What Me and Eric Roozendal have in common. Part 1.

A weekend up at Jabba the Hut was just what the doctor ordered. Two nights of relaxing with my sister Ms. Lawyer and her husband Geoff the Geography teacher (not a geography teacher but kind of looks like he could be) plus half a dozen kids.

Saturday was a bit miserable so a lot of board games where played and even though I tried NOT to lose at Connect 4 dozens of times, I still lost at Connect Four.

Dozens of times.

Badminton. Now there’s a sport. That can be played for hours on end, apparently. I tried it and failed and did not try it again, such is my outlook on life.

We packed up this afternoon and headed out of town. We felt like we had been away for a week. The great thing about Jabba, as Mr. Woog explained, was the fact that we spend very little cash while we are there. This pleases him. Enormously.

Just as he said this, the sound of a siren blared out from behind us. It was the cops! I had never been in a car that had been pulled over by the cops before, so I was a bit excited. And nervous. For some reason whenever I see a policeman I get nervous. A guilty conscience or something. Anyway, there we were. Being pulled over by the cops on a suburban street.

I knew that we were not speeding, so I thought it was a random breath test. But it wasn’t.


Mr Woog handed over his licence. We were both out of the car at this stage with the kids pressing their face up against the window, beside themselves.

A short conversation transpired. And ultimately what transpired was that Sonia Kluger’s registration had expired. It was a case that I thought Mr Woog had done it, and vice versa. Constable Paul, of the Highway Police, was clearly used to dealing with idiots. Because Sonia is quite a new addition to the family, we didn’t have her birth certificate, otherwise known as her rego papers, on us. They were safely tucked up in a filing cabinet at Mr Woog’s office.

Constable Paul was a man born without the universal benefit of charm.

I admit. We fucked up. We didn’t know that we fucked up at the time, but we did. Guilty of being disorganised.

Constable Paul took it upon himself to morph into a bit of a jerk at this point. And by no means am I anti police. I think they do an amazing job. I like the police as a profession.

I just didn’t like Constable Paul of the Highway Patrol.

After threatening us with all sorts, telling us how unpleasant jail cells were, offering no sympathy for us idiots, being smarmy and sarcastic and totally unhelpful, it turned out that we were stuck.

Miles from home.

“Can I just drive it home and sort it out tomorrow?” I asked.

“Yes you can.” He replied.


“If you want me to arrest you………”

It was at this point that Harry stuck his head out of Sonia and yelled…..


Constable Paul looked at him, and then at me, and said…..

“Most people wish I did carry a taser…. when they are staring down the barrel of my gun…”

I suddenly decided that Constable Paul had taken up quite enough time out of my life, thank you very much. I thanked him (for nothing) as a means to wrap up our interactions, and then he took Mr. Woog’s licence back to his car and made a series of hurried and excited phone calls.

And then Constable Paul came back.