One of the most dispiriting things that can happen to a satirist (apart from Not the Nation posting an idea before you can think of it) is when something turns up in real life that is as funny as anything you could devise.

Metropolitan police commander Ali Dizaei, also president of the National Black Police Association, has been sentenced to 4 years in jail for abusing his authority by arresting Waad al-Baghdadi, with whom he had a personal dispute, falsely claiming that al-Baghdadi had assaulted him.

The story that the court accepted was that al-Baghdadi had designed a personal website for Dizaei but had not been paid. They met by chance when Dizaei and his wife were parked outside a Persian restaurant in Hammersmith. Al-Baghdadi asked for his money, Dizaei reacted negatively and a confused altercation ensued during which both men called 999.

The recordings of these calls were presented in evidence. They leave me speechless. One only hopes they are now being used to train emergency operators as examples of how not to do it.

First the call from the policeman. You would expect that, compared with the rest of us, it would be easier for a policeman to identify himself, especially a policeman whose name has repeatedly cropped up in the news.

Emergency, go ahead, caller.
Hello this is Commander Dizaei.
Sorry?
This is Commander Dizaei, Metro 35.
Met- OK.
Commander Dizaei, Scotland Yard. Commander Dizaei, West Link Commander.

So that’s ‘who’ sorted. Now for ‘where’. The policeman continues:

I’m in Avonmore Road, W14. Urgent assistance required. I’ve made an arrest, I need urgent assistance, please.
Avonmore Road, where’s that?
W14.
W14.

We’re getting along famously. Or are we?

So what was your name again?
Commander Dizaei.
Could you spell your last name?
D-I-Z-A-E-I.
D-I-Z?
A-E-I.
A-E-I.

Perhaps we’re there now. It must be all these crank calls that prompts the operator to question all information.

You said you arrested somebody?
Sorry?
You say you’ve arrested somebody?
Yes, I have arrested someone. Can you get me the CCR, the Chief Inspector, please? You have problems trying to identify me. Could you just tell him I -
No, it’s not a very good line and I have trouble hearing you.
OK. OK.

See? She did understand. Well, some of it.

On Avonmore Road. Whereabouts on Avonmore Road?
W14.
Hello.
Hello.
Whereabouts on Avonmore Road?
Avon-, top end of Avonmore Road. End of Avonmore Road, junction with Hammersmith Road.
Junction with Hammersmith Road?
Yeah.
Right. Then we’ll get somebody there. Thank you.
Thank you.

I’m a bit surprised at that last ‘thank you’. I would expect something along the lines of ‘and about bloody time’ with a few choice comments about incompetence, deafness and perhaps lack of intelligence.

The call from the arrestee was longer and to a different operator, and his English is far from perfect. He started with a rather confused and agitated account of the altercation, mentioning the restaurant.

Can I have the address of the restaurant, please?
Yes, it’s, er, Yas Restaurant in the Hammersmith Road.
Hammersmith Road?
Yeah. Yas Restaurant.
The Hammersmith Road where?
In front of the –
What postcode would that be? West 14 or West 6?

Useful pointer there. If ever you need emergency services in the UK, you should first make sure you know what the postcode is.

It’s in front of the Olympia Exhibition.
Erm, let me have a look.
Exactly in front of the Olympia Exhibition. Called Yas Restaurant. Y-A-S
Erm. I’ve just got to find out the postcode because Hammersmith Road is a long road. Oh, that’s West 14.

So if she ever needs to send them a letter, she’s OK.

He just came out. He told me ‘Come to the next road, let’s fight.’
And what’s the name of the restaurant?
Yas. W, er, Y-A-S.

Which she’s already been told, but that was when she was busy with the postcode.

It’s a Persian Restaurant?
Yes. And he’s the Commander of West London.
How do you know he’s the Commander of West London?

The scepticism behind this approach is interesting. If you call for the fire brigade, will you be asked how you know there’s a fire?

I know because I did him a personal website. I know all his personal details. His name is Ali Dizaei. He used to be Hammersmith-Fulham Commander, and now he’s West London.
Well no, because we don’t have West London. It’s Hammersmith or Kensington or something like that.

So now the veracity of the information is being questioned – even though it’s right and she’s wrong. After a while we digress into a discussion on uniforms.

And was this man in uniform? …
No, no, no uniform. He was with his wife.
He was with his wife?
Yes. No uniform. Just wore his hat in his car.
He had his hat on his car?
Yeah.
What hat was in the car?
Like the police hat.
Where was the car parked then?
In front of restaurant exactly.
I didn’t know you were allowed to park there.
Double red line. …

So this story can’t be true because a police officer guilty of misconduct in public office and attempting to pervert the course of justice would never park illegally.

And what do you think his position is?
On his business card, called Dr Ali Dizaei, BA Hons Law -
I’m sorry, did you say doctor?
Yeah.
Why is he a police officer if he’s a doctor, then? …

So you can’t be a Doctor if you’re a policeman (don’t tell Thaksin).

After this cross examination of the victim, the operator’s attitude quickly changes when the policeman takes over the phone, claims that al-Baghdadi is being abusive and requests back-up asap so that he can make an arrest.

OK, fine, I’ll send someone straightaway.

And they did.

About author: Bangkokians with long memories may remember his irreverent column in The Nation in the 1980's. During his period of enforced silence since then, he was variously reported as participating in a 999-day meditation retreat in a hill-top monastery in Mae Hong Son (he gave up after 998 days), as the Special Rapporteur for Satire of the UN High Commission for Human Rights, and as understudy for the male lead in the long-running ‘Pussies -not the Musical' at the Neasden International Palladium (formerly Park Lane Empire).