The Future of London Box Set

by Mark Gillespie

  Clip ends.

  Chapter 24

  #Piccadilly

  Sample of Tweets - posted 15th August 2011

  A.T Ross @ScribblerManUK · 6m

  There will never be a better time to make our voices heard - #piccadilly

  Gregory White @MisterMaster81 · 6m

  Is the PM really going to let #piccadilly happen?

  Jane Lange @SkaYo · 7m

  Estimates from @CBCNews say hundreds of thousands of people expected at #piccadilly. Not counting soldiers and police.

  Maggie June @MJ_1962 · 8m

  Yobs organising at #piccadilly. Soldiers and police useless. What happened to your spine Great Britain?

  Sadie Hobbs @AlphaBitchSadie · 10m

  Bring back lynching. I’ll even put the rope around CG’s neck myself.

  Jezza @tinylilspiderman · 10m

  Chester George! Where can I get a hoodie like that? #piccadilly

  Chapter 25

  15th August 2011

  They sat in a line with their backs propped up against the brick wall of Lancasterian Primary School.

  Mack sat on one end of the line, watching the heavy rain, which had been coming down all morning.

  Sitting next to him, Tegz was watching the Supermarket Olympics on his phone – for about the twentieth time that day. Every now and then he’d fold himself over, his body convulsing while the sound of another giggling fit rang out across the playground.

  Sumo Dave sat in silence. His cap was pulled over his eyes and his head slumped forwards, as if he’d fallen asleep.

  Hatchet sat on the other end of the line from Mack. He was eating a BLT, which he’d picked up from a supply drop that morning on Tottenham High Road. As he sat there chewing away, Hatchet smacked his lips constantly in enjoyment - a sound that was to Mack, worse than that of someone scraping their fingernails down a blackboard.

  But Mack wasn’t the first to crack.

  After several more minutes of lip smacking, Sumo Dave lifted the cap away from his eyes.

  “Fucking hell Hatch!” he yelled. “I’m trying to get some kip here mate and you sound like a starving dog who’s just found a giant bowl of kibble.”

  Sumo Dave yanked his cap back over his eyes.

  Hatchet shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

  Sumo Dave threw him the middle finger. “Sake!”

  Hatchet dropped the empty sandwich box on the ground. Then he reached a hand into his rucksack and pulled out a packet of chocolate chip cookies. Tearing furiously at the top of the packet with his teeth, he opened them up and started throwing whole biscuits into his mouth.

  CRUNCH.

  “Jeeeees-usss Christ!” Sumo Dave said, lifting the cap up again. “You got worms or something lad? When did you last eat?”

  Hatchet thought for a second. “Yesterday,” he said with his mouth full. “All the cupboards are empty at home now. And I never thought to go looting for food, eh?”

  Sumo Dave nodded. “What about your mum? Is she alright?”

  “That old cow don’t bother with food anymore,” Hatchet said, picking up a few crumbs from his jeans and scooping them into his mouth. “It’s vodka she wants. And there’s none of that going for free down the High Road, eh?”

  Sumo Dave shook his head. “Bollocks, innit?”

  “What about you?” Hatchet said. “You using the supply drops yet?”

  Sumo Dave grinned. “Nah. I nicked a shitload of food from Sainsburys and Tesco when this kicked off. I’m what you call a clever bastard, eh?”

  Hatchet glared at Sumo Dave. “Well ain’t you fucking great?”

  “You were too busy nicking giant flat screen TVs mate,” Sumo Dave said.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Sumo Dave reached over and poked Hatchet on the shoulder.

  “Hey,” he said. “Anything you need mate - food and that - just pop over to my place. Yeah? I’ll sort you out.”

  Hatchet nodded. “Yeah,” he said, reaching for another cookie.

  It had been Mack’s suggestion to go to the school that morning. He didn’t want to sit at home all day listening to his parents talking to estate agents, discussing the value of the house in Stanmore Road. All of that meant thinking about Edinburgh, and about going home, and about Rossi.

  Not that he could blame his parents.

  That morning as he’d made his way to the school, Mack had seen the first armoured vehicles on Tottenham High Road. Two of them with armoured spines and V-shaped hulls. They looked like something you’d expect to see only on the news, rolling across the deserts of Afghanistan, dodging blasts, mines, and bullets.

  But here they were, on the streets of North London.

  The riot police were all over the High Road that day. The army presence was small but significant. Still, the Good and Honest Citizens dwarfed their combined numbers at least two times over. Following Chester George’s instructions, they had taken to occupying the streets in a non-violent manner. The transformation from savage violence to a peaceful occupation was quick and surprisingly coherent. It felt like everyone was working together now, and suddenly there was a goal.

  And it was Piccadilly.

  “Twitter’s gone loopy,” Tegz said, looking at his phone. “London’s trending all over the world. That means the whole planet is watching, eh?”

  Mack smiled. “Eager for the next instalment of London’s Falling.”

  “Yeah,” Tegz said, grinning. He went back YouTube and Chester George’s voice could be heard in the background:

  ‘It’s ordinary people getting carried away in crowds and losing themselves in the mob. Doing things they wouldn’t normally do in their everyday lives.’

  “He’s a smart lad that Chester George,” Sumo Dave said. “He knows we can’t just keep rioting forever. It has to go somewhere, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Tegz said. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  Sumo Dave turned to Mack. “You coming with us mate?” he said. “Piccadilly? It’s going to be history in the making, whatever happens.”

  Mack nodded. “Aye. I’ll be there. That’s if I’m still in London that is.”

  Sumo Dave leaned back against the wall. “You think they’ll sell the house?” he said. “With all this going on?”

  Mack looked out across the playground. “Everybody loves a bargain,” he said. “My folks are willing to drop the price and sell it cheap. And when all this shit blows over, whoever bought it cheap will be laughing.”

  “Be a shame to miss Piccadilly mate,” Tegz said.

  Mack nodded. “I know.”

  “It’s not just that,” Sumo Dave said. “You only just got here, eh? I was just getting used to your ugly little mug.”

  Mack smiled, and fell back against the wall.

  Sumo Dave scratched at a bit of dark fluff on his chin. “Yeah,” he said. “Piccadilly. I can’t wait for this.”

  “It’s a load of bollocks,” Hatchet said, tossing the empty cookie packet onto the playground.

  “What you on about?” Sumo Dave said.

  Hatchet turned towards them.

  “I thought Chester George was going to tell us to up the ante,” he said. “To start targeting more police stations or courthouses. Some fucking leader he’s turned out to be.”

  Tegz sat forward. “What?”

  “Are you serious Hatch?” Sumo Dave said. “Up the ante? The city’s already lying in tatters. It’s time for Phase Two mate.”

  Hatchet stared out at the rain. “No,” he said quietly. “Smashing things up – that’s the only way.”

  Mack looked over at Hatchet. Those dark eyes, usually so lifeless, were now ablaze with conviction.

  “All of this,” Hatchet said, “It only works when we’re doing what we’ve been doing so far. Playing it our way. Smashing in shop windows, burning down shops and homes – that’s the only power the likes of us have. It’s about not giving a fuck ’cos we’ve got nothing to lose, eh?”

  “It can’t stay like that forever Hat
ch,” Sumo Dave said. “We’ve done that. And now we’ve got their attention. Now that they’re listening we need to have something to say.”

  “What the fuck do we have to say Sumo?” Hatchet said. “You think politicians and people that matter want to have a conversation with the likes of us?”

  “That’s what Chester George is doing, innit?” Sumo Dave said. “You’ve heard him. He knows things and he speaks for us – the likes of you and me Hatch.”

  Hatchet shook his head firmly. “Chaos,” he said. “That’s our language. Without it, everything will go back to normal. And I’ll tell you this Sumo, I can’t think of anything - anything – worse right now than my life going back to normal.”

  Hatchet turned away. He dabbed at something in his eye with his sleeve.

  Sumo Dave sighed. “There’ll be nothing left of London,” he said. “Not if we play it your way.”

  Hatchet looked out at the empty playground.

  “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  Mack didn’t speak, but he was listening to every word. It was the first time he’d seen Hatchet since the confrontation in Charlie’s. Nothing had been said, but for all Mack knew, Hatchet could have been carrying his dad’s gun in the rucksack, along with the cookies and the BLT.

  Best to keep quiet.

  Tegz slipped his iPhone into his hoodie pocket. “Does that mean you ain’t coming to Piccadilly Hatch?”

  “Course I am,” Hatchet said. “What the fuck else am I going to do?” With that, he swung his rucksack over his shoulder and got to his feet.

  “I’m going back up the High Road,” he said. “There’s got to be some action somewhere.”

  “Easy Hatch,” Sumo Dave said. “Listen mate, nobody’s rioting anymore. We’re onto Phase Two now.”

  “Yeah well,” Hatchet said. “We ain’t politicians yet, are we? You coming?”

  Sumo Dave shrugged. “Nah, I’m going to stay here a while.”

  Hatchet gave a snort of disgust. “Sitting in a school playground?”

  “I ain’t budging Hatch,” Sumo said.

  Hatchet shrugged. “Suit yourself. Tegz?”

  “Yeah, might as well,” Tegz said, getting to his feet. Without another word, the two teenagers set off towards the black fence and Kings Road.

  The rain was easing off at last, the downpour turning to a soft drizzle. A hint of blue sky crept slowly in between the cracks of blanket grey up above.

  Sumo Dave turned to Mack. “Hatchet’s got a real taste for it now,” he said.

  “Aye, I can see that.”

  “Not that I blame him,” Sumo Dave said. “I mean, what else has he got, eh?”

  “You think he’ll stop?” Mack asked.

  Sumo Dave shrugged. “Chester George needs to call a date for Piccadilly soon,” he said. “So we can show people like Hatchet that we don’t need to burn the city down just to be heard anymore.”

  Mack started to laugh

  ‘Eh?” Sumo Dave said. “What’s so funny?”

  Mack shook his head. “I just thought of something,” he said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  Mack nodded. “I was just thinking about that line from The Dark Knight? You know, the Batman film.”

  “Yeah? What line?”

  “Something that the Joker said. Reminds me of Hatchet.”

  “Go on then,” Sumo Dave said.

  Mack did his best Heath Ledger as the Joker impersonation:

  “Some men aren’t looking for anything logical…some men just want to watch the world burn.”

  Sumo Dave smiled and then he turned away.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  Chapter 26

  Sadie Hobbs: Filthy Rich and Worth It

  (Blog post by Sadie Hobbs - 17th August 2011)

  CHOPPITY-CHOP. It’s that time of year again. Out with the old and in with the new.

  Yes, ladies and gentleman - culling season has returned to the Hobbs residence for the year 2011. This is an annual thing that takes place, usually around July or August, when I spend two or three days rifling through all my worldly possessions (and there are a lot of those), sorting the good from the bad, and putting whatever I don’t need into black bin bags and giving them to charity.

  I know, I’m wonderful – it’s all lies what they say about me!!!!

  But OMG - it takes such a long time to do this! Like I said, I have soooo many things to throw away and all for the sake of making room for new things!

  This morning’s job involved going up to the attic and looking through two massive crates of books that had been sitting up there for years. I must admit however, that it was faintly amusing to look back on the literature of my youth. Dusty old books now for the most part. But OMG, did I read some CRAP with a capital ‘C’. Stories about horses and vampires – that about sums it up for my childhood. And yes I was reading about vampires long before Twilight made it cool to do so. And if by chance, Mummy or Daddy could find me a book about horses and vampires, then I was the happiest little girl in the world.

  Easy pleased, that’s me.

  But guess what else I found in the attic today? A box that was absolutely packed with my old school stuff - books and jotters, pens and pencils and even things that I’d once made in arts and craft. I also stumbled upon the ruins of what I think was once a handmade pencil case - bright pink with green dots. I know, I know – it’s probably a good thing I never got past the first round in one of my least successful reality TV ventures: So You Want To Be A Fashion Designer?

  LOL!

  I also found an old Latin phrasebook in the box. This was from my years at boarding school – I went to Downe House in case you’re wondering – it was very exclusive. But God I HATED Latin!!! And as I picked up this decomposing monstrosity I suddenly thought how wonderful it would be to watch it burn in the garden. I could just imagine the look of horror on the face of old Mrs Reddan, my Latin teacher. If only she could see me do it - but I imagine she’s dead now the silly old cow.

  Hope so!

  To my surprise, I found myself browsing through the old textbook, rediscovering old terms and phrases. Given all that’s happened recently, one phrase in particular caught my eye.

  Mobile vulgus – excitable or fickle commoners.

  There were a few squiggles next to this term (God my handwriting was ATROCIOUS!!) But I could just about make out from my younger self that mobile vulgus is where the word ‘mob’ came from. And as I wrote back in the day, it’s also described as a ‘moving, shifting, dangerously directionless force’.

  Does this sound familiar people?

  The lower and illiterate classes are still out there, running riot on the streets of London. The number one reason for this is that the British government has been too soft with the perpetrators of these disturbances. The police are outnumbered and the army – who were brought in to assist the police - are limited in regards to what they can do. So in other words, they can’t just drive a tank through the streets and shoot all the hooligans. Which would solve the problem in a jiffy.

  The feral rats are refusing to crawl back into their little ghettoes. These people (and I use that word hesitantly) are individually weak. They feel important because they have strength in numbers. The Good and Honest Citizens? Don’t make me laugh - they’re a bunch of underwashed, undereducated plebs and oh - you should see the abuse I’m getting on Twitter for saying these things. It’s delicious and I’m enjoying every single second of it so keep it coming – PLEBS!

  We are dealing with the lowest class of people. But let’s be fair – after all a rat can’t help being a rat. Can it?

  What I’m saying is this – it’s up to us, the civilised people, to take charge of this situation. Too many people have forgotten that there is a great chain of being in the universe - a Divine Order that is ordained in nature. Everything in the universe has its specific place and the mobile vulgus have theirs. They are useful at performing certain tasks in society – they work in supermarkets, they swe
ep the streets, empty bins, and clean our toilets. Good on them. We couldn’t get by without them. But the peasants have always sat at the bottom of the chain of being while the Kings, Queens, Nobles and Merchants are placed above them. This is the natural order of things.

  So why are we letting the peasants do what they want?

  It’s time to do something about this. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Capital punishment must be reinstated in the United Kingdom. It’s a no-brainer! Lynching these hoodlums is the only effective deterrent. And it’d be quick too – the streets would be empty of yobs in a day or two. Isn’t that what everyone wants? For things to go back to normal? String a few peasants up in Hackney, leave them hanging there for a few hours and watch the others run back into their holes.

  That’s the solution.

  NOW - contrary to what you might hear, normal people are NOT appalled at what I say. They ARE appalled that no one else is saying it. Particularly from those who claim to represent us in Parliament.

  This is very important. We cannot let the mobile vulgus come together at Piccadilly Circus.

  COME ON Mr Prime Minister!

  I’ve met you on several occasions and you seem like a nice chap, but it’s about time you grew a backbone. Our political and economic centre is collapsing. And it’s too late for water cannons and rubber bullets – these so called ‘deterrents’ will prove ineffective.