Melissa Kite
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Also, I’m fairly sure you can shout at your telly in Surrey without the authorities intervening. Not so in south London. The other night, I tried to remonstrate with my TV, which yet again put itself on to Smart Mode, which has nothing to do with being smart and is in fact a fancy term for a blank screen. The last two times this has happened I have had to call out Sky at a cost of £80 so that an adolescent, monosyllabic male can put it right by pressing one button (a button I’m sure I pressed a million times to no avail). So when the TV went on to Smart Mode again, I screamed, ‘Oh, no! Please, don’t do this!’
The puppy then ran into the room greatly excited, leapt on to the coffee table and knocked a glass of water flying. So I shouted,‘No, please! Not now! Please stop it!’
Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door, a torchlight shone around my living room and a male voice shouted, ‘Open the door, madam. It’s the police.’
To be fair to the officers in question, I had tears streaked down my face, puppy scratches up my arms and was on my hands and knees when I finally got the door open because I was trying to restrain the wiggling hound.
‘Where is he, madam?’ shouted the first officer dramatically.
‘Where’s who?’
‘No use hiding him, madam. Where is the man who assaulted you?’
‘What man?’
It went on and on like this until they decided to search the house. ‘Mind the puppy,’ said officer one to officer two, which I thought was a nice touch.
Officer two’s radio was crackling: ‘Looks like the assailant has fled the property,’ he said into it.
‘I assure you there is no assailant,’ I said.
‘Madam, it’s no good covering for him.’
‘I’m not covering. He just doesn’t exist.’
‘What were you shouting for then?’
‘If you must know, I was shouting at the television.’
With much head shaking, they took a statement and made me promise to call them the moment I changed my mind.
But five minutes after they left, the door banged again. I opened it to find six policemen standing there this time.
‘We’ve had reports that a man is fleeing through your back garden, madam,’ said officer one. ‘Fine,’ I said wearily. ‘Be my guest. If you do find a man out there please be sure and let me know, because I’ve been looking for one for years.’
As two of them searched the garden, the other four stood in the hallway.
‘You know, you look just like that scene from Monty Python’s Life of Brian when dozens of Roman centurions go into Brian’s hut and come out holding a suspicious-looking wooden spoon.’
Silence. Looks. ‘I’ve lived here for ten years and never seen a policeman. Then I shout at the TV and six arrive at once.’ Silence. Looks.
‘No sign of him,’ called officers one and two as they came in from the garden, and they all trooped back out again. I get the impression I’m now on some sort of ‘at risk’ register, so if the TV goes wrong again the police will be out in no time.
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