Thread by @acatfromgreece

Here we go again.

Most of early turn are still out, and those that are back at the nick look absolutely hollow eyed. It’s been non stop since 0700, apparently.

Yesterday there was a fatal fire, two GBHs, and a suicide.

Let’s see if today lives up to that.

As well as all that, three of my team went onto live railway tracks to rescue a woman who’d jumped off a bridge.

It won’t be on the news, because it’s what they and thousands of other officers do every single day.

This shift fully lived up to its predecessor: two GBHs, a violent disorder, multiple domestics.

Every unit from every borough committed.

And this, mind you, is still (sort of) lockdown...

Two further reflections on yesterday's shift.

First, the violence.

As lockdown eases, I expected our demand to get back to the usual level. It duly did, roughly three weeks ago. Then it kept going.

And it isn't drugs, it isn't theft. It's violence. Serious violence, very often with weapons. Over and over again.

Some of it is domestic abuse which, while horrible, is always there.

But a rising trend, previously rare where I work, is mindless, purposeless thuggery: arranged fights, teenagers setting about each other with baseball bats, stabbings.

No one will talk to us. The man my team dealt with who had a gaping wound exposing his chest cavity didn't want to know.

All they want to do is get back out and try their luck again.

If this is what it's like now, God help us all when the pubs reopen.

Secondly, the burgeoning mental health crisis.

Community mental health provision was already strained before COVID. Lockdown then closed it.

As we enter the fourth month, the devastating effect of this on many, many families stares us in the face every shift.

We're being called by people who haven't called us before.

Any cop will tell you how unusual that is: ordinarily, we spend most of our time dealing with the same small percentage of the population.

Unless it's been burgled, going to an address that's not on our system is rare.

These people are calling us because they no longer have any choice.

The problems they were managing through a combination of official support, their own efforts and the love of their families are now, without that support, overwhelming them.

They hate calling us. They think they're wasting our time.

They don't want the police in their homes. In many cases, they're ashamed that they can no longer cope.

There's very little we can do apart from sympathise, and call an ambulance. Which makes them feel worse.

After 10 years of uniformed policing, I thought I had some idea how much hidden vulnerability exists just beneath the surface of everyday life, erupting every so often into crisis.

Turns out I didn't know the half of it.