I was unlocking my bike after choir practice last night (I know, I know, I’m turning into a character out of the Archers’) ready to cycle home.
‘Is it just you all alone in the dark on that bike?’ someone asked as I prepared to cycle off. ‘You’d better watch out for the bogles.’
As I turned out of the village with its streetlights and into the very dark road that runs beneath the trees, I reflected that bogles had better glow in the dark because otherwise I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of seeing them, bike light or no bike light. Working out where I am in the road is challenge enough at night, even with a fullish moon and the glow of Bigtown on the horizon.
It also would help if I had an idea what a ‘bogle’ was. Or is. Perhaps it is the thing that is posting comment spam to one of my old blogs at the rate of about one ad for fake replica watches a minute. In which case, if I catch it, it had better watch out for me…
‘Things have changed while I’ve been gone,’ Charlie said, musingly. ‘The police, I mean, in Britain.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘That man, Inspector Robson, your mum’s friend,’ he said. ‘He’s CID, right? Not uniform.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s a detective, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Funny,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Well, the police never used to be armed, did they? Except for special firearms officers, and airports and that.’
‘They still aren’t,’
‘Funny,’ he said again.
‘What,’ I demanded. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Well, I could see it quite clearly when he stood up, through his jacket,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t even bothering to be discreet.’
‘What about?’ I asked again, but by this time I thought I knew.
‘About his gun,’ he said at last.
Posted by disgruntled 
