Wasting police time

I did feel just a tad sorry for the girl I dreamt of the other night. She was standing before the Chief of Police in his office; he was lecturing her sternly. “Quite fair and reasonable punishment… A mischievous complaint, totally without foundation in law…”

Earlier in the day, it seemed, she’d presented herself at the local police station to complain. She lived in the big house, she explained (a daughter, a ward, a maid?) and had been soundly whipped that morning for some misdemeanour. “And it’s not fair, and it wasn’t my fault, and they shouldn’t have the right to do it.”

The constable had taken her into a cell and made her show her marks: six frsh stripes, vivid, neatly and expertly laid-on. And then he’d taken a statement, and recorded the details, and summoned the butler from the House to give evidence. (“Yes, officer, all of the girls in the house are well aware that misconduct will result in a thrashing”). Forms had been filled in, a report filed.

The Chief was most unimpressed. “Wasting police time – a most serious offence,” he continued, explaining that they had mentioned the situation to his Lordship, who was in complete agreement with the proposed course of action.

“Constable?”

Snapping to attention: “Sir?”

The Chief looked from him to the girl, and back again. “Strip her and tie her over the back of the chair, then fetch me a birch…”

4 thoughts on “Wasting police time

  • 12 July, 2008 at 7:13 pm
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    Oh my God! That is, like, unbelievably cruel. You’re so mean!!

    Reply
  • 12 July, 2008 at 8:35 pm
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    Mmm, more like unbelievably *hot* if you ask me 😉

    Reply
  • 12 July, 2008 at 8:56 pm
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    Cruel? Hot?

    Maybe both?!

    Reply
  • 13 July, 2008 at 3:21 pm
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    Oh yes, both. :)
    Most definitely.

    Reply

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