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We headed off to do some community outreach. This involves meeting people, listening to their stories and memorizing their names and faces in case you have to come back and arrest them at a later date.

As police you can live with the violence, the squalor and the stupidity—it’s the waste of people’s futures that really grinds you down.

“He believed in a mystical connection between the farmer and the soil.”

“And you don’t?” I asked.

“I believe there’s a connection,” she said. “I just happen to believe it’s biochemical.”

Foxholes might breed belief, but trench systems are full of fatalistic cynics.

Few buildings evoke the sinister horror of 1950s municipal architecture more strikingly than the flat roofed pub. Thrown up in their thousands wherever the working class were being rehoused, it’s hard to imagine that the architects were not secret teetotallers looking to make the whole pub experience as grim as possible.

None of this was real.

But I’ve learned that just because something isn’t real doesn’t mean it’s not important.

Nothing attracts the powerful quite like more power.

Common sense said I should scarper. But is anyone will tell you, me and common sense have always had an open relationship.

This guy [Security Guard] was in a navy suit with an unfortunate orange tie, and was nearing us with the caution of a man on a minimum wage zero hours contract who planned to give his employers exactly what they paid for.

Anyone who’s taken statements from multiple witnesses to the same event will know how malleable memory is.

I found that if you voluntarily take on a chore somebody else doesn’t want to do, they don’t check the results too closely—in case they have to do it again themselves.

I’m all for courageous action, in moderation, Peter. But you have an alarming tendency toward heroics.