In the Eighties, several mates of mine went out with skinheads, all of them covered in tattoos. The lads in their Doc Martens had messages of hate, aggression and brutal humour inked across their faces. Remember the one that was just a line across the forehead with the words "CUT HERE"? As I entered New Scotland Yard with top brass and dignitaries for the Crimestoppers annual dinner, another tattoo memory came to mind: A C A B, which was branded on the inside of bottom lips - "All Coppers Are Bastards".

How times have changed. It's no longer trendy to knock the police and accuse them of institutional racism or brutality. The chattering classes are suddenly very understanding about the tough challenges that the force faces in the 21st century. Some even have a sneaking sympathy for the bobby on the beat. Much of this goodwill is due to the likes of Brian Paddick, the amiable chief of police in Lambeth, who is openly gay and favours the legalisation of cannabis.

As I tucked into a large plate of smoked salmon during dinner at Scotland Yard, I was thrilled when the gentleman next to me (a dead ringer for Derry Irvine, only slimmer) said he was a close ally of Paddick's in the Metropolitan Police Authority. "There are a few of us," he assured me, sotto voce.

Paddick, it seems, has a fair amount of support among the rank and file, but is loathed for his nerve by the powers that be. "I'll tell you what the force is like now," said my new friend. "It's exactly like the Catholic Church during the Inquisition." As he said this, he cast a nervous eye behind him at one of the Met's senior officers.

"Police like him hate Brian," he said. "They want him to go - and soon." The wine flowed and we expanded on the Catholic Church analogy throughout the main course and into dessert.

"So they encourage officers to ask the big philosophical questions simply so they can confirm the orthodox line of thinking," I suggested, "and if they arrive at conflicting answers, they torture them to death?" Almost. Paddick has been told to keep his head down and obey orders for the foreseeable future, or else. At least that was the situation before a Sunday paper found the perfect way to smear him. Now it seems certain he will be quietly excommunicated before too long.

After dinner, I went for a drink and was introduced to a politically minded and relatively successful journalist. "Jack" (not his real name) described himself as "a member of a Stalinist organisation". It was not clear whether he was referring to his newspaper or a political group. A debate on modern law and order ensued, with Jack taking an extremely illiberal line.

"Prisons in England are a joke. Criminals get three meals a day, blankets, pool tables. That's not a deterrent, that's a holiday."

He had spoken to criminals inside, apparently, and what he'd seen had made him conclude that "the death sentence is a perfectly reasonable option in some cases". There were gasps from the assembled drunk liberals. "Not for all crimes," Jack continued, "but definitely for murder and extreme violence."

Despite his unpalatable views, several of us accepted his offer of a lift home. We wound through rainy streets. After a while, the political adviser in the back seat said out of nowhere: "You've done time, haven't you?"

The young journalist nodded grimly. For the next five minutes, we badgered him to tell us what he'd done. "I don't want to talk about it," he insisted.

I was the last to be dropped off. When we were alone, he turned to me and said: "I didn't want to tell him why I was in prison, but I'll tell you. I served time for murder."

I looked silently through the window at the rain and couldn't quite bring myself to ask the obvious question - was living life as an ex-murderer even worse than dying a murderer?

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