I dreamed last night that I'd visited some kind of garden centre run by none other than former England football manager, Sir Bobby Robson. I explained to him about one of my current gardening problems - a thicket at the front of Woodford Towers that was rather overgrown. (I hacked at it for an hour or two recently, but it's a b****y nightmare and probably needs an attack with a chainsaw or poisoning from the roots.) Anyway, Sir Bobby agreed to come and sort it for me for just £3. Even in my dream, I realised this was silly money that wouldn't begin to cover his costs. Nevertheless, I was very grateful.
I've now studied the Special Constable poster in more detail (see blogs passim ) and can reveal the idea is even more complex and bizarre than I first thought. You'll recall that a Special is on some seedy looking street corner, just yards away from where a drug deal is in progress. He's keenly observing events and looks ready to take some kind of action. The copy says that Specials wear uniform and always have back-up. But this guy is on his own in plain clothes. Worrying. Perhaps he's off duty but just can't leave the policing thing alone? Once a part-time copper, always a part-time copper. But wait. There is back up. It comes in the form of the constable's own reflection in a puddle. If he took his eyes off the criminal activity for just a second and took the trouble to look down at his feet, he'd see that in Puddle Land, he is wearing a uniform and carrying a radio. There's enough material here to fill a semiotics seminar for a day. If I disco...
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