Rockall weathers late licence storm

Friday night caterwauls into Saturday morning

by Chet Dixie

Rockall has just weathered its second weekend under the new late licence laws. Rockall reporter Chet Dixie joined Rockall Police officers as they tackled the after-effect in Rockall town centre as Friday night caterwauled and ram-raided into Saturday morning.

Walking down Frontbotham Road I see one lad staggering and falling about like Robert Pires. There is a screwdriver imbedded in his neck and blood is pumping in a neat arc from his jugular vein. A group of hooded asboys assembles and watches for a few moments before they are distracted by the fact the neon light above Iceland is intact. Within seconds, the light has been reduced to a million shards of glass lying on the pavement — yet another issue for Health and Safety. The only sound comes from the parents of the asboys who applaud, proudly, from the edge of their estate where they are selling bags of crack cocaine for less than the price of a packet of contraband Greek duty unpaid Lambert and Butlers.

Near the Ubiquitous Australian Bar a teen grabs his boyfriend and starts giving him hand relief in full view of a coven of nuns who, it turned out, were a group of slappers from Scarborough on a hen weekend. The most bizarre moment is when I find a woman lying unconscious in the street wearing a skirt, a top and a pair of shoes that didn't come from Primark. I then joined Sergeant David Blunkett to find out what a typical night in Rockall was like and whether extended drinking hours will mean more difficult times for the police. Sgt Blunkett says: "The nights can divaricate from a dyad of suppressions to binary integers. The police presidium will moil until they are no longer benefic and the thoroughfares are unimpeded by plebeians."

At 11:17pm Sergeant Blunkett is inside the Dickens Cider Inn enjoying a pint of sweet sherry and lemonade when a man is told to leave by heavy-set, tattooed and shaven-haired door staff. Sgt Blunkett and the other officers at the bar try to catch him with their truncheons as the bouncers chuck him out of the pub but as they do so a lady dressed in a lime green Sergio Tacchini shellsuit smashes a nearby car windscreen with her forehead. The man is half-heartedly beaten around the head by bouncers using borrowed police billy-clubs before being told to go home to his caravan. The woman is arrested and taken to Rockall station where, stripped of her stash of class 'A' narcotics and made to perform unnatural acts while barking like a dog, she is deposited on the first train back to Sunderland.

Only 48 minutes later Sergeant Blunkett and his drinking cronies are called to The Fighting Dog and Pikey where a pregnant woman has been set upon by a gang of marauding, near-feral Staffordshire terriers. Rockall's brave constabulary decorously apprehend the prostrate coward of a woman and restrain her with taser guns. The frightened bitches are coaxed into a special RSPCA-approved police van and taken to a retirement home where they are let loose to provide the elderly residents with some company.

The officers say that isolated incidents like these aside, the night has been boring and all agree they would like it to have been busier with more ultra-violence and donnybrooks. Sergeant Blunkett says: "Things can intensify contiguously but if our presidium covet ancillary capital they are there. Or here, as it were."

Unemployed Judy Finnegan, 74, from East Rockall, says: "I think the new law is super and I don't think it will be a problem in Rockall. I've been enjoying lock-ins and being showered in piping-hot man porridge for years and years and it's done me no harm." Her friend Sharon Osborne, 84, a group hug therapist at a burns centre from Rockall-under-Lyme, says: "I'm happier than Laughing Bob Mugabe on a trolley dash in a machete warehouse."

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Rockall weathers late licence storm

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