Friday, October 27, 2006

I Fought The Law and I Won / Bizarre Journey Home

I Fought The Law and I Won

police car Lewes Garret. Victory at last! After a four-month battle and countless words deployed as ammunition against them, Warwickshire Police have finally conceded defeat in the dispute over my ex-car, The Last Word in Luxury.

The Last Word (pictured below) was smashed, snatched and crushed in June this year in a series of events that do no credit to the reputation of the Warwickshire constabulary - see Nightmare. 
But now all is forgiven.

The Last Word in Luxury I have received a full apology from Warwickshire Police and my costs have been reimbursed.

My historic victory has been greeted with joy by my expert witnesses and legal team (all mates).

Even The Clash have sent a congratulatory telegram!

I am still on my bike. It will be a little time before I can purchase another car. This moral victory, however, means a lot to me.

Warwickshire Police made a mistake but a triumvirate of good officers, Sgt. Adrian Davis, Chief Superintendent Richard Sear and Chief Constable John Burbeck have put it right.

These Batmanesque characters are sweeping crime off the streets of Leamers City.

They are a credit to their force and the good people of Warwickshire.

What’s more, I got two poems out of this whole saga, The Last Word in Luxury and this week’s new poem from me I Fought The Law and I Won.

Bizarre Journey Home (Flashback to Thursday, 27 April 2006).

Lewes – London Victoria train. 7am. Plumpton. The race course looks overgrown today. Maybe that is how they like it.

When I awoke at six, I literally could not move. My arm had fallen asleep and was as heavy as an iron bar; my back was frozen.

My mobile phone alarm rang and rang, to my wife’s displeasure. I eventually managed to get up, bathe and prepare for the day ahead.

It is the first time I have worn cufflinks and my good silk tie since my failed luncheon with the The Duke and his Lordship - an upsetting non-event.

Three Bridges. Back pain is really kicking in. I need to take my painkillers but have drunk all of my tea with which to swallow them. Alas, no sign of the buffet trolley.

I am reading a book called English Song which I found at Lewes Station last week. Some good, old poems in it which I might use for a Guest Poem secton of Oliver's Poetry.

I have a busy day ahead of me and a night on the tiles as well.

12.50am the following day. A bizarre journey home. I got on the train and flopped down to find myself quickly joined by a youth who had removed all his clothing from the waist upward.

The guard instantly came back round and said it was essential I relocate to the next carriage in order to arrive at my desired destination of Lewes (inebriation makes me formal and rather pompous in my reportage).

In my second position on this train, I was seated next to a group of gay men returning to Brighton. They were very friendly and I enjoyed their company and humour.

The guard came round again and said I still was not in the right carriage for Lewes. He said I needed to move a total of two carriages’ down the train, not one as I had been previously informed.

I picked up my bag again and bade my companions farewell. The gay men pretended to be horribly upset at my leaving.

The most vociferious quipped: ‘We’re all straight, didn’t you realise?’ The others fell about laughing.

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