The Official Met 'Partygate' Investigation
Evidence of PC Justin 'Just' A. Plodd
I was proceeding along Downing Street in a Southerly direction, having removed my statutory issue No. 10 'blind eye' as I was in the process of returning to the Yard, (This action being authorised by standing order/code of conduct section 15 entitled 'Procedure for clocking off') when I took cognizance of a suitcase wheeling itself along the pavement in the direction of Number 10. I recognized the Suitcase as being the same receptacle, which had evaded inspection on previous journeys to no.10.
Exhibit 1
I immediately placed myself in the path of said Suitcase to prevent it from making good its escape.
Without more ado, I addressed the Suitcase directly
“Ho! Ho! What have we here?” I enquired
“No comment, Officer” came the stern reply.
I then seized the Suitcase by the scruff of its extended handle. This was the cue for the Suspected Case to indulge itself in an exploration of the vernacular, at my expense. I heard it to say (if I can consult my pocketbook for a note made contemporaneously)
“Why do you not just F**K OFF, Plodd, if you know what's good for you? Just be a Good Boy, and I won't report you to Dame Dick.”
I was somewhat bemused by this riposte as I knew from my colleagues in Vice, that Dame Dick, the celebrated Lady-boy, was no longer operating out of Soho.
“Now, now, Mr Case; there's no need for that. Let's just take a look inside shall we?”
Suspect Case then proceeded to enquire by what authority I was about to undertake my search.
“So we want to play at 'smartarse' do we, Sir?” I enquired. I then produced my ever-present copy of
'The Home Sec's Guidance on fast-tracking custody: Stop, Search,Charge and Convict - no problem' from my fob pocket (incidentally available from HMSO or any Patel Newspaper retail outlet)
This drew the response from Mr. Case:
“Well it's a fair cop, but I must warn you again, you're acting like a complete C**tstable. There are only items necessary to a Cobra meeting inside. If you don't let me go I will be late for the traditional blowing out of the candles, which signify the commencement of all National Security Meetings.”
Unusually for visitors to No.10 Mr. Case appeared to be at least half-truthful in his explanation; for the unzipping of Suspect Suitcase revealed a bulging Tesco's Metro bag containing half a dozen Cobra Extra Smooth and 4 bottles of Blue Nun Riesling
Exhibit 2
“Pushing the boat out, are we Sir? National Security will not be a problem after quaffing that little lot back, eh? Never mind The Yard briefing says that you are all knocking yourselves out in the interests of protecting the Country. I, for one, (and it's not just the view of the Odd Copper,I can assure you) believe that you should all be cut some slack over this one”
At this juncture, I turned to observe a bespectacled figure in a Pitt-the-Younger suit and Topper entering the street whistling 'I'm Burlington Bertie'.
Thus with my good-self distracted, the Suitcase made good its escape. I gave chase only to see it disappear through the Portal of no.10.
Exhibit 3
I refrained from radioing in for instructions, as I knew HQ would just laugh; tell me to forget it; and get myself off to the 'Copper's Nark Cafe on Strutton Ground for a cuppa'. I was determined not to let 'Mr. Wheelie-bin-Suitcase' get away with it. So I perambulated along to No.10 and firmly rapped on the knocker.
I had left P.C. I.C. Know-Tthinge on duty so it was he, whom I expected to see; instead the door was answered by Dilyn, the dog, wearing a party hat closely followed Carrie Johnson (aka Carrie Antoinette)
Exhibit 4
“Oh! PC. Plodd! What a lovely surprise we're all upstairs. I'd ask you to join us but I'm waiting on a delivery from Tesco's and we're trying to get Wilfred off to sleep.”
(Again, if I may consult my notebook) I replied:
“A tempting non-invitation, if I may say so, Your Highness, but I am here to apprehend a villain masquerading as a Suitcase. Have you seen one in the vicinity?”
“No I haven't seen any such container; not since I sent 'Super Spad' packing! Wait there. I'll send Bozzy Bear down. He's in a Cobra meeting, tee, hee!!”
I sojourned in the hallway for exactly 5 minutes and 30 seconds before a red-faced, tousle-haired figure wobbled his way down the stairway, brandishing a party-popper with a bottle of Blue Nun tucked precariously under his arm.
“ Now, don't tell me... let me see...Oxford Police Cells 1982... it's P.C Plodd isn't it?” verbalizes Mein Host
“Indeed, Your Majesty. You were just plain Bullingdon Boris in those days. I was the one who popped out to fetch breakfast for you from the Gut-Buster Caff, after you had your Friday night 'Smash' (the place up) & 'Grab' (a piece of skirt) outing in town.
“Happy days, eh, Plodd? Stanley always paid for the damage, didn't he (after he gave me a rollicking)? Never could quite remember that tart, though...Come and join us, for old time's sake, we're having a Cobra meeting. Entrance fee is a six pack of Cobra Extra Smooth... they sell it at the Tesco's Metro in Strutton Ground, next to the Copper's Nark... could you pop along and get some...I'll get Dave Brownlow to pay you out of petty cash, he's got more money than sense!...”
I hereby declare that this is the truth, the redacted truth, and nothing but the redacted truth.
Signed,
P.C. Justin Plodd
