I had recently arrived in London and decided to go for a cycle ride and explore. Unfortunately my bicycle had a puncture. My girlfriend had bought her son a shiny new BMX and as he was at school for the day I asked her if I could take it out for a spin. On the condition that I was not gone too long and was very careful she agreed. As I was only going to take in some sights I took nothing but my phone. An old brick my father had found discarded in the launderette. Nobody had called to claim it so I had topped up the pay as you go credit and joined the modern world.
I zoomed down the road feeling the exhilaration of the agile little bicycle. Winding through the residential roads I ended up at a large roundabout and turned down the Hammersmith road towards Kensington. As I entered this unknown territory I spotted an attractive park across the road on the right. I slowed my speed, dismounted and crossed the zebra crossing. Before entering the park I took a look around to remember my whereabouts. A police van was passing by and the driver gave me an angry scowl. Unwisely I scowled back. I passed through the gates located a bench and sat down to relax and admire the greenery. Finding my composure I looked around to see the hostile policeman running towards me with intent. An athletic figure with a steely grey crew cut followed by two shorter more corpulent officers. I stood up to address him. He approached very close and immediately began to infer that I had stolen what he considered to be a child’s bicycle and it would be better for me if I came clean. I immediately explained that I had borrowed it from my girlfriend’s son. With a swift and well practiced move he took my arm and placed me in handcuffs with my wrists back to back. Surprised by the uncompromising position in which I had been placed I twisted and turned to find a comfortable posture. Having snared his prey P C Williamson looked on with an air of satisfaction. He explained that if I sat back down on the bench with my hands between my legs I would be more at ease. His quarry now securely placed in the position of an offender he felt sure the confession would be forthcoming. He was implacable when his astute intuition was proven wrong. We went through the story again . He required me to stand and be searched. He took my phone and examined it. Beneath his grey hair his grey matter began to tick. He enquired whether the girlfriend’s name and number were on the phone. I replied in the affirmative. He wisely postulated if he were to phone her she would bear witness to my story. He phoned her and she corroborated explaining she had recently purchased the bicycle from Acton cycles and retained the receipt. He passed my phone to his assistant and it was taken to the van. He went through the story again. An older officer observed and occasionally interjected a carefully placed question. The PCSO returned with information. Williamson stated that he knew the name I had given was false. The PCSO searched around in the grass for evidence. Williamson appealed to my better nature to do the right thing and tell them my real name. Once again I appealed that I had given my real name. Repeatedly he hammered the nail into my forehead. He knew it was not my real name. If I would be smart and tell them my real name they would let me go. Five, ten, twenty times they persisted until my sanity became frail. After conferring with the older officer he asked whether I had any identification anywhere. I had a passport at the address I had given them. He proposed we go there directly and get the i.d. I readily agreed. He spoke to the older officer and returning with an exasperated look supposed he would have to let me go. Still not believing that this strange fish he had hooked was not of the poisonous variety he rooted beneath his bullet proof layers for the small key to the handcuffs. Released from my shackles I slowly wheeled my bicycle away. Undoubtedly they would be watching my next move. I decided to get myself a mobile phone registered to my own name.