By David Ritchie-BrownBBC News1The first time I met with my first officer on a routine patrol, we were told to turn on our camera.
We were being watched by our colleagues, we’d been given an hour to complete a traffic stop and a speeding ticket had been issued.
My first officer, a plain-clothed man in his early 40s, had told me that the traffic stop had been made in a park with trees and benches and the car park was full.
The officer had just left for the day and had no idea that it would be so stressful to go through all of that again.
In a country where police officers are often the targets of online abuse and violence, this moment of humiliation was hard to fathom.
I was on a patrol and my first response to my colleague’s comment was to laugh.
I had a moment of clarity.
I hadn’t seen this officer on patrol before.
He’d had no experience in the UK, he was from the same city as my colleague.
I’d seen him on television before, but not in person.
I was just a bystander, an observer.
But my first experience was a blessing.
I’d watched him and heard him, he’d been an officer for almost 15 years and he’d made it all the way through the traffic stops without being physically hurt.
When I told him that the officer had asked me to help him clear the car, he laughed, and said: “What do you expect?”
I told him how it had been, and that the ticket had gone to my insurance.
We’ll pay it off.”
I asked him what I could do for him, to give him some advice and support.
He told me to look out for him.
I said that I’d be back in about a month and I’d bring him my camera.
He looked at me and smiled.
We spoke briefly.
I asked him how he’d managed to survive the ordeal, and he said that he’d had a couple of drinks.
It was a moment that would change my life.
He was a sergeant in the Metropolitan Police’s Royal Regiment of Scotland.
He was the first officer to ask me to join him on a traffic patrol in the middle of the night.
I wanted to take my camera with me.
When I met him the next morning, he said to me: “You’ve never met a man who has a camera.
It is your duty to capture the essence of what is happening in this world.”
I thought it would make me feel special.
But I also felt nervous.
I thought about how I’d reacted the previous day.
After that first night out with the sergeant, I was relieved.
He asked me why I’d joined.
I told them that I was joining to help police.
I told them the truth.
As I got older, I had to get to grips with the fact that the police were watching me.
I realised that if I didn’t do something, the police would see that I wasn’t doing anything.
I realised that I had the power to stop them.
In the early days of policing, officers were not allowed to wear cameras.
The Met made a conscious decision to limit the number of officers to the number required to keep a watch on the public, with cameras on the front and back of the vehicle.
But officers were given the option to carry cameras on their belts, and were given access to cameras mounted on their helmets.
It was thought that they would be easier to spot, because they would make it easier to identify the people they were following.
Eventually, this became a standard practice and officers were required to wear a camera on their left shoulder and a body camera on the right.
Although the Met made it compulsory for officers to wear body cameras, there were cases where officers did not wear the devices.
A case in point: in 2007, a constable in North Wales was filmed on CCTV leaving his vehicle while the officer in charge was on his way to work.
This footage was released to the public and caused a huge outcry, with people speaking out about the dangers of public safety cameras.
There were calls for the Met to stop wearing cameras, and in 2014 the Met decided to stop issuing tickets and tickets were issued to those who did not comply with this rule.
Despite this, I still got tickets.
In 2015, the Met announced that it was taking steps to review its policy.
And I was the one who got the notice.
The changes were made because it was the right thing to do.
What I’d learnt over the years, as a police constable, was that you can’t change the world, you have to change yourself.
And so I had this confidence.
The first few weeks of my patrol in England were a little difficult, because I was so used to dealing with my officers and the scrutiny they