As a young herbert I was stopped by motorbike bobby, a Norton Interpol no less, during a ride out on my GSXR1100. He was a right gobby mutt and I lost my rag, telling him that if id given it the gas there was no way he'd have caught me. He dipped his finger in the oily patch at the end of his exhaust, flicked it in my face, and said "so you reckon ypur bike is faster than my radio, do you?" He had a point.
Another time I was stopped one night I dropped a packet of Rizlas as I was getting out of the car (I used to smoke roll ups, all I could afford on a squaddies pay). The moustachioed copper got jolly excited and spent about half an hour turning my car over for drug, telling me hed go easy on me if I told him where they were. It was a warm evening and I was on no hurry, so I sat on the kerb and had a smoke and chatted to his mate while Mr Moustache wasted his time.
Ah, the early days post PACE were heady times.