Blood, Sweat & Tea, page 179 by Tom Reynolds
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e final result of the arguing, holding people back, pushing and shoving, and shrieking at the top of their lungs, was that the car drove off at high speed, missing me by about half a yard. Meanwhile, the argument continued between the sisters/cousins/whoever.
The police did turn up (and to their credit, turned up very quickly), and while they went about collecting statements there was various talk about samurai swords and the like being waved around (which isn't too surprising in this particular part of East London). We left the police dealing with what seemed to be some form of family feud.
Returning to station, we were all stood down by the duty station officer, so that we could fill in the relevant paperwork.
On reflection three things spring to mind:
(1) None of us were wearing our stab vests - and probably wouldn't have felt safe even if we had.
(2) Why, when I had my own mobile phone, my FRU phone, and my work emergency phone, did I use the household landline phone when calling the police?
(3) Finally, is it wrong to think 'With the paperwork we now need to do, this job'll see me to the end on my shift'?
The 'phone' thing was probably because my brain saw it there, and thought 'I can dial 999 on that', rather than taking longer on wondering which pocket of many my mobile phones are in. Thus, my brain was able to concentrate on the whole 'not getting stabbed' thing.
Bad Job
This is a tricky post to write. Normally I would write something to emphasise how I feel, or to try and get my readers to understand what happened, or to highlight some point.
But I can't do that in this post.
All I can do right now is tell you what happened.
I got sent to a call near the edge of my 'patch', given to me as a '12-year-old female, collapse'. The navigation point wasn't accurate though, so while I could get into the right general area, it wasn't directing me right to the door. I got there fairly fast, because I always drive fast to my jobs, e