Bad boys, bad boys

There's been a rash of people recently calling or referring to me as a "cop". Now I don't so much mind being called a "copper" (one who cops?) but can't abide being called a "cop".
- How many cops are there in your team?
- Er, I'm not sure, but when did we all become American?

I don't claim any consistency whatsoever; why else would I mind cop and not copper? If anything, copper should be a source of pain and anxiety to me as it was one of the many names I have been called for having strawberry-blonde, yes it's strawberry-bloody-blonde hair, not ginger over the years. But I don't mind that. It's not even that it's an Americanism; a common term of address both in the street and in court is officer, which is derived from US culture (however, that's possibly just because it beats the ever-hilarious mispronunciation of Constable [how we laughed and laughed!].

I suppose it's just because it sounds so darned cheesey, faux American, mid-Atlantic Essex cowboyish. I dunno.

Anyway, apropos nothing except gingerism a new batch of Street Duties officers are out soon so the new competition will shortly commence in the Happiness BOCU to be the first to induce a new officer (we're not allowed to call them Gobby Probbies any more - yeah like THAT'S the worst they'll get called in the street!) to describe their suspect over the radio as IC7, the universal IC code for gingerists.



Let battle commence - bwah ha ha ha haaaaaaa......