Who'd be a Copper?: Thirty Years a Frontline British Cop
Who'd be a copper? follows Jonathan Nicholas in his transition from a long-haired world traveller to becoming one of 'Thatcher's army' on the picket lines of the 1984 miner's dispute and beyond. His first years in the police were often chaotic and difficult, and he was very nearly sacked for not prosecuting enough people. Working at the sharp end of inner-city policing for the entire thirty years, Jonathan saw how politics interfered with the job; from the massaging of crime figures to personal petty squabbles with senior officers. His last ten years were the oddest, from being the best cop in the force to repeatedly being told that he faced dismissal. This astonishing true story comes from deep in the heart of British inner-city policing and is a revealing insight into what life is really like for a police officer, amid increasing budget cuts, bizarre Home Office ideas and stifling political correctness. "I can write what I like, even if it brings the police service into disrepute, because I don't work for them anymore!" says Jonathan Nicholas. Who'd be a copper? is a unique insight into modern policing that will appeal to fans of autobiographies, plus those interested in seeing what really happens behind the scenes of the UK police.
every morning. He’d sit on his bed, both feet flat to the floor with his head in his hands completely immobile until the very last minute when he would quickly get dressed without any kind of wash, then run down the stairs with the rest of us. Day and night I heard some astonishing farting and belching, some of which seemed to be generated on command with tonal qualities and pitch control. Bearing in mind it was mid-winter, so there wasn’t a single window open. “Breathe it in, quick! Get rid of
Luckily I was excused PT and swimming during that fifth week, and by the following weekend I was fully recovered. I still didn’t feel like a police officer. We had no idea what it was like; I don’t suppose any of us did, except those who had already been police cadets. We hadn’t as yet done anything, or more accurately, done anyone for anything. Like actors in an empty theatre, we were always in dress rehearsal. Eventually it was announced that we would undertake some role-playing. They were
was no reply at the door from the elderly male resident. I wasn’t told much over my radio other than the fire brigade was requesting police attendance. I was just around the corner so I volunteered. When I arrived the fire engine was parked directly outside the address. The fire crew were very relaxed and in the process of packing away their equipment. I couldn’t see any sign of smoke or water spillage, so I wondered what they’d been doing. As I approached one of the fire officers just pointed to
fair when I wasn’t working fixed point but working normally each shift was spent driving from one job to the next, as usual, taking details of crime. Very often it was from people visiting Nottingham reporting their car broken into. I will never understand why some idiots insist on leaving valuables such as wallets, purses and latterly laptops and other valuables in their cars. You may as well just leave them lying in the street. There are huge problems associated with the theft of a wallet.
fantastical new title. It was henceforth to be known as the ‘Natural Neighbourhood Co-terminus Super Output Area’. I checked the date, but it was real. Someone was being paid a lot of money for this. I imagined the inventors of the title sitting around at home one night listening to Pink Floyd, off their tits on weed, suddenly having a Eureka moment when it popped into their head. It was like a postwar Stalinist five-year plan, more idea than substance. Yet again it was telling us to do something