyone in the audience, bar one blind man. And as if that wasn’t enough to contend with, Frankie had also put mascara on his eyes, eye brows and even used it to draw on his very fashionable pointed shaped sideburns, à la Midge Ure!’
‘Mascara’ should have been spelt ‘massacre’ – it was a disaster! Poor Frankie – all his effort to try and look the coolest dude on stage had backfired with disastrous effect, and by the end of the performance, what with continually wiping the sweat from his face, he resembled a cross between Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourne, with his black mascara, smudged and running everywhere.
The ideal look if you want to haunt a house, but not recommended for a Celtic folk band performing Scottish and Irish music on stage in Moscow, in front of hundreds of young Russians.
However, all was not lost as the band, the audience, the promoter and myself had a right good laugh at his expense.
For his bit, Frankie mixed with the younger members of the adoring Russian audience, totally unaware of his streaky-bacon look until Hamish couldn’t resist it any longer and took great pleasure in eventually holding up a mirror and pointing it out to him.
For the first time in his life, Frankie had made a hasty retreat and run away from female company, with no threat of an irate husband or jealous boyfriend in sight. For a change!
Needless to say, he was never allowed to forget it and was regularly reminded of it during performances, when I would relate the story to our future audiences, prompting bouts of laughter and hilarity.
Passive Smokers
…
Deciding to try and do something about my being overweight and my lack of fitness, since retiring from the police, I enrolled with the fitness club at the local sports centre.
Having been unable to exercise properly for several years, due to a serious back injury I had no sports equipment left and as a result went shopping for a ‘look at me’ tracksuit and training shoes.
I entered a large sports superstore and made my way to the shoe department, on my first leg to at least looking the part.
A male customer was in conversation with the shop assistant, ‘I’m no’ kiddi
ng ye Bob, but by halftime, he was absolutely knackered. He was even struggling to draw a breath.’
‘Aye. Ah know! But is he no’ a smoker?’ asked the assistant.
‘He is,’ the man replied. ‘But it shouldn’t affect his breathing as bad as that! I should know, ’cause I smoke as well and I’m all right.’
There was a short pause, before the assistant informed him, ‘Did I tell ye that my faither’s in the hospital?’
‘Is he? Whit’s wrang wi’ him this time?’ asked the customer.
‘Lung cancer!
‘Ye’re joking!’ replied the stunned customer.
‘Naw! The family canny believe it, ’cause he stoaped the smoking three weeks ago and had stuck more patches on his arm than there is on a home-made quilt!
‘He jist bought new a new tracky and trainers tae. He was gonnae join a gym and get fit!’
‘That’s unbelievable!’ responded the sympathetic customer.
‘Ah know, tell me about it!’ replied the assistant, ‘Jist when he managed tae chuck it tae! My Maw’s cracking up wi’ the Labour Club where my faither drank. She’s blaming them. She’s seeing a lawyer aboot suing them for passive smoking!’
Answers from Police Scotland Exams
…
These are some genuine answers and definitions submitted by police students during the Police Scotland Exams 2004.
1. ‘Malicious Mischief is a crime at common law and is when someone steals flowers and tramples on grass.’
2. ‘Assault – to strike someone using any part of your body.’
3. ‘A House is any place that has plumbing fitted.’
4. ‘Indecent Assault – touching yourself in a sexual manner.’