Larry, The Downing Street Cat - The Bobbies of Downing Street

Описание: Norman is one of the policemen stationed outside my residence. Policemen, of course, is the formal term.

Around here, we prefer to call them Bobbies, which sounds rather friendlier and suggests a chap who might arrest you in the morning and help you find a decent sandwich by lunchtime.

People often assume they are stationed here to admire the architecture of Downing Street. It is an understandable mistake.

The buildings are imposing, the history is considerable, and the paving stones have seen more political drama than most theatres. Personally, I prefer to believe they are here for my benefit. It is nice to be appreciated.
Most visitors imagine that these officers are here to protect the Prime Minister. This is, I suppose, the official explanation. But I have never been entirely convinced that the Prime Minister requires quite so much watching.

I, on the other hand, have a considerable number of responsibilities, including inspecting the front door, supervising the comings and goings of important people, and maintaining order among the local rodent population. One cannot be too careful.

The officers generally belong to the Metropolitan Police, specifically its Parliamentary and Diplomatic Protection command, known as PaDP. These are specialist officers trained to protect senior ministers,
important government buildings and the nation's assets.

I include myself in that last category, naturally.

The Metropolitan Police has had something of a difficult time in recent years. There have been a few bad apples, as there are in any large organisation, although one does wonder how an institution devoted to law and order manages to acquire so many stories that require explaining.

Still, it would be unfair to judge the entire force by its less distinguished members. Most of the officers I encounter are decent, professional people, and generally well regarded by the public.

Besides, anyone who can stand outside a London doorway for hours in October deserves a measure of respect. I struggle to remain outdoors for more than a few minutes if the weather is disagreeable, and I have considerably better arrangements for shelter.

Today's Bobbie on the Beat is Norman.

He has been one of our regulars for about a year, and I have found him to be a thoroughly amiable chap. He has a particular fondness for sport, which is a quality I respect, even if I have yet to understand why human beings willingly spend several hours watching other human beings chase a ball around a field.

On several occasions, I have spotted Norman wearing an earpiece, listening to the cricket.

I have, of course, noticed. One develops a keen eye for these things when one spends one's days observing people who believe they are observing everyone else.

Norman stands at his post, alert to the movements of politicians, visitors and suspicious-looking individuals, while somewhere inside his ear a man in a sweater is explaining the state of the pitch.

It is a pleasing arrangement. Norman protects the nation; the nation provides the cricket commentary.

And his secret is safe with me.

I am, after all, a professional. I have never revealed a confidence without good reason, and the fact that I once saw a senior government official carrying what appeared to be his lunch in a plastic bag is neither here nor there.
There is something reassuring about a London Bobby. They represent a distinctly British combination of authority, patience and the ability to give directions while keeping an eye on absolutely everything else.

They can stand in the rain without complaint, maintain a straight face in the presence of politicians, and somehow make a uniform seem less intimidating simply by asking whether you are all right.

Norman embodies these qualities rather well.

And so, while others may see him as a policeman guarding the Prime Minister, I prefer to regard him as part of the small but essential team responsible for the security and general well-being of Downing Street's most distinguished resident.

Me.

One day, perhaps, there will be a plaque commemorating the officers who have stood outside this door. There may be a ceremony, a speech, and possibly a modest buffet. I shall attend, provided the arrangements accommodate my schedule, and there is somewhere suitable to sit.

Until then, Norman will continue to stand his post, keep an eye on the street and listen to the cricket when he thinks nobody is looking.
And I shall continue to keep an eye on Norman. Someone has to supervise the security.

Larry the Cat
Downing Street Historian, Emperor of the Front Door, and Director of Rodent Relations.

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