identification parade; Tom

I went to the old Bridewell station for a identification parade.

 I had been mugged week or so before and was being called in to 

identify a man who I had described (apparently) as having a ginger

 beard and wearing a woolly hat.

It was only a few years ago, but still before the introduction of

 the video ids they use now. So I was picked up from home by a 

detective in an unmarked car. And as I was driven through the 

Bridewell gates I was told that I would have to wait in the 

Witness Protection Suite while officers scoured Broadmead for

 suitable candidates for the parade. I was not too pleased to

 discover that the Suite was in fact a Portakabin in the car park.

My description of the offender was obviously a tough remit to

 fulfil.
For three or four hours, I sat in the "suite" alongside a retired 

seaman from Stockwood whom, it was believed, had been the victim 

of the same gang. He smelt a bit of wee. All we had to entertain 

ourselves was the Queen Mother's funeral being shown on the 

portable TV.

Eventually the time came. I was ushered through a cordon of cops

 into a dark room — like the ones you get at the zoo when you need

 to look at nocturnal animals. Through the glass sat a string of

 young men all wearing woolly hats. I was told to take my time. 

Number 6 had the build and visage of a criminal under suspicion of

 street robbery. And he had a beard of brown stubble. Everyone else

 looked like the cast of Snow White with false ginger bead glued to

 their rosy faces. All except one

other—he looked like the bloke who used to work in Circle K on the 

Gloucester Road (now long gone), but was it him or was he the crim?

 Reasonable doubt clouded my view. I didn't have a clue and when I 

said so the detectives groaned audibly. Only the inspector was 

considerate:

"Obviously the man who robbed you is not here," he said. But I've

 always wondered if he was...

Tom