The train carrying Zeb, Boz and me back to London broke down just outside the town of Brentwood and limped into the station at little more than walking pace.  We detrained, and encountered some confusion amongst the railway staff on the subject of a relief service, but the consensus seemed to be that we might have an hour or so to wait.

'Fuck.  Shit.  Man.  Trains.  Fuck.'

'How annoying.'

'Hey, maybe we should get somethin' to eat, yeah?' Boz suggested.

We headed off to find a public house.  Outside the station on the street we passed four men with very short hair dressed in large boots, short jeans, and shiny green blouse-style jackets; they seemed to be selling papers.  I don't think I'd have noticed them further but for the fact they started to make a sort of 'Oo-oo oo-oo-oo' noise as we passed by.  One of them spat on the pavement in front of Boz, who just lifted his head a little and strolled serenely on.

'Who are they?' I asked Zeb, who was at my side. 'Do they know Boz?'

'Na.  Fascists,' Zeb said. 'BNP.  Bad fucks.'

I looked back at the men, who were still staring after us.  One of them threw something yellow; I reached up and caught a half-eaten banana that might have been aimed at Boz, who was a little in front of us.  I stopped.

'Fuck.  Sake.  Just.  Walk,' Zeb said tersely, pulling on my sleeve.  I slid my arm free and walked back to the group of men.

'Good afternoon,' I said to them as they came forward.  I held up the half-eaten banana. 'Why did you throw this?'

'It's for the coon, dear,' said the tallest and blondest of them. 'You give it to your black monkey,' he told me.  The others sniggered.

I stared at them; probably my mouth was hanging open. 'Good heavens,' I said. 'Are you people racists?'

'Yeah.'

'Yeah.  Want to buy a fucking newspaper, darlin'?' One of them shook a tight bundle of newspapers in my face; the headline said something about Enough being Enough and Paki Death Gangs.

'Yeah, we're fucking racist; we believe in white rights,' said the tall blond one. 'What do you believe in, apart from associatin' wif niggers?'

'Well, I'm sorry,' I said, 'but I believe in love and understanding and the worship of the Creator through the-'

'Worshipping nigger cock more like.'

'Yeah; you let him fuck you up the bum, do you?'

'Look at 'im; back there, fucking shittin' himself 'e is; look at 'im; 'im an' the little cunt; fuckin' shittin' themselves, they are!' one of the others said, then shouted over my head, 'Yeah?  Yeah?  Yeah?  You want some?  I said do you fucking want some?

'Excuse me,' I said, tapping that one on the shiny shoulder of his jacket. 'There's no need for that sort of thing.'

He looked down at his shoulder and then turned on me.  The tall blond one stepped between us and said, 'Look, just fuck off back to your nigger friend, all right?'

I looked into his eyes.  I turned to go, then swivelled back again. 'Could I have one of your newspapers?' I asked. 'I'm just interested in what you think.'

The tall blond one sneered, then pulled a newspaper from the pile he held.  He held it in front of me.  I reached out to take it but he lifted it beyond my reach. 'Fifty pence,' he said.

'I do beg your pardon,' I said. 'I haven't any money, but it occurred to me that if you believe in the justice of what you say, you might let me have it free.'

'We'll fuckin' let you have it, Jock tart,' the tall blond one said, bending very close to me.  He slapped my face with the paper then shoved it into my chest, pushing me backwards; I dropped the half-eaten banana, grabbed the paper with both hands and took another step to the rear.

'Fuck off,' the man said again, pointing at me. 'I'm not fuckin' telling you again.'

I nodded and touched my hat. 'Okay.  Thanks for the paper,' I said.

I walked away to jeers and sudden laughter.  The banana went sailing over my head and landed at the feet of Boz and Zeb, who were standing ten metres away at a street corner, looking distinctly anxious.

'I-sis,' Boz said once we were out of sight. 'You got to stop doin' that sorta thing.  I think I walk behind you from now on; you always turnin' back into danger.  Those guys are more dangerous than that damn Baskerville dog.'

'Hmm,' I said.

'Jeez.  Fuck.  Christ.  Shit.  God…'

'… Language, Brother Zebediah,' I said absently, leafing through the newspaper as we walked. '… Good grief!'

We ate lunch in a pub.  I read the paper, half-page by half-page, keeping it tightly folded at Boz's request so that it was hard to tell from any distance what I was reading.  I asked a few questions of Zeb and Boz regarding what I was reading, and can only assume they answered truthfully.

We spent half an hour or so eating lunch (I stood leaning against a wooden partition while Boz and Zeb sat).  The sandwich I ate looked attractive but was damp and almost totally lacking in flavour.  I drank a pint of beer which tasted rather of chemicals, and may also have led to what happened next.

'They prob'ly gone from there by now,' Boz said confidently.  We were approaching the corner where he and Zeb had waited for me while I'd talked to the four young men.  I looked in a shop window and saw their black-green reflections; they were just where we'd encountered them earlier.

'Yes, I'm sure they have,' I said, slowing and looking round.  We were passing an interesting-looking shop called a Delicatessen. 'Boz,' I said brightly, halting and causing the other two to stop. 'I would like to contribute to the meal this evening.  Unfortunately I am not allowed to enter retail premises; would you mind going into this shop here and purchasing an ingredient or two?'

'No problem, I-sis; what you want?'

'I have some money,' I said, pulling out a couple of one-pound notes.

Boz looked at the notes and laughed. 'I'll stand you it, I-sis.  Just tell me what you wantin'.'

'Some fresh coriander, please,' I said.

'Comin' right up.'

Boz disappeared into the shop.  I handed the two one-pound notes to Zeb. 'There was a toy shop back there,' I said. 'Could you get me a couple of water pistols?'

Zeb looked blank, an expression that I confess I thought suited him. 'Please,' I said. 'They're a present.'

Zeb walked back to the toy shop, still looking blank.  Boz reappeared from the Delicatessen shop. 'Oh,' I said, touching my forehead. 'And a couple of bottles of that red pepper sauce; what's it called?'

'Tabasco?' Boz said, handing me the clump of fresh coriander.  I stuffed it in a pocket and nodded. 'That's it.'

Boz grinned. 'That's strong stuff, I-sis.  You sure you need two bottles?'

I considered. 'No,' I said. 'Make it four.'

I approached the group of shiny-green-jacketed men.  They formed a line in front of me.  I walked with my head bowed and my hands pressed in front of me in a gesture of supplication.

The fascists towered in front of me; a wall of crew-cut, black denim and green shiningness plinthed by bulbous brown leather boots.  I bowed my head further and let my hands drop to my sides.  I hoped my pockets weren't dripping.

'Sirs,' I said, smiling. 'I have read your publication.  I have read of your hatred and despite of people different from you…'

'Yeah?'

'Fuck, really?'

'Despite wot?'

'You just don't fuckin' listen, do you?'

'… And I would like you to know that I feel exactly the same way as you do.'

'Wot?'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yes; I feel exactly the same way about people like you.'

'What- ?'

'Right-'

'God, forgive me,' I muttered, taking the little water pistols from my jacket pockets, one in each hand, and firing them in the faces of the green-jacketed men, straight into their eyes.