Illegal in Leicester Square

The darkness sloshed up and down in our heads as the night sky rose before us over the newly refurbished Leicester Square - all the metal struts and luminous men had been cleared away leaving a great expanse that hadn't been glimpsed in quite some time. ALD and I stood on the kerb-like plinth that now bordered the main tumult of people that spurted incongruently from Piccadilly and Covent Garden; the marching bodies all met in the middle like some kind of disorganised, half-hearted, mediocre consumer battle. We watched and spoke our soaked words into each others faces, fresh from the pub we had decided on a tour of London's most obvious facial features and hence here we stood in the square, cans of cider in hand, swaying to the movement of the liquid playing sweet cacophonies inside our craniums. We turned to look into the area of grass at the centre, now locked up. We discussed how the fence keeping people out was pathetically short, about a meter high, we followed that with a short confab about how high we would each be able to urinate over the said fence. We turned back to facing the hoi polloi, just as two rather fresh-faced Community Support Officers were walking past, scanning with their hairless chins and bulbous eyes intent on ruining someone's fun; spotting us they looked at each other and with a nod of the head sashayed towards us.

'Did you know sir, that it is illegal to have an open container of alcohol in the borough of Westminster?'

'No', I replied, 'I didn't know that'.

'I'm afraid you are going to have to dispose of your drinks.' He wasn't afraid, but I was, the can was over half full, I searched for the magic words that would make the horrible men disappear - all I could hear was Westminster, Westminster, what if you leave Westminster as soon as possible. It seemed plausible. I would utter the words with a cheeky grin and Mr Officer would tut and raise his eyes and say, 'oh OK then, but be quick', at which point we would thank him and scuttle off into the crowd, safe to sup on our newly radicalised beverages and laugh at the stupidity of the repressive state apparatus.

Only something different happened, by the time the words had made their way to my lips, they weren't the gems I had initially found, but a rather offensive looking piece of coal.

'Yeah, but what if we run away.' The officer looked back with a seriousness I couldn't quite comprehend.

'Well, we'll chase you.' there was no smile no laughter, just a sombre stare. I tried again, I just didn't say it right, I held up my hands.

'No, No , No, I meant really quickly.' The coal had turned to shit, as if running away from the Officers really quickly would make them change their mind. I was trying to say one thing, but really saying quite another, I had to now give up didn't I? Yes, yes I did. ALD intervened and encouraged me to stop talking at which point we reluctantly tipped that most noble of liquids down into London's bowels through its grated eye ball; I guess London deserved it, putting up with all these people all day and their impossible dreams and dirty rubber soles. We put our empty cans in the bins and moved off into the crowd, liquor-less and chasing that subtle divergence in our splattered consciousness - I think it was annoyance.

London had won and I didn't begrudge it, the pavements seemed to smile that sloppy drunken grin and somehow I was pleased we had shared a drink - London was our melancholy comrade rolling and rising with the tides of our happily addled heads.

One drink for you, one for London, those are the new rules.

MG