mostly david ephgrave

it was hard to not feel a little paranoid when I took my dog out for before-bed wees this evening while a helicopter flew slowly around and ahead throughout. It was akin to that moment when a teacher within the chain of command would come in to speak to the class to see who caused some misdemeanour whilst we stood behind our tables, desperate to present innocence, but concerned that all we were giving off was guilt; I'm the king of feeling suspicious for something I didn't even do, so the suggestion of a helicopter looking out for someone up to something nefarious was bound to compare this. What if they were looking for a criminal walking a horse-sized pet? Then there could have been trouble. Despite it being pitch-black they were scouring the ground for something, and how can I differentiate myself from the common criminal when they're probably looking at me through a heat sensor (unless evil people's blood truly runs cold). Even if they didn't confuse me with ...

Today, I had a run-in with The Fuzz. It’s not every day you interact with filth; in fact, I’ve seldom smelt bacon round my parts (which is not a euphemism). I can count the times the scum have knocked on my door twice, which is representative of the amount of occasions they’ve visited and not my counting ability. Thankfully, the Old Bill rarely darken my doorstep, as narks have more important things to do with their day. (I’ll abandon the cop slang now, as these vernacular references to The Man are getting tedious.) The police - ‘the law’ and not the rock group, hence the lack of capitalisation - came by on my invitation. When I left home this morning, I noticed the front window of the flat opposite had been smashed. I didn’t have time to explore, as (1) I was on my way to a chiropractor appointment, and (2) I’m not adept at wrestling burglars, but I didn’t want it on my conscience if something untoward had taken place - so I phoned the boy...

It says a lot about the state of paranoia I live in that when someone rings the doorbell, my first thought is ‘IT’S THE POLICE’. This may suggest I have a guilty conscience. I haven't, though it’s best not to ask why I recently re-tarmacked my drive. I’ve just become so conditioned into not receiving visitors that when there’s a knock at the door, I only assume the worst. The plus side to living in a block of flats (the drive bit was a lie) is that anyone who wants to see me has to get past a security door first. Provided they don’t arrive before midday, when they can gain access by pressing the services button. So if I ever commit a crime, I need to make sure it remains undetected until the early afternoon. Then I’ll have time to climb out of the bathroom window to make my escape. I’d still have to walk past the front door to get away, but I’d have a head start. A few years back, I was 'knocked up' by the law (not like that). They were going from door-to-doo...