The Laughing Policeman: My Brilliant Career in the New Zealand Police by Wood Glenn

Author:Wood, Glenn [Wood, Glenn]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-05-04T16:00:00+00:00

To compensate for the regular beatings we were receiving in the gymnasium we were given more leave weekends and discipline wasn’t quite so strict. Bookings were still handed out regularly but not with the gay abandon of the first term. One concession the instructors did grant us was we no longer had to march to meals. I was well pleased as I hated marching and lining up, especially as several of the cadets used the occasion to have a laugh at my expense.

I have a big nose. There, I’ve said it. I think it’s in proportion to the rest of my body but there is no getting past the fact that from side on it’s a whopper.

One favourite barrack’s joke was that when I lay down I looked like a two car garage. Another claimed that I would always be able to tell the time if I lost my watch as all I had to do was lie on my back and use my nose as a sundial. Ha ha ha.

I was standing at the front of the queue one day when a cadet further down the line called my name. When I turned around the next six cadets in line ducked simultaneously as if to avoid being knocked over by my nose. Everyone found this most amusing. Almost as amusing as my continual efforts to perfect an incendiary device to devastate all opposition should the need arise.

I was still stinging from my public humiliation over the beer-can bazooka and felt I needed a pyrotechnical success to restore my credibility as an explosives expert. It was not to be. A series of projects went with a phut rather than a bang and the one device that did burst spectacularly into flames almost burnt the barracks down.

I had conducted the experiment in the rubbish tin in my room but the bomb exploded with such unexpected ferocity it caused a fire. The metal bin quickly got too hot to handle and the flames fierce enough to stop me getting close. Worst of all, the mat the bin was sitting on had started smoking. Fortunately Phil had the presence of mind to grab his bin and fill it full of water, dowsing the fire (and my mat) before the room went up. This was long before smoke detectors so my gross negligence wasn’t immediately discovered. I was planning for it never to be, but there was the little detail of a soggy and burnt mat which we had to get past the people who used white gloves to detect dust particles in our room. Hiding a large burn mark in the rug that, according to regulations, had to sit conspicuously on the floor beside the bed, would be tricky. I wasn’t sure but I seemed to remember arson being frowned upon by the constabulary. Losing the mat was my only option - but how? Phil had an idea. He suggested swapping it with his room-mate’s mat. I loved the thought but, spaggot though the guy was; he wasn’t dim enough not to notice a mat switch.

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