Ah f**kin’ love a guid royal weddin

DH, Going Postal
The Polis

Ah remembah when Mike Tindall married that Zara burd in an’ we wiz all suconded tae Lothian an’ Bordahs for the day oan royal protection duties an’ aw that sort ae pish. It wiz well braw.

The sarge picked us aw up in the riot van nice an’ early cus we kent wi’d be a guid while gettin’ oor orders aw sortet oot at the drive thru at Maccy D’s at the Fort. Then wan o’ the probationers wanted tae stoap off fer a pish an’ a snickers at Harthill services. Ah got a couple o’ hot dogs fae the wee cafe bit while ah wis waitin’ an then of course all of a sudden a’body else wanted wan. So by the time we’d finished fannyin’ aboot wi’ aw the sauce an’ that sh**e we wiz runnin’ pure late. Then we gets tae aboot Livingston an’ wee PC Mack sterts gettin’ pure travel sick. So the sarge pulls ovah ontae the hard shouldah so he can spew his wee ring.

Wee Mack’s pure white as a sheet by now so the sarge decides tae take a detour intae Livingston so we can get him Irn Bru fae the McDonald’s there tae settle his stomach.

‘Ah could pure go another couple o’ egg mcmuffins’, ah says when we get there an’ goes in efter them. Sure as fate a’body else has the same idea an’ we end up losin’ even mair time cuz they’d stopped servin’ breakfasts an we aw had tae choose sumthin else. Ah jist settled oan a couple o’ big macs in the end.

Onyhoo, we gets intae Edinburgh an the sarge pipes up: ‘Ony o’ you c**t’s ken where the f**kin’ Royal Mile is?’ None o’ us had a f**kin scoobie what he wiz oan aboot so we ended up haein’ tae stoap an ask fer directions in a cafe. Big John Paul goes an’ f**kin orders himself a toasted panini wi’ bacon an’ cheese while the wifey’s tellin the sarge where tae go. Ah pure liked the look o’ that so ah ordahed masel a couple an’ aw. Then aw the other lads wanted wan. So that wiz us another twenty five minutes waitin oan aw that pish gettin sorted.

So we finally get tae where this f**kin’ weddin’s goin oan an’ there’s f**k aw folk there. ‘Ho pal,’ the sarge shouts at some c**t walkin’ by. ‘Where’s this f**kin weddin’ happnen?’

‘It aw finished aboot an oor ago,’ he says. ‘Yer late yer daft c**t.’

So we pull the wee w**k intae the van an gie him a guid shoein’. We called some f**kers in fae Leith polis station tae pick him up. Told them some pish aboot him callin’ the sarge a paki.

Then ah notice we’re parked right ootside Mario’s chippie. ‘Who’s wanten a fish supper?,’ ah says. A’body wants a fish supper. Turns oot they do deep fried mars bars an’ aw.

As ah says, I f**kin’ love a guid royal weddin’.

© DH 2017