Friday, 31 May 2013


"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 
morning's  session.
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 

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