Unfortunately the police have a bit of a reputation nationally for being time-wasting sciving sick-notes. This has led to a bit of a reversey policy whereby sickdays are now monitorred so scrupulously that people stagger into work, barely able to see through the curtain of sweat stinging their eyes from their fever.
Legal landmarks like the court that decided that an officer can be ineligible for promotion if sickness levels are too high as well as measures such as being back-classed at Hendon if you have more than a few days off in each course, have meant that your average copper and PCSO all just get wheeled to the door of the nick by the LAS instead of taking necessary time off.
Apparently this is really good, as it's meant reduced sickness levels, for which everyone roundly participates in a veritable circle-jerk of back-slaps, but the sequelae of this of course, are officers and "O"s barely able to do their jobs as they feel so thoroughly miserable when out on the beat - a particular joy when you mainly walk rather than sit in vehicles - and that once one "patient zero" comes into the nick, there is very rapidly an explosion of infection, a domino effect, until finally the whole nick comes to a standstill.
Except we don't come to a standstill, we go out and bravely infect the people that pay our wages (or so they keep telling me!). Perhaps that's where I'm going wrong; I shouldn't see it as a policy well-intentioned but ultimately to my personal detriment, but as an opportunity to wreak revenge on the moaning gitbags that I faithfully serve in the community by giving back to them a little of what they deserve [tee-hee!].
Of course it could be argued that this constituted at least an ABH assault, following the arguments contained in Regina versus Dica and the previous Clarence case (referred within). But maybe The Job should be held accountable for forcing me to work on through my acheing limbs, hot and cold sweats and blurred vision and thus passing my dread 'lurgy to the great and the good of the London Borough of Happiness? Anyway, I'm off to watch Spooks with a hot whiskey and a rug wrapped tightly around me and you can ponder that at your leisure, you healthy bastards! [Do you feel the sore throat starting yet...?]