It takes about 45 minutes to get there but it's worth the wait for that classic line from the gritty old school cop drama.
"Git yer trahsers on...you're nicked."
Elsewhere, though, the contemporary take on the bone-crunching ends-justify-the-means actions of the infamous Flying Squad bear little resemblance to the 1970s TV series.
Regan (Winstone) and Carter (Drew) operate from a hi-tech, steel-and-glass eyrie above the city, shaking down wrong 'uns with the help of a bank of Apple Macs and chasing them into the ground in a, erm, Ford Escort (which replaces the cardboard box-upending Ford Cortina of the TV show).
They're backed up by a baseball bat-wielding crew of likely lads and lasses, including Nancy (Atwell) a feisty broad who's bonking Regan while unhappily married to Steven Mackintosh's pompous internal affairs spook.
Infamous for their thump first, ask questions afterwards philosophy, they're being leaned on to rein it in by sympathetic boss Haskins (Lewis) but - as Regan bluntly points out: "We're doing the things you can only dream of..."
Their dodgy tactics move up a notch when Regan suspects an old crimmo from way back (Paul Anderson) of carrying out a cold-blooded, execution-style killing during a jewellery shop raid.
But he's wrong...and his skull-bashing insistence on pursuing the slaaag puts him on collision course with Mackintosh and even his protégé Carter.