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Tuesday, 22 April 2014


For a number of reasons I have taken to wearing wellies recently.    Suitable for dog walking purposes, no laces to tie and they go nicely with my scruffy outerwear in the rural idyll that is Settle.   I don't wear them all the time you understand.   I change out of them for the evening when I do get changed into smart casual or thereabouts.

Today, Pat brought me down to earth with a bump.   "You're turning into Compo, you know".

   I had to try to be smart for most of my police career and it is a great joy to relax a bit on that particular front.   As a young constable at training school I was always in trouble for having less than shiny boots.   The punishment was 'Nine o'clock parade' in full uniform.  My boots were still not shiny and it did not seem to matter too much at 9 pm.   I reasoned that I spent less time on occasional nine o'clock parades than I would have done bulling my boots each day.   I don't suppose they bother about such things these days.  I was ahead of my time I guess.   My most glorious hour at Police Training Centre Pannal Ash was when the drill sergeant (yes really) stamped his foot in demonstration of how some idiotic drill manoeuvre should be done. The entire accumulation of Kiwi black boot polish from countless hours of spit and polish fell off his toecap and rolled inelegantly across the parade ground.   His cry of 'Faaaaaaakin' hell' may have been heard on the outskirts of Harrogate.

Think Police Academy Lieutenant Harris:

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