Sometimes I feel as though I'm wasting my time...

I applied to become a police officer so I could help genuine victims of crime, and to make a worthwhile difference in people’s lives. It sounds like a sentence from a recruitment brochure but it is the truth.

There are other reasons which make the job attractive; the fast cars and excitement are certainly appealing, but those were the most important in my mind.

Sadly a police officer doesn’t get to do as much of this as I’d thought, and most of his or her time is spent dealing with allegations from petty criminals, followed by the counter allegations from the criminals they have fallen out with.

The next day they’ll be friends again and all the time you spent trying to deal with the alleged crime will have been wasted. I thought the same way towards drunk people and still think they are, to a certain extent, a waste of time. Not only for police, but also for the Ambulance Service who normally have to deal with the drunks that haven’t broken the law. I have yet to meet a drunk that has never been arrested before.

Recently I was on a night duty when I attended a call to a man in his fifties who was drunk beyond recognition and was causing problems on a quiet residential street. He was unsteady on his feet and shouting abuse at people walking past, including homeowners who were intimidated by his behaviour.

“Go home mate or you’ll be nicked,” I said instantly, really not in the mood to mess about.

“F*** off,” he replied eloquently. “I hate you c***s.”

I walked towards him. “Go home or you’ll be nicked,” I said again, losing my patience. “Last warning,” I added hoping he wouldn’t call my bluff.

He started to back away as I moved towards him and I was satisfied he would disappear into the night and make his way home. I saw a family walking down the street towards me and was pleased that I was in control of the situation.

I smiled as they walked past and at first could not understand their shocked faces as they looked in the direction of the drunk. I followed their gaze and saw him standing in the road, in full illumination from the street lamp, urinating on the side of someone’s house. There was also a car parked up nearby with a young couple sat inside, also watching in disbelief. I groaned to myself, knowing I would have to act quickly for the sake of my audience and began making my way towards him.

As I got nearer I could see him clearly still urinating and hesitated for a moment. I really didn’t want to try and arrest him until he had put his bits away.

“Right fella, you’re about to be nicked,” I told him, feeling I should say something while I waited. “Put it away.”

“Put what away,” he slurred, smiling.

“You know what. You’ve been given enough chances but you’re taking the piss now,” I said firmly, not deliberately using a pun that was so apt at that moment. He did his trousers up and began backing away from me.

“Come here,” I said, wishing I was anywhere but here. He got round the other side of a parked car and began to run round it. It had potential to be rather embarrassing, especially if for some incredible reason I could not catch him. I tried to put the Benny Hill music out of my head and focus on reaching him.

As soon as I did so his mood changed instantly and he began fighting with me. I grabbed his arm and used leg sweeps to try and unbalance him and get him on the floor which would be the safest option for both of us but he somehow managed to stay upright. It wasn’t until my third attempt that he went down and I was able to handcuff him.

He was screaming and swearing but I was now in control and felt happier, even though he decided to start spitting and blowing mucus from his nose which ran down his face and made me feel slightly sick.

With some help I transported him back to our police station. Thinking he would calm down, he went the opposite and it became a battle to get him into the cell.

He was trying to spit, punch and kick at myself and my colleague and I suspected he might have taken drugs as well as the empty bottle of vodka we found on him. Standing in the confined space of the cell with him, the smell of his body odour and feet became overpowering but I eventually escaped the cell safely and disappeared to write my notes.

The next day I saw him at court by chance. He did not see me and I find it highly unlikely he would have recognised me anyway, but he was sat in the magistrates’ court concourse, waiting to be called in. He was polite to staff members and sat silently and patiently, a completely different man to how he had been the night before.

What I had initially perceived to be an unimportant job the night before, I later realised it was a job well done. To begin with I had been reluctant to arrest him, thinking that my time would be better spent elsewhere. But I soon realised that the public who had passed him and nearby residents who were concerned at what he would do next were all genuine victims.

For that short space of time and in that small stretch of that road, I had made, in my own mind, a small difference.