Decline and Fall

It was the smoking, acrid stump of the year, and the smoking ban was really starting to bite. Luckily most of us had developed a tactic of smoking through the windows of the Decline and Fall offices, which our tame lawyer had informed us was almost within the spirit of the law. And he was a forty-a-day man, so I trusted him implicitly. Leaning back on a partly-open window, and exhaling in a leisurely fashion, I was nearly decanted into the courtyard fifteen feet below, as the pane swung outward with an unpleasant creaking sound.

I stormed into the Editor’s office, which was only feet away.

“Are you trying to have us all killed now?” I yelled.

“What are you on about?” he said.

“This building’s falling apart!” The Editor hadn’t even done me the courtesy of looking up as yet.

“Been to any music festivals this year?” said the Editor.

“Music festivals?” I said. “So the relentless commercialisation of the live music scene in this country has infected even you, has it? I mean, they’re so dismally establishment nowadays that no-one with an iota of sense would bother. Have you seen who they’ve had as the main acts at Glaston…”

“I thought not,” he interrupted. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that” - he studied a piece of paper in front of him - “Fag End, the final outdoor event of the season, is on in just a few day’s time. It’s being held in the grounds of some stately home or other, all sounds very nice.”

“If you think,” I sneered, “that I’m going to pay good money to stand around in the grounds of…of Toad Hall with a load of monied, wellington-clad gawpers playing at being students and kid myself that I’m in the middle of some kind of counter-culture event then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“You miserable fucker!” said the Editor. “I didn’t, anyway. That’s why I’ve given the second of the free tickets they offered me to the music correspondent, who’ll at least attempt to enjoy himself. They gave me free drinks tokens as well.”

“Free drinks?” I said, my eyebrows rising involuntarily.

“Free drinks. Free camping, deluxe tent, everything paid for, glowing write-up no doubt. Now fuck off.” He slammed the door of his office, causing the plasterboard walls to crack slightly. For a moment I almost thought I heard laughter coming from within. I started walking back down the corridor, grinding my teeth into powder. I mean, I…I didn’t really want to go, of course, but for free? And drinks?

I noticed the aforementioned music hack walking towards me, fiddling with some piece of electronic gimcrackery.

“Alright,” I said, breaking into the ghastly semblance of a smile.

“What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“Have you…have you seen the state of this window?” I said. “Come and have a look.”

Be sure to wear some organically-grown flowers in your hair

This was how, a week later, I found myself and a large amount of camping equipment squeezed into the Editor’s car, trundling sedately through a contraflow system somewhere. The Editor was in a foul mood.

“I still can’t believe,” he said, “that thing about the window.”

“I told you it was dangerous!” I said. “Good thing we’re insured. He’ll be out of action for a while, though. He shouldn’t have leaned out so far.”

The Editor glared at me. This was shaping up to be a reasonable weekend, on the whole.

Continued next issue