Shamblyland encounters.
So last night I had been with DT & co, talking rubbish and what-not. Midnight-ish, on my walk home, I found what was probably a mop handle - it was a thin plastic stick at any rate. So I picked it up as I swooshed by and twirled it through my fingers as I went.
Then a police car rather pointedly pulled up to the curb by the churchyard where I was walking. So I put the stick down and greeted the nice policeman who came to talk to me.
It was very *very* surreal.
First off, I wanted to laugh because out of all the things I've got up to in shamblyland walking home with a stick was by far the tamest and *that* was the one the police chose to take an interest in?!
Secondly, I was full of gin and imperiousness and was wearing a fantastic coat, so it was quite clear the situation wasn't going to end badly for me.
Thirdly, the police officer was so very *very* earnest, so very sweet and so clearly confused.
He introduced himself, full name rank and number - twice - and I have no idea why as I'd attended him perfectly well the first time. I offered him the stick as I couldn't think what else he was after and he just seemed embarrassed when he realised it was a useless plastic thing. I explained I'd found it and picked it up to twirl as I used to belong to a circus school. From the look on his face I and the situation was obviously getting more perplexing by the second and he didn't seem to know what to do about either.
I said, "I assume it's the stick you have a problem with - by all means, take it. It's either that or you're jealous of my coat." (And that sir, you mayn't have! ... Pretty sure I only said that second bit in my head.)
He looked me and my coat up and down and admitted that it was a very magnificent coat. He asked my name, but the reply just confused him. I complimented his notebook - but apparently that wasn't the done thing either. He asked where I lived and I told him, waving vaguely in the direction of the flat. He asked my postcode, but I couldn't remember it and informed him I was quite drunk actually and postcodes were beyond me. He looked perplexed again and said, "I can't arrest you for that." I meanwhile was trying not to laugh and calmly waiting for him to tell me I could go. He gave me a very long and rather worried look and asked if he might drive me home. I said that wasn't necessary, but thank you. And then he asked me again. I told him I was perfectly fine and didn't wish to put him to the trouble.
Then I fucking bowed and stalked off.
=====
Dear Mr Policeman,
I'm sorry I confused you.
Blame my marvelous coat. And gin.
I can't think why you stopped me - as this is shamblyland and the night is dark and full of horrors and I am not one of them.
I can only assume you were rather taken with me (or more likely my coat) and fancied a chat.
Corvid xx
Then a police car rather pointedly pulled up to the curb by the churchyard where I was walking. So I put the stick down and greeted the nice policeman who came to talk to me.
It was very *very* surreal.
First off, I wanted to laugh because out of all the things I've got up to in shamblyland walking home with a stick was by far the tamest and *that* was the one the police chose to take an interest in?!
Secondly, I was full of gin and imperiousness and was wearing a fantastic coat, so it was quite clear the situation wasn't going to end badly for me.
Thirdly, the police officer was so very *very* earnest, so very sweet and so clearly confused.
He introduced himself, full name rank and number - twice - and I have no idea why as I'd attended him perfectly well the first time. I offered him the stick as I couldn't think what else he was after and he just seemed embarrassed when he realised it was a useless plastic thing. I explained I'd found it and picked it up to twirl as I used to belong to a circus school. From the look on his face I and the situation was obviously getting more perplexing by the second and he didn't seem to know what to do about either.
I said, "I assume it's the stick you have a problem with - by all means, take it. It's either that or you're jealous of my coat." (And that sir, you mayn't have! ... Pretty sure I only said that second bit in my head.)
He looked me and my coat up and down and admitted that it was a very magnificent coat. He asked my name, but the reply just confused him. I complimented his notebook - but apparently that wasn't the done thing either. He asked where I lived and I told him, waving vaguely in the direction of the flat. He asked my postcode, but I couldn't remember it and informed him I was quite drunk actually and postcodes were beyond me. He looked perplexed again and said, "I can't arrest you for that." I meanwhile was trying not to laugh and calmly waiting for him to tell me I could go. He gave me a very long and rather worried look and asked if he might drive me home. I said that wasn't necessary, but thank you. And then he asked me again. I told him I was perfectly fine and didn't wish to put him to the trouble.
Then I fucking bowed and stalked off.
=====
Dear Mr Policeman,
I'm sorry I confused you.
Blame my marvelous coat. And gin.
I can't think why you stopped me - as this is shamblyland and the night is dark and full of horrors and I am not one of them.
I can only assume you were rather taken with me (or more likely my coat) and fancied a chat.
Corvid xx