Police Officer Noh Give Me Producer

I think I had a few too many at the barbecue. The combination of an Evian bottle filled with blackcurrant Absolut vodka and tonic, then cups of wine and rum, led me to take the decision to be dropped at Oval so I could ride back home on my bike, a mere five minutes up the road. I got on the bike, with bags strapped to the back, and carrying my sunbathing mat - please don't act like you don't know that some black folk sunbathe - and it ain't acting 'white' - Vitamin D is essential for healthy hair, nails and skin. The nails part need work.
So it's midnight and I'm riding renegade style on the pavement, with no lights. I make a split second decision not to take the shortcut, it being late, and the shortcut being dark, and take the main route to my house. I see the PC Community Support Plod, and WPC Plodette, and try to pass them. But them being quite rotund, aka Lardy, they are blocking my path, and as I cycle up to them, Plodette turns around, and instead of moving out of the way puts her hand up and asks me to stop. I have to brake sharply to avoid riding into the fat beeyatch. She tells me to get off the bike. What "Moi" ?!? There must be some mistake. I stumble as I dismount, and giggle. All that was missing was the hiccup.
"Do you know I could fine you £30 for riding on the pavement, and for having no lights?". I do have lights, and generally don't ride on pavements, but on this occasion the bitch has got me bang to rights. I'm gonna have to play incredulous. I'm wide-eyed as I say: "Realllly? Nooo, I didn't know that."
"As you've got no lights, I won't fine you this time because it would be dangerous for you to be on the road, but I'm just going to run a namecheck." NAMECHECK? What the fuck for? Of course I don't say this. That would be stup-id. "Have you got any ID?" Namecheck. ID. The part of my brain that's not sozzed by alcohol decided to pull the journalist card. I show her my university ID. "Oh" she says, "what are you studying?". I explain speaking as slowly as possible so as not to slur, that I just finished my postgrad in newspaper journalism. She looks vaguely impressed...then calls through for the namecheck.
Meanwhile PC Plod pulls out the Stop and Search form. I remember we discussed stop and search policy in a lecture at uni where the guest speaker was the Borough Commander for Islington Police, aka Top Cop. How could I forget? The HPIC (Head Pig In Charge) made a blunder of epic proportions when trying to justify the reason why more black people are stopped than whites. It went something like this. "Black boys do more street crime, muggings etc. They are more violent. It's the culture they come from, you know, that 'black thing'." After being called a 'racist' by several of my classmates in the news story we had to write following the lecture, the man had to come back and explain himself, although I heard him okay the first time. He ate a big-ass portion of humble pie.
The form describes the procedure, and the police officer takes down your details. Name, age, address, height, weight (I didn't tell), reason for stop, and a description of me. Plod misspelt 'sandels', described my hair as 'brown dreadlock' (HEL-LO they're BLONDE), and described my vintage black strapless jumpsuit (Oasis 2002) as 'vest top and trousers'. Must try harder Plodski.
The namecheck came back clean (phew), and after telling me to walk my bike home (have you seen the darkness of my road) they let me go on my way. But being a true rebel, I walked until I couldn't see them no more, and then jumped back on the bike and cycled down my road which is a bit of a muggers paradise once darkness falls.
If it's a choice between the plodski's and the muggers, I know which one I'd rather take my chances with.
p.s - Big up Smiley Culture for the title.