I'm hunkering down. I've bought a dozen cans of Spam, the greatest hits of Flanagan and Allen and I've converted my Breville Sandwich Toaster into an AM transmitter.
I shall live for a week behind a dusty yardage of innocuous-looking books with titles like Capitalism? Think On.
About my person, I shall carry my "papers" - passport, gas bill etc - and a mask (as usual). I shall fully expect to encounter hindrance, banter and inquisition as I pass through sandbag and barbed wire checkpoints.
I shall be obliging but sceptical when confronted by figures in "authority" as I have been told fifth columnists will inveigle their way into the ranks of officialdom to create panic based on incendiary topics such as war, the weather and the kneecapping of profligate bankers.
I shall Keep Calm And Carry On, like the poster says.
I shall expect swooping coptors, scoping marksmen and coupons for scrag end of lamb.
I shall appear exclusively in black and white.
I shall brandish neither broomstick nor Hoover nozzle for fear that their silhouette will be mistaken for that of a Russian-made Mosin Nagant 1891/30 sniper rifle.
I shall grow my own vegetables and let women do men's work. I shall generally create a community spirit that involves activities such as rolling out barrels and walking in a manner found predominately in Lambeth. I shall monitor the migration habits of blue birds.
Should I be climbing on the DLR only to hear the words "good luck" in my ear I shall grunt a brutish non-response. Gordon Jackson will not have died in vain.
And should that moley bloke keep yowling: "Take me with you. I can see. I can see," my response will be tart and to the point. "Let it go, chum. You placed that pin there, like, two hours ago. I saw you do it."
I shall have no time for the weak of limb or constitution. I shall have no time for yellow-bellied, red-tinged subversion.
There's a summit on, don't you know.
– First published on wharf.co.uk on March 29, 2009
