T'was aroundabout the summer of 2000, upon my return to N. London - tail well between legs - from 6 years exile in sunny Scotland and a tale of two ladies, one most dear to my heart, both lost to men about as interesting as a Woolworths ironing board. Still, there's no accounting as they say.

And you know what they say about the saint - he benefits all he comes into contact with ;).

But I digress of course....

Well, parking up for a mo' on zebra crossing zigzags, I dashed into the Estate Agents to finalize the completion details on a flat I'd bought just around the corner. On emerging with some conveyancing paperwork in hand after only three minutes or so, I was dismayed at the sight of a dreaded jam buttie parked behind my Golf and a gentleman of the traffic law patiently tapping his manicured fingernails on its roof.

"Here we go" I thought. You know when you're back in England ok, the filth straight on your back at the slightest indiscretion-opportunity.

So after the obligatory lecture by the officer, about kids on bicycles and little old ladies on zebra crossings, the sight of whom I was blocking to oncoming vehicles... etc, I kind of knew I was in for some kind of high jump or other.... until...

... I remembered my old cop-dealing tactics from my previous daze in Fear and Loathing Land.
NEVER put up a fight with the bizzies, ALWAYS admit your guilt right there, on the spot, whilst looking ashamedly down at the ground. There's nothing the pigs like better than to apprehend a "disrespectful" and argumentative driver after he/she has committed an infringement.

So I acted the part of the remorseful and repentant motorist.... " yes I know officer"... " I should have known better" etc etc.

I did note however, during his lecture on the life-threatening consequences of parking on zig zags, that the uniformed chap on my case was some young Irish whippersnapper fresh out of Hendon, the Old Bill recruitment college just up the road... the accent was unmistakable.... and he was beginning to tone down his act somewhat at my fake display of submission ( I stood down off the pavement to lower my 6' 2" frame to more his height... oh yes I know all the old tricks... )

Just when I was expecting Irish cop to reach for his booking book, he paused, drew a breath, looked away and appeared to speak to the sky....

" Tell you what, I MIGHT consider letting you off with a caution, IF you can give me two good reasons why I should."

My brain shifted into overdrive, as it does in such situations...he continued..

" ONE of which must be funny."

I blinked at the guy's sudden role-reversal - from traffic cop to comedian....how about that !

Jeesus H. Christ pogo-sticking in the outside lane of the M25 in rush hour, I thought. What have we here. Like a cash till calculator performing a sum, the "two good reasons, one of them funny" spewed from mind to tongue like the machine grating out its paper chit total.

" Ahem, well first of all I was only in the Estate Agents for three minutes... and secondly, as my grandfather on my father's side was Irish and was badly injured in the war... and you seeming to be Irish yourself... maybe just maybe you might consider letting me off just this once if I promise never to park on zigzags again?"

Christ almighty, I felt like a Nazi at Nuremberg creeping to the judge to dodge the drop.

"Right e ho", he said quite matter of factly... "very good!". My young Irish persecutor snapped shut his booking book and walked away with the token finger-wag warning about the "never again" bit.

Lost for words but overjoyed at having escaped an automatic £80 fine & licence points added, I drove cheerfully away, safe in the already established knowledge that it isn't what you know but who you know that counts.

Especially in that rotten old town.

M St.M