The first thing I do when I get home is to check the police aren’t sat in my living room. I don’t think there’ll ever be a time where I catch them in the act. I know I haven’t done anything wrong, there’s no reason for them to be here but until I walk in on something like this, this strange tradition will go on.
I think it stems from being in trouble a lot as a kid, middle child stuff. Living in a world where you’d always done something wrong, you just have to wait for them to lay down their case against you. Gets to a point where the attention you get from your parents is because they’re upset, annoyed, disappointed – whatever – but it’s attention nonetheless. Maybe I grew up in a way that attention was a result of misbehaviour, so I continued to break the rules unintentionally in a reach for attention. I guess when you outgrow the worry of your parent’s discipline, you move on to the police. Then you learn about lawyers and the industry built around proving guilty people innocent and your disciplinary worry promotes itself to the government. I guess the stage after that is the God you believe in? I don’t know where I am on that ladder, don’t know if I care.