there is a place

There is a place on the border of London and Kent where a public footpath extends over an open field of grass. It goes down a hill past a roman ruin to a little stream.

Where that footpath meets the road there is a wide parking area leading to a driveway.

My friend went there in his orange mini, parked and left to have a little pee along the footpath in the copse of trees at the edge of the field of grass. He was on his way to work and was caught short after too many coffees.

When he returned a police car was parked in front of the mini. Another screeched into the driveway and parked behind. Two large vans arrived in which police in flak jackets were seated carrying machine guns. A station wagon arrived carrying two black dogs.

The space was full so that when the ambulance arrived with the sedan marked 'doctor' containing two women in hazardous chemical suits they had to park on the road. The dog cars moved into the driveway.

The men from the first two cars got flak jackets from the van where there were spares beside a rotating apparatus disk like a radar dish. The dogs were taken to the copse for their own pee and a crap.

A helicopter appeared overhead.

My friend approached the fattest cop who was struggling into his protective gear. He thought a joke would be appropriate.

'Are you here for me?'

'That depends what you have done, sir.'

'That's me parked there.'

'You shouldn't have parked there sir, not in these circumstances.'

'Can you let me out?'

'In a moment sir. This is a 'Catos' operation.'

My friend didn't ask about that but I have since looked up 'Catos'. That is the police operation in which as a protection of civil rights of persons who are suspected of being terrorists or who fit the profile of terrorists (brown young males) are not harassed or detained without just cause. They are instead followed by teams of snipers and other armed police in case they do something. The Times editorial has approved of this.

'Excuse me sir, but your willy is hanging out. Can you secure it please?'

At that moment a middle-aged woman arrived. She had, according to my friend, a leathery tan under a wide brimmed straw hat.

She approached my friend, ignoring the police.

'Is that your automobile?'

'Yes it is.'

'I have told your people before that you cannot park here. This is a private driveway.'

'But there is a public footpath. The drive provides access to it. That is the law. Besides, I'm not parking. I was only stopping for a moment.'

'I will take your licence number and will forward it to my solicitors.'

'Please do.' He secured his willy.

'Don't be rude to me sir. You are trespassing. This is private property. You have no right to be here.'

At that moment the collection of vehicles began to move. They roared off down the lane following the flight path of the helicopter. The woman looked at my friend's plates and then turned and walked up the driveway between stone gates.
My friend went on to work.