Mother Grasses On Son

Son is noble, honest, self-sacrificing. "You have to tell them, mother. I will accept my fate like a man, transportation to the colonies being no less than I deserve. Hanging is too good for what I have done."

Mother also noble and self-sacrificing, though somewhat less honest, is impressed, overcome with pride at Son's manly courage, but demurs. She will take the rap for Son's criminal act.

(Note: Son rarely drives, and Mother rarely speeds, so neither worry too much about points on licences.)

Enter K the stern magistrate, who tells Mother that perverting the course of justice and covering up a misdemeanour is Not Allowed. Son must suffer the full force of the law. K will stand down from the bench should I appear before her court, and will sit at the back instead, sniggering. K has shared this sorry tale with brother in law, also a magistrate, and both laugh like drains and predict a long-running saga of police pedantry and bureaucratic complexity. And they should know.

Spineless Mother caves in, preferring stigma of being a grass to that of a felon. Rings Police HQ in the morning and confesses all*. Then has to provide Son's details in writing, so that he may receive his very own frightening notice with its big black lettering declaring Intention to Prosecute.

Son then reverts to normal mode, and while still being noble and self-sacrificing, emails Mother with rant about police. No swear words, but terms are included like:

little bureaucrats
stupid
vindictive
pointless
punitive
supplementing the coffers of

and is signed off as 'Bitterly....'

But Mother knows that along with the frightening form, a fierce little leaflet will be sent to her Son, dealing in a no-nonsense way with any emotions that usually arise when one is caught out, for example: "So you're p***ed off that you got caught? Ha ha - you broke the law-aw!!" The police have customer relations down to a fine art.

Also, Mother has forgotten to emphasise to police that Son will not be able to present his documents personally in Newcastle, now that he lives in London; the worst is anticipated, and she looks forward to the emails that will result.

*Charlotte, she of the Handsome Young Policeman boyfriend, advised sympathetically that I should go in person to the police to confess, wearing my slippers, mad hair and clothes, and clutching numerous carrier bags. But isn't that my Sainsbury's look?