At the gates, which someone had had the foresight to close and bolt from the inside, he paused and stared eye to eye at the gathered policemen. ‘Who is in charge here?’ he asked.
A big broad-shouldered chap stepped forward, the uniform of a chief constable straining to contain a mass of corded muscle. ‘Hello, Doveston,’ he said. ‘I see you’ve got Norman with you and who’s that twat skulking there in the pyjamas?’
I waved feebly.
‘Don’t you recognize me, then?’
The Doveston viewed the amply sized upholder of the law. ‘Mason,’ he said. ‘It’s that softy Paul Mason from the Grange.’
‘Softy no longer. And it’s Chief Constable Mason to you, you hippy turd.’
‘Oooooooooooooooh,’ went the crowd and someone muttered, ‘Pig.’
‘I’ve come to read the riot act,’ said Chief Constable Mason.
‘But there’s no riot here.’
‘No, but there will be once my lads have started to lay about your lot with their truncheons.
‘Oooooooooooooooh,’ went the crowd once more and someone muttered, ‘Nasty pig.’
‘I suppose you have us bang to rights,’ said the Doveston.
‘Certainly I do.’
‘Show us your warrant, then.’
‘My what?’
‘Your warrant. You do have a warrant, don’t you?’
‘I don’t need any warrant, lad. I have the evidence of my own eyes. I can see two thousand people trespassing on council property.’
The Doveston glanced around. ‘Everyone sit down again,’ he shouted.
Everyone sat down.
‘Now what do you see?’
‘Two thousand people sitting down on council property.’
‘Almost,’ said the Doveston. ‘What you are actually seeing is two thousand people squatting on council property. We claim squatters’ rights and we demand that this land be returned to its rightful owners, the Navajo nation.’
‘Crap,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘This land never belonged to the Navajo nation, that was the Memorial Park. And I should know, my great-grandfather fought in the battle.’
‘Did he kill many Indians?’
‘He wasn’t actually fighting on that side. But that has nothing to do with it. The Navajo nation never owned this land.’
‘Oh yes they did.’
‘Oh no they didn’t.’
‘Oh yes they did. You can look it up in the library.’
‘What?’
‘Look it up in the land charter at the Memorial Library. And if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll give myself up and everyone else will walk away quietly without any fuss.’
‘You promise?’
‘Cross my heart.’
‘Right,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘It’s a deal.’ He turned away to take his leave. And then he paused a moment, shook his head and turned back. ‘You must think I’m really stupid,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’ said the Doveston.
‘You think I’m so stupid that I’m going to go round to the library now and look up the land charter?’
‘Why not?’ the Doveston asked.
‘Because the library is closed on Saturdays. It doesn’t open until Monday morning.’
‘Damn!’ said the Doveston. ‘You’re right.’
‘I am right. So who’s the stupid one now?’
‘I suppose I am.’
‘You are,’ said Chief Constable Mason. ‘So you know what this means?’
‘No.’
‘It means that you’ll all have to stay here until Monday morning, when I can get this sorted out.’
‘Oh,’ said the Doveston. ‘I suppose it does.’
‘It does, my lad, it does.’ And with that said the Chief Constable marched away to his squad car.
I nudged at the Doveston. ‘I cannot believe you actually got away with that,’ I said.
‘I haven’t, yet.’
The Chief Constable had just reached his car when he shook his head again, threw up his hands, turned right around and marched back to the gate.
‘Hold on, hold on, hold on,’ he said in a very raised voice. ‘You must think I’m really really stupid.’
The Doveston shrugged.
‘You think that I’m just going to drive away and leave you lot here for the whole weekend?’
The Doveston shrugged again.
‘No way, my lad, no way.
‘No way?’ asked the Doveston.
‘No way. I’m going to put a guard on this gate to see that none of you sneak off. You’ll all have to stay inside for the entire weekend, eating and drinking whatever you have in there.’
‘You’re a tough man to deal with,’ said the Doveston. ‘Firm, but fair though, I’ll bet.’
‘None firmer and fairer.
‘That’s what I thought. So would you mind if I asked you a favour?’
‘Ask away.’
‘Would it be all right if we played some music? Just to keep everyone entertained while we’re waiting?’
‘Fair enough. But try and keep the noise down after midnight.’
‘No problem. I’ll see you on Monday morning then.’
‘You certainly will, stupid!’
With that said, the Chief Constable stationed a policeman at the gate and then drove away. Chuckling to himself.
The Doveston had saved the day and a mighty cheer went up. He was carried shoulder-high to the stage, where he blew the crowd many kisses and enjoyed another Brentstock moment.
I enjoyed one too. I’d acquired a few free packets from Norman and although I can’t say that they were a great smoke, they did have something special about them.
The Doveston left the stage to a standing ovation and I found him back at the mixing desk, where a goodly number of females had gathered, all eager to adjust his yo-yo. As I have never been too proud to bathe in a bit of reflected glory, I introduced myself all round and enquired suavely as to the chances of getting a shag.
And did I get one?
Did I bugger!
Saturday afternoon was a gas. More bands played and the beautiful people continued to dance. The bands had no difficulty getting into the festival, because the constable on guard had only been ordered to stop people getting out.
I dwelt a bit upon all that business with the Chief Constable. I mean, the whole thing was ludicrous really. Totally far-fetched, absurd and beyond belief. I mean, only one constable on duty at the gate. You’d have needed at least two, surely?
It was just around the five o’clock mark when I became fully aware that things weren’t altogether right with me. It seemed that throughout the afternoon I had been slowly acquiring a number of mystical powers. The power to see sounds in colour, for instance, and also the power to hear smells.
I found that I was becoming just a little bit confused by what was going on around me and this was not helped at all by the curious sense of detachment I was experiencing.
Every time I took a couple of steps forward, I had to stop to let myself catch up.
‘I feel distinctly odd,’ I said to Humphrey.
‘You’re tripping, man, that’s all.’ His words emerged as purple stars that floated off into the sky.
‘I can’t be tripping. I haven’t done any acid.’ ‘Go with the flow, man. Go with the flow.’ Purple stars and little yellow patches.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around very slowly, to keep my consciousness inside my head.
‘What are you doing?’ asked the Doveston.
‘I’m talking to Humphrey. He says that I’m tripping. But I can’t be, I haven’t done any acid.’
‘Don’t take any notice of Humphrey,’ said the Doveston. ‘He can’t be trusted.’
‘Oh yes I can,’ said Humphrey.