"What colour is his tie?"
The policeman posed the enquiry to the group of raw
trainees assembled before him. This was an afternoon
to test their powers of observation, and he was bored
out of his tree.
Simeon, now in the winding down years of his life long
service with the Met, felt his lunchtime soda pop returning
up his windpipe to say hello. He stifled his feelings of
nausea by trying to concentrate on other, more amorous
thoughts. He could feel his own blush deepening, so he
raised the next question, asking the group to focus on the
facts of a recent murder, and to give their scenarios of
motivation and investigation in a written essay for tomorrow
Simeon wound things up and was heading out for home, but before
he could blink, a weedy young man, dressed in mufti cornered him
in the car park. A row of deciduous trees ran like a tramline
along the side of the tarmac road. Barbed wire fences enclosed
the huge site.Simeon's car, sitting like a big expectant cheetah,
shining blue, clean and empty, looked as forlorn as he felt. He just wanted to jump in and get away from work, from the tedium
of his day. The trees, oppressive and overpowering in their weight,
rustled and waved their branches, shedding horrid little bits of
the bonnet of his car.
"What do you want young man?" Simeon asked.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Rule