Saturday, February 12, 2005
"Remember that first week of nights we did, when you arrived over here from Wycombe?"says Bob
"Come on, you remember, the night you turned into "Supermog". "Ah yes, I remember now"
Bob had taken me out in one of the Pandas to show me the area. We had a very large, but very rural area, right up in the top corner of Oxfordshire - right where it borders on to Wilts and Glos (Lechlade). We had done a bit of a run round and had been over to Wantage to check the post (our main Station for the area in those days) and had parked up on the forecourt of the Garage at Stanford in the Vale on the A417 to observe the road between Faringdon and Stanford. Bob had already said this was a good spot
As we were plagued by local toe-rags (technical term)
who would steal cars and race them down the 417.
"Well, there you go", says Bob, as a one eyed, grubby looking Mark 2 Cortina (it was a long time ago) lurches out of the High St and right towards Faringdon - "Its *******, well known local car "TWOC"er (taking without consent for the uninitiated)To digress, once upon a time, a local Herb would take someone's car and when stopped would say "You cannot prove that I have stolen this car, as I did not intend to keep it" (a main plank of the theft act -intent to permanently deprive) So there was niggly things like theft of petrol etc until the new Act, which was "Taking without Consent" - still not very good but at least slightly easier to prove - back to the story. Off we go, giving chase to matey boy, who is approaching full ramming speed - about 75 mph in the clapped out Cortina - Do quick vehicle check and person check whilst Bob is winding up the Panda, twos and blues etc. Sure enough the "alleged" driver is currently disqualified for earlier TWOC offences and the car definitely does not belong to him unless
A. he has bought it very recently or
B. He has changed sex !
In those days, before the advent of the mini roundabout the A417 came to an abrupt halt at the "T" junction with the A420 and we are racing up towards it, right on the tail of our friend.
"Get ready Mog" says Bob, "The way he's driving, he aint going to make the turn at the junction"
So, unbuckle the belt, hand on the door handle and get ready to eject. Sure enough - thirty feet of skid mark, straight across the main A420 and up on to the grass the other side. Bob meanwhile, who is in Ford's finest Escort has cadence braked down to about 10 mph, gone into a controlled slide and is now broadside on to the Cortina - Chummy has regained senses and got out of seat and is about to be away on his toes when - Supermog - having let go of the door handle as we broadsided, braced against the centre console and kicked off - literally flew out of the passenger seat , landing on top of the toe-rag, now to be known as "the prisoner" and splattered him across the bonnet of the Cortina. In those days, I was a tad lighter (about 3 stone) but still "substantial" and landing on the prisoner took all the air out of him
"I give in" he squealed (after the requisite caution)(You're nicked you little S****T) I swear that it was about 10-15 feet that I flew like a blue clad avenger but as with all good stories - the distance gets greater every time it got told and the legend of Supermog, the flying cop got started - for a little while at least. Next time I chased him the little toad got away - but that's another story
He must have got the shock of his life!
Good enough for the wee scrote...
Blimey, you'd think you'd have to deal with fights, or something!
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