Low Life | 26 September 2009

I glanced in my rear-view mirror. A police patrol car, right on my tail, blue lights flashing. A woman cop in the passenger seat leaning forward and jabbing instructions at me with her forefinger. I was to turn left into the pub car park. I knocked up the indicator stick and swung in. The patrol car followed close behind. I cut the engine and got out of the car quickly and walked a few paces towards the policewoman as she got out of hers. No doubt she wanted a word about my not wearing a seat belt.

My brother is a big incorruptible policeman. Only the day before, funnily enough, he’d given me a useful tip for exactly this kind of situation. If I were to commit a minor traffic offence and I got pulled over for it, he said, all I had to do was speak to the officer pleasantly, perhaps slipping in an apology somewhere, and he could almost guarantee I’d be let off with a warning.