So I’m walking along the Embankment, on my way to work yesterday, and the sun’s shining and the River’s gleaming and the Shard is… errr… Sharding and Big Ben is… just behind me. And all is well with the world. Mainly because I was walking. The cars were jammed up in both directions. Not that that is in any way unusual.

Then I hear a whistle. And then again. And again. But, kind’a frantically. A referee’s type whistle. You can hear the ‘pea’ rattling round to emphasise the whistlage. And I’m looking round for a football match. Or a game of rugby. Hockey. Something where its all got out of hand, because there was a lot of whistling by this time.

Then I saw the policeman. On his motorbike. Whistle in mouth, leaning over his shoulder at the oncoming traffic. Well, it would have been oncoming but he wouldn’t let it on-come. He had his hand up to the cars and his whistle whistling. STAY THE FUCK THERE!!!!! Even though he didn’t use one word, that’s what he said. And they understood. We all understand cop-lingo. Its universal.

He was joined by a second whistling bike-cop. A duet. A double act. Really good they were too. Like Roger Whittaker with aggression. Then another came.

Ahhhh, outriders. At which point, as I branched up Temple Place, I stopped to peer. Could it be Her Majesty? David Beckham? Kim Jong Un? Donald Trump??

The motorcade slid into view. Big Rolls Royce (like they make small ones), with a flag flying on the mascot. Couldn’t see which country cos the wind was blowing. The Rolls was followed by a Range Rover. Black. Very close behind. Followed by a big black Mercedes van, close behind that one. Which, in my mind, had a SWAT team, all in black sitting on benches, with balaclavas and machine guns, all going ‘hut! hut! hut!’ like they did in the Blues Brothers. In my mind. The Range Rover held some form of ‘secret service’. If we had an FBI, as well as fucking up elections, that’s what they’d do. Follow some dignitary or other in a black vehicle looking for trouble. Or preventing trouble. In secret. Though whistles, sirens, flashing lights definitely affects secrecy.

And I thought: wouldn’t it be nice if I wanted to drive up to Selfridges one Saturday but didn’t fancy sitting in the traffic, to phone the police and get them to stop all the traffic, every car, whistle me through every set of traffic lights, tell all the other drivers to: STAY THE FUCK THERE!!!! ANDY’S COMING!!!!, but in ‘whistle’, and just ease me through each and every hold-up. Ahhhhhhhh.

They’d do it for the Mrs First Lady of Columbia (probably who I saw), so why not me?

Its discimination.

Happy Thursday. Even after last night at Wembley. Bleuhhhh.

A xxxx