Graffiti at Hyde Gate, left by 'London Dave'
(Hampshire Chronicle, 4th July 2019)
(Hampshire Chronicle, 4th July 2019)
*
‘How did you think you could get away with it, Dave?’
Dave sat hunched over, his face hidden in his hands.
‘Hmmm?’ insisted the expensively dressed lawyer beside him. ‘I mean god knows, we’ve had to get you out of some scrapes before but this is a level of incompetence surprising even for you. You signed your bloody name on an historic monument, for god’s sake!’
Finally, the beaten-down man removed his hands from his face and sat back, making a vain attempt to smooth his crumpled trousers.
‘It was a moment of madness, Charles. That’s all I can say. You know what I get like at this time of year.’
Charles glanced across at him then looked down at the floor. ‘You mean the anniversary of…’
Dave nodded. ‘Of…my loss. Three years now. And every time it comes round I can’t take it. I start drinking on the twenty-third – and this year I still hadn’t sobered up by the twenty-eighth. And suddenly there I was, at the burial site of that great Englishman, Alfred the Great, and I felt so…powerless!’
Charles sighed, a mixture of exasperation and sympathy, and patted his companion on the knee. Dave pressed on.
‘I should have gone down in history as a great Englishman, Charlie! I should have had stone tablets engraved with my name for future generations to venerate! But instead – what? I lost it all to that fedora-wearing bastard three years ago! And in my rage and exhaustion, and with the Bollinger flowing through my veins, I thought to myself’–his voice rising to a crescendo–’they shall remember me! Alongside Alfred the Great they shall remember Dave from London and everything he did! And I’ll be back, back to repair everything I did, everything I lost! Never mind “Take back control”, London Dave will be “Back for the Future”!’ His face was crimson, clammy. ‘And I so I got out my pen…’
He broke off as two police officers entered and took their seats on the other side of the table.
‘Right, then. Ready for your interview, Mr Cameron?’
Dave sat hunched over, his face hidden in his hands.
‘Hmmm?’ insisted the expensively dressed lawyer beside him. ‘I mean god knows, we’ve had to get you out of some scrapes before but this is a level of incompetence surprising even for you. You signed your bloody name on an historic monument, for god’s sake!’
Finally, the beaten-down man removed his hands from his face and sat back, making a vain attempt to smooth his crumpled trousers.
‘It was a moment of madness, Charles. That’s all I can say. You know what I get like at this time of year.’
Charles glanced across at him then looked down at the floor. ‘You mean the anniversary of…’
Dave nodded. ‘Of…my loss. Three years now. And every time it comes round I can’t take it. I start drinking on the twenty-third – and this year I still hadn’t sobered up by the twenty-eighth. And suddenly there I was, at the burial site of that great Englishman, Alfred the Great, and I felt so…powerless!’
Charles sighed, a mixture of exasperation and sympathy, and patted his companion on the knee. Dave pressed on.
‘I should have gone down in history as a great Englishman, Charlie! I should have had stone tablets engraved with my name for future generations to venerate! But instead – what? I lost it all to that fedora-wearing bastard three years ago! And in my rage and exhaustion, and with the Bollinger flowing through my veins, I thought to myself’–his voice rising to a crescendo–’they shall remember me! Alongside Alfred the Great they shall remember Dave from London and everything he did! And I’ll be back, back to repair everything I did, everything I lost! Never mind “Take back control”, London Dave will be “Back for the Future”!’ His face was crimson, clammy. ‘And I so I got out my pen…’
He broke off as two police officers entered and took their seats on the other side of the table.
‘Right, then. Ready for your interview, Mr Cameron?’
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