The event is Glastonbury. Back in our school days. One of your friends is off their rocker smashing all the school windows in on a freshly refurbished office block, namely at our treasured school, St Peter & Paul.
The suspect is a one Dan the Man, who doesn't give a shit about anything other than necking as many bottles of Pulse as he can. He is breaking them windows in like there is no tomorrow. But this is just the night before Glastonbury, so it does not matter that much.
Except it does, because Dan the Man, when the police arrived, run off, hid in a bin with his mastermind accomplice Sonny Bannah, then sneaked back to where the police officers had parked up their van, snuck in, and ROBBED ONE OF THEIR JACKETS from the driver's seat!
He later sold this on to Jay Bourne, who wore it for Glastonbury the very next day. I believe the price was a packet of fags plus an old pair of trainers which Dan the Man found on the buildy. The buildy is an industrial wreck in Widnes where the leg-end Anthony Marsh was found dead with a needle hanging out his arm. Anthony was not a crack/smack head, however....just an exciting character who enjoyed home-made brew and teaching young fellows how to jump over high fences belonging to posh gardens on Coroner's Lane gardens....no offence Victoria Cullen, u sexy beast from juniors!
Any old way, Jay found himself in a mess come the biggest festival going. He didn't go green in a mud valley or trip out in a dance tent....all he did is politely ask for some cannabis. You know, a few spliffs, a little chong. EXCEPT HE ASKED RASTAS WHILE FORGETTING HE WAS WEARING HIS POLICE OFFICER'S JACKET.
He thought he had tucked the Cheshire Constabulary badge in but he hadn't. Either that or he had and it had come out again.
You can just imagine how our coloured brothers from Jamaica reacted to this. They took it as some kind of hard-faced personal insult and chased Jay off site. He legged it like Linford Christie running for the sake of his lunchbox, hearing nothing but the sounds of "jack him!", "shank him!" and "get him!" all the way.
Eventually he made it clear of the perimeter and managed to slide into a corner shop. A MUSLIM corner shop, who hated him upon appearance almost as much as the Jamaican Rasta Men hot on his tail. But Jay used his brains and commandeered the premises with nothing other than instinctive survival logic and the power of his jacket. When the Rastas followed him in, he raised a 14" wok above his head and told them to lay right off because back-up was on the way.
The big black brothers retreated.
In later life Jay would become a real PO in the London Met. One perhaps may dare say this experience was an early omen which influenced his future career decisions. If I myself had to get pulled by a officer of the law, I sure hope it would be Jay. I would recount this tale to him and dare him to charge me with anything.
I am sure that whatever I did, even if he caught me red-handed, there would stand a decent chance that he may let me off. Because of this story.
Jay Bourne, Chelsea.
accounted confidentially on 1st hand advice by alejandro wol donegan