A Modern Fairy Tail
Just the other day in a majical kingdom of the Great British Isles, a fairy tale came true for a commoner, for she managed to blag herself a price, gon yersel hen. The nation was so overjoyed that all of the public gossipers and peeping toms all gathered around to see the big spectacle and the opinionated little so and so’s all stood around giving the nation their ‘take’ on events as they were taking place.
Now in a nearby neighbouring land the people all rejoiced at the prospects of being able to go out into a park (that they pay for in taxes) and enjoy the relaxing of the state troopers and the local mafia hoods strangle hold on all public meetings and gatherings (in the land of the gathering!) so as the nation took to staying away from shops and left the work for the holiday some two thousand local electronic friends all advertised the party in honour of the marriage of the afore mentioned royal couple. They partied and enjoyed and festooned and celebrated having nice weather and high spirits to be let out from under the state’s foot on the back of their necks.
At the close of the day the nasty state cavalry directed by the ‘your permit is more than our jobs worth luv’ brigade of Nazis stormed the collective on horseback, they attacked the people that pay twice and then pay again at their leisure on the pretence that it was a public affray.
Now two thousand people and twenty were out of order, that is the national average if the figures are to be believed, seventeen were released to appear (minor?) and three were arrested.
Now the mental state of the state has to be overkill every time. Have you ever called the police out to deal with something spontaneous like a fight breaking out, unless it’s in the city centre where a high police presence is maintained because of late night drinkers. You may have to wait for ages before someone comes and they will not be prepared for every eventuality, with the cavalry mounted, armed and waiting in the wings. No this was a campaign and it was aimed at people that were enjoying the holiday, and one or two morons got out of hand then the state escalated it by trying to control every aspect of the situation when that wasn’t needed.
The taxpaying people of this land have a right of access to public places, they pay for them once, then the council bills again for upkeep, maintenance, council tax, factors, rubbish (and now you have to pay to drop off rubbish), not enough bites of the apple for the local mafia. Isn’t it nice to be able to just call up your chums and have a little conversation, that could have gone something like this:
Fat cat lift the phone on seeing the Facebook page about the Glasgow gathering.
de da de da de da de didly de da de da de
And says ‘Aye hello is that the Glasgow chief of police’.
The answer is ‘Aye what can a dae fir yeh’.
The fat cat purs and licks his lips a little nerviously just like the cat that got the cream and responds with ‘Hows yer mufti training program going the day man’ .
A chortle sounds down the line from the man in the black uniform. Followed by this amused interjection. ‘Man where hae you been mufti, that’s no how it’s done the day man, naw horses man crowd control is done wi horses, jist try pushin thame back and see where it gets ye’.
A wee pause before he continues. ‘Why man what dae you need, is it a mass uprising, an anarchists demonstration or is it anither student revolt, they English bobbies did that one awe wrang man, shoulda yased horses, that wid hae sorted them oot, and if thats no gid enough wi a horse ye can aye drap a dung bomb on a wee shit, that aye gets a gud laugh. So whit is it? Students, anarchists’.
A slight delay from the fat cat before he responds with ‘Weel it’s no exactly student bodies but it is near the university groonds. And they are the subversive, types that dinny like a planned existence and like tae live spontaneously, aye goes against the grain of the ways of the hard pressed servile and duty bound so it dose’.
The chief is on the ball seeing reds in the beds and all sorts of subversives and comes back with. ‘How many dae you think there will be?’
The answer is quick. ‘Weel they have up on their FaceBook page figures like 10,000 to 100,000 people, given awe the if’s ands or butt’s from the acceptances, your guess is as gud as mine’.
The Chief leans back in his leather bound high backed chair (black obviously) and raises his booted legs onto the table as he collects his thinking he slaps the side of his boots with a riding crop (couldn’t resist) and then returns with, ‘Looks like weel need tae tool up the lads then, as its also being set on a hill (has the Facebook page up in front of him) we will need to send in the troops first to reconnoitre, then keep the calvalry back till they dinny like being telt tae pack up and leave, then prod them a little tae get a reaction and we will hae a front page spread on our hands, ah betcha.’
The Fat cat lounged back in his recliner chair as an intern (lass) stroked his brow as he added, ‘we have all we need it’s an open invitation and it’s been broadcast well in advance and so we can attend. We just don’t have tae RSVP on Facebook’. The chief jumps back in with, ‘weel oor schrinks awe say they dinny like being telt what tae dae, and they dinny like being pushed around that aye gets the party started’. The two of them cackle as they laugh at the fun they will have.
Planning is never a problem, it’s a necessity in life at all levels from the bottom up or the top down viewpoint, but it does beg the question. If the organisers had shut down at say 8:45 and told the crowd, and the crowd then having no official leg left to hide behind had say, got their own music systems out and had just continued a picnic on their own property how would that have been covered up as it wasn’t in the script of the blue meanies and the local mafia had in their minds.
Meanwhile we all wish the happy couple a long and prosperous life, and here is hoping that a fairy tale can just for once really happen in this kinda brutal world of ours, and they all get to live happily ever after. Awe what the Shrek eh.