We went to Trafalgar Square. We joined a crowd protesting against the Criminal Justice Bill and sunbeams baking the concrete bounced off bonnets, hubcaps, windscreens, even jewellery. There were ravers, crusts, travellers, people like me, lonely people, all stood on Nelson's plinth near the lions and filed over the road hundreds of police with batons and shields. One pointed a video camera. And dizzy on sunlight I met the eye of one young cop as hundreds were telling them to fuck off with their fingers. I did a wanker gesture. Then a London tour bus drove by and on top a Japanese man waved and took a photo. Then we mooched round the West End. Two German girls joined us and I was talking to Spooner about their arses. He smiled, pointing to the moon. Gives us migraine, I said. And saying bye to the women we hugged them and Greg said: That was crap. When we stopped at a northbound M1 services, Spooner woke with creases from the car seat on his face. We laughed I remember and he scowled kind of like Woody Allen.