I love how Carlisle talks in such a long-winded way. He reminds me slightly of my English teacher in that respect, so I suppose I should blame him for this one – his ranting about political correctness in English today, coupled with me cheering myself up by watching the first three episodes of Blackpool in one sitting to watch David Tennant in all his Scottish and sweet-munching glory, inspired this. Enjoy!

"So what's your opinion on the whole political correctness thing, Blythe?" Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle asked nonchalantly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and raised an eyebrow questioningly at Detective Constable Blythe. Blythe looked up from his research to look confusedly up at his senior officer, who was busy unwrapping and munching on a packet of Starburst.

"Sorry, sir?" Blythe inquired.

"Y'know," Carlisle said, "political correctness. For instance, as police officers, we're not allowed to call a black man 'black' – despite the fact that he is – in case we offend him. If we offend him, he can complain about us and then we're the ones who get arrested. And that's hardly conducive to a police atmosphere, is it?"

"What's that, sir?"

"Police officers getting arrested. Buggers up the entire system. Cause if we're the ones in the clink, who's gonna go and arrest the real criminals? It's just not practical."

"I see, sir."

Blythe waited for a moment for Carlisle to continue, but when Carlisle lost interest and continued to stare blankly at the photographs of all the suspects, Blythe carried on with his own research. Carlisle unwrapped another Starburst and chewed it thoughtfully, his eyes flicking between faces, trying to find a connection, a motive, something, anything that would help him solve this case. It had been several days since Mike Hooley's unfortunate murder and it was only because of a number of conflicting statements and a lot of unsatisfactory evidence that the case was not solved yet. Carlisle sighed. He knew that if he'd been able to carry out a thorough investigation without having Jim Allbright breathing down his neck, scrutinising everything he did, he'd have solved the case by now. Carlisle knew that Ripley Holden and Allbright were very good friends, so he suspected that Allbright might be covering up for Holden in some way or another.

"Political correctness really has gone mad, y'know, Blythe," Carlisle sighed, returning to a previous train of thought. Random topics of conversation helped Carlisle to think. Blythe looked up again and blinked.

"How d'you work that one out, sir?"

"Well, just look at society today," Carlisle said, leaning back in his chair. He scrumpled up the empty packet of Starbursts and proceeded to unwrap a lollipop that he'd been saving. "Nothing is what it used to be. A lie isn't a lie any more, it's 'pragmatic idealism'. An amusement arcade is a 'family entertainment centre'. A police officer is a 'crime-citizen interface consultant'." Carlisle scoffed as he licked the lollipop thoughtfully. "Twenty, thirty years ago, you could call a black man a nigger and get away with it. The only people who can get away with that these days are these rap artists who only do it to re-affirm their skin colour and heritage to make them feel closer to their slave ancestors." He sucked the lolly for a moment. "That's what they say, anyway. I reckon they're just ignorant bastards who can't string a coherent sentence together, hence the reason their records sound like a load of noise."

"Doesn't that count as racist, sir?" Blythe asked, slightly worried.

"Exactly," Carlisle emphasised. "Despite the fact that I'm merely expressing an opinion informed by my own research and my own tastes, an innocent remark such as that could, theoretically, be misconstrued as a deliberately racist attack." He stuck the lollipop in his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue. "It's political correctness gone mad," he continued, talking with the lollipop buried in his cheek. "Did you know, Blythe, that, technically speaking, it's politically incorrect to say that something is politically correct or incorrect?"

"I didn't, sir, no."

"No, I didn't think you did." Blythe raised an eyebrow.

"Why's that, then, sir?"

"Why's what? The political correctness thing or why you wouldn't know about it?"

"Both."

"Well, you wouldn't have known about it because your mind is far too contained and confined to the day-to-day thoughts of the average policeman, which is unconcerned with ridiculously random facts about the world we live in," said Carlisle, crunching off a section of the lollipop and chewing it noisily. "And I honestly don't know the reason for all this political correctness." Blythe rolled his eyes and attempted to carry on with his work.

"But what I do know is this," continued Carlisle. Blythe sighed and looked up again. "I do know that, as a result of the aforementioned rule on the classification of political correctness, if something is politically correct it should now be called 'socially sensitive'." Carlisle chuckled as Blythe stared blankly at him.

"Aw, c'mon," Carlisle moaned, grinning at Blythe. "Don't tell me you don't get it?"

"Get what, sir?"

"Socially sensitive!" chuckled Carlisle. "Think of the initials!"

"S. S., sir?"

"Precisely."

"What about the initials, sir?"

"It's the SS, Blythe!" laughed Carlisle. "Political correctness has gone so mad that we're gonna get arrested by the Gestapo!"

Blythe merely blinked again.

"Very funny, sir."

"I think it is."

"Does it help us in any way with the case, sir?"

"No, unfortunately not, Blythe," Carlisle said, chewing on the stick of the now-eaten lollipop. "But at least it helped to pass the time."