Swag bag in hand, he just denied everything

The figure apprehended in the central London street was distinctive.

What, me guvnor?
What, me guvnor?

Black slacks, a top with horizontal stripes, and holding a bulging sack with the word “Swag” written on it.

Above the black mask poked tufts of unruly blond hair.

From information published regularly in the press, officer Dribble recognised Burglar Boris, the most wanted man in the country, although not necessarily wanted in a good way.

“I have reason to believe,” said officer Dribble, “that a crime may have been committed.”

“Golly gosh, that’s awful officer. Where?” said BB.


“I assure you officer that this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Well, sir, can you account for your movements this evening?”

“I’ve been to a drinks party. But I hasten to add that I wasn’t there. And it wasn’t a drinks party.”

At this point a figure lurched out of the shadows, a denizen of the darkness, hunched, slumped, and balding, an object of fear and loathing. And that’s just to his friends.

“It’s 'im! It’s 'im I tell you!” he said, raising a gnarled and crooked finger and pointing it in Boris’s direction.

“I says 'angin’s too good for 'im. I sees 'im done it!”

“I would respectfully suggest to the gentleman that he gets his sight tested,” responds Boris.

A small crowd is gathering to watch the spectacle, including members of the rival gang of ne’er-do-wells, Slimy Starmer and Ranter Rayner, who can’t believe their luck, and are calling out “take him away, officer” while alternating between righteous indignation and doubling over in laughter.

Boris tries another tack.

“What school are you from, officer? Westminster? Dulwich?”

“I went to Harrow,” replies Pc Dribble.

Boris blanches slightly before collecting himself.

“Harrow, oh yes, they are good sorts too.”

“Harrow secondary modern to be precise.”

“Oh dear. I mean, wonderful. And which force?”

“The Met.”

Boris’ eyes light up.

“It would terrible if the Met suddenly had an unexpected funding gap, wouldn’t it? I think we can sort all this out very simply.”

Pc Dribble: “I’ve heard enough. You’re caught bang to rights. You don’t get away with it this time.”

Boris: “I do rather think, officer, that you are missing the point. We have the fastest growth rate in the G7 and one of the most successful vaccine roll-outs in the world.

“But you’re right, getting a slice of birthday cake on my birthday must be thoroughly investigated. There must be a far-reaching inquiry, and when you let me go on my way to continue running the country. I give my word that I shall set up a commission to investigate all the issues, and as it is an urgent matter which must be cleared up quickly I shall instruct it to report no later than 2046.”

“You sound like Vic Feather.”

Boris was puzzled.

“Don’t worry, it’s an old Mike Yarwood gag,” added Pc Dribble.

Just one day in the work of the Metropolitan Police as they strive to clear the streets of dodgy characters and make the public safe.

Talking of crime and lies, is it not time to start reporting official crime statistics as a national joke and national lie?

According to a BBC Money Box programme, of at least 69 victims of a £4 million fraud from scammers imitating a legitimate bank, there was just one investigation into one of the victims – and even that was closed. A 74-year-old had £25,000 stolen. She was advised to contact Action Fraud. Action? Oh, the irony. She heard back that there would be no action.

The average sum stolen was £56,000 but 10 victims lost more than £100,000 and one lost £465,000. Only five cases were sent on to police by Action Fraud, presumably to give somebody else an opportunity to do nothing.

Maybe it’s all aimed at discouraging people from reporting crime and so making police look bad by driving crime figures up.

You never know, maybe one day reporting crime will actually be a crime.

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