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byron bay cops and long memories

The way our man said it was that he was passing by The Great Northern hotel and heard a commotion in an alleyway nearby. He walked over, stopped and saw a couple of coppers giving a lad some advice. They were standing, the lad was napping on the ground. There was a little blood here and there. This was about 2.30 am Sunday morning.

All was not well.

Our man, Ben, stepped up to the fracas and suggested that everyone immediately walk away and relax – big fellow Ben – carries an ugly snake bite scar on his face. That and an ear he ripped off trying to get away from it under the house.

He insisted – now he had all their attention.

– Arrested.

Chucked into the Police Wagon.

This incident was witnessed by a couple of members of the local rugby league side whose immediate sympathies were for our man so naturally enough they surrounded the wagon and made certain suggestions to the now outnumbered coppers. No joy there so what else to do but give the wagon a bit of a bounce and see if a door popped open. Where’s the harm .. ?

That’s about how it happened ¬†few years ago. This is the local gospel.

Three weeks ago our man Ben stepped out for another Saturday night and what better way to get to the pub than have the dog (Staffordshire bull terrier) provide the pull and skate into town. Three k’s of straight pathway and there at the petrol station end a police car parked by the side of the road, alongside the path.

The local Breath Testing Unit. Bulk copperage. Everybody in the shit as Byron is a drinking town, coming and going. Not to mention the local whoof being lofted into the reeds by the side of the road. Always carry what you can afford to lose. This is the local dictum.

Of course the dog had to veer away from the path to have a looksee and consequently Ben found himself being pulled into into the side of a police car. Big man Ben, or have we covered that already. All muscle and bone. He sees no sense in falling down while sober so he grabs the car’s radio aerial ‘en passant’, a big hi-frequency number, probably radio-active.

The dog stops under the car, the skateboard flips up onto the path and here’s Ben at rest with a bent aerial in his hand and two coppers walking around the car wanting to know what he’s doing with their bent aerial in his hand.

Now our man is no fool and he reckons that if there is no bent aerial then the problem will go away. The new problem here is that aerials do not, cannot unbend – they break – and he’s a plumber. This is what Saturday night will do to you.

Now there are three coppers wanting to know why Ben snapped their aerial, and why his dog is now in the car, and don’t I know you from somewhere ..?

They sat him down on the grass, they made him look down at the ground. Somebody collected the dog and the skateboard and they threw them at him. Not gently. Then they asked him to run back home. This to one of the fiercest men north of the Richmond River.

Run~!!

– and with a wet arse.

If more coppers had a sense of humour then their work wouldn’t be so hard.

One Comment Post a comment
  1. twinny #

    Ben’s bloody lucky he ain’t black…..

    May 3, 2012

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