The Prince of Micro-crime.

My good friend who, to protect his, or her, identity I’ll call John, is indisputably the Prince of micro-crime. Where unscrupulous city types steal with impunity, bullion robbers and aging Nazis remain at large in Bolivia, John will be pleasing Her Majesty for the merest indiscretion. No crime is too small for John to feel the long arm of the law. It’s as if he emits a high pitched whistle that only passing policemen can hear or uses flypaper chemicals as a deodorant. Plod is on the spot every time. A midnight relief in a secluded car park and Plod is there, lurking like some predatory paedophile. Littering, walking in an unpredictable manner, parking with a permit improperly displayed, they’re all there on his crime sheet. A misunderstanding in a French bar and Inspector Ploodoe introduces an international dimension to this life of micro-crime. It seems, as we pass more and more anti discrimination laws, there’s only one group left to pick on, the criminally irreverent. I can only conclude these gentle sweet souls are such a pleasure to arrest. Their indiscretions are so straightforward, there’s no verbal or physical abuse, in fact they are positively amusing, a rare delight in a life drained by dealing with endless devious despicables. So here’s to John who has brought a little ray of sunshine to all the numerous policemen who’ve arrested him with his rare wit and intelligence.