It was.

I was rudely awoken from my bed rather early on the Saturday morning. I rolled over, expecting to see the beautiful face of the young woman I’d met the previous evening. The one with the blond hair and the colourful bikini top, who had been sitting on the shoulders of a bloke right near the front of the audience. Her name was Litany.

But Litany wasn’t there. Because Litany had told me to piss off.

‘Wake up,’ shouted Norman. ‘We’ve got troubles and they all begin with P.’

I groaned. ‘Troubles always begin with P. Remember my Party, everyone came as something that began with a P.’

‘Really?’ said Norman. ‘How interesting. But this lot all begin with P. Private Property, Public order offences, Police Prosecutions and Poo Poo.’

I took to groaning some more. ‘Go on then,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Tell me about them.’

Norman took a deep breath. ‘Urgh,’ he said. ‘You’ve farted.’

‘All men fart first thing in the morning. Tell me about the bloody troubles.’

‘Right, yes. Well, firstly no-one got permission to hold the festival on the allotments. They’re private property, the council owns them. Then there’s all the noise. Most of the nearby residents have complained and so the police have come to close the festival down. And then there’s the poo poo.

‘Tell me about the poo poo.

‘Well, there’s two thousand people camping out there and most of them need to take a dump. Would it be all right if they used your outside loo?’

I scratched at my tousled head. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I expect so. I’ll have to ask my mum.

‘That’s all right then.’

I leapt from my bed. ‘No it’s bloody not!’ I shouted. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘I thought I might just run away and hide somewhere.’

‘We can’t do that. We can’t let the Doveston down.’

‘Why not?’ Norman asked.

I gave this some thought. ‘Where would be a good place to hide, do you think?’

‘How about South America?’

I shook my head. ‘We can’t do it. We can’t let all those people down. We can’t disappoint them.’

‘What, all those people who’ve come to see Bob Dylan and Sonny and Cher?’

‘What’s the weather like in South America?’

‘Very favourable.’

The Doveston now entered my bedroom.

‘The weather’s looking favourable,’ he said.

Norman and I nodded our heads. ‘Very favourable,’ we agreed. ‘So,’ said the Doveston. ‘Any chance of some breakfast? I’ve spent half the night bonking away with a bird called Litany and I’ve worked up quite an appetite.’

‘There are one or two problems,’ said Norman, carefully. ‘What, not enough eggs? Never mind, I’ll just have some bacon.’ ‘The police are surrounding the allotments. They’re going to close down the festival.’

It was another one of those special moments. The ones that separate the men from the boys, the knights of honour from the ne’er-do-wells, the lion-hearted from the lily-livered, the bulldog breed from the— ‘Bollocks,’ said the Doveston. ‘I think I’d best pass on the bacon.’ He rose to the challenge, though, left my house, shinned over the back wall and marched out to meet the policemen. The Doveston had long since ceased to shuffle and as he moved through the crowd, now all sitting down and many with their legs crossed, they cheered him and rose to their feet. It was quite stirring stuff really — almost, dare I say this, Biblical.

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?’