We were in the dramatically expanded Belconnen shopping centre when walking along before us were four cops (1). One was fully a giant, at least north of six five (2), the next size down was about six two, and the last two were normal-sized then quite short.
They looked like law enforcement-themed Matryoshka dolls that had sprung apart in order to pacify the local shopping precinct. Frankly that would be a neat way of both deploying and storing the po-lease (3) and they should look into it.
(1) theBoy gets worried when he sees the police because he thinks they're 'going to take all our lovely money!' Why? Because whenever he chants 'faster, Mummy, FASTER' theWife has to explain the road rules to him and how the filth will take our hard-earned dosh should we be caught. It almost certainly is nothing to do with that time he was in the car when theWife was on the receiving end of receiving a traffic fine and he experienced the joy of seeing a grumpy cop issuing her a ticket (1a). In theWife's defence it was the dumbest ticket ever issued as it was issued for theWife not having her current address on her driver's licence. You see if you move house after you get your licence renewed you have to call up the RTA to let them know your new address. They send you a sticker in the mail and you stick it on the licence. There's no proof offered for the change of address; the RTA believe you. So you tell one government organ you've moved house and they send you proof of that in order that another government organ believes you when you get pulled over. Ain't bureaucracy grand?
(1a) We were once driving out of Braidwood when the police behind us pulled us over. Why? theWife had forgotten to put her seatbelt on, a hold-over from learning to drive from her dad who, for some reason, only put his seatbelt on after the car had started well and truly moving. As the cops left theWife burst into tears and mourned the loss of 'our lovely money!' That of course was early on in our Canberra adventure when were were still poor as fuck and a fine was indeed a large and horrid burden to bear. I know people look back on their early-to-mid-twenties with nostalgia of play before real life came along with jobs and mortgages and so forth. However all I remember is the constant poverty and inability to purchase fuck-all. To the extent we once as students in our group house had to good a food parcel from Vinnies. Being poor sucks the wang.
(2) I have grown up with metric but for the life of me I cannot work out from eye-balling someone's height how tall they are in centimetres. But in feet and inches ... I can. Go figure. I blame early exposure to roleplaying games that used Imperial measurements. Interestingly though the premier SciFi RPG was Traveller ... and American-produced effort ... and they used metric. I guess because metric seemed so futuristic...
(3) That's how I pronounce 'police' when talking about the police with theBoy. Why? Because it sounds Street. Don't fuck with me or I will fuck all you bitches right in your bottom!