anything out past the blur of helmets. The noise is getting louder, moving towards us up the street. I know people but it sounds like a machine. Through the cops I see it’s a great big flag. no wind so all floppy and limp. I even see what it There’s it’s can’t is, just white and red bits. Loads of people appear and the noise hits us directly. a massive lot of all walking along Addington High Street There’s them. They’re shouting stuff I make out. can’t ‘England.’ Matt points out a banner held up between two poles. an England flag with It’s England written on it. I know which one of them Matt recognised, but either is don’t pretty good for his age. a smart kid. He must get the brains from Georgina. He’s what everyone will say if he does well at school. I must have got mine from That’s my Dad. He around much either. I smirk at my own joke, but then I hear wasn’t something I understand. I see him but I can hear his voice through the noise. can’t crackly and buzzed, like a dusty car speaker without the cover. You can wire It’s them directly to a stereo and then put the volume up to max and they shake and rattle and the music is all distorted like been blasted through a fairground mirror. it’s what he sounds like, twisted and mangled and fucked up. Phil Harris. That’s That’s shouting bollocks through a megaphone. The words are all lost in the crowd, but He’s I know him. My teeth are grinding. it’s you with ‘Are them?’ The policewoman who was on the walkie talkie has come up behind us. I turn my head to follow her finger. pointing at the bundle of people on Addington High She’s Street. making a right fucking racket. I think straight. I look back at They’re can’t the copper. got a little blonde cut like open curtains across her forehead and if She’s it for her army sergeant face and grown-up school trousers, probably have wasn’t I’d
anything out past the blur of helmets. The noise is getting louder, moving towards us up the street. I know it’s people but it sounds like a machine. Through the cops I see a great big flag. There’s no wind so it’s all floppy and limp. I can’t even see what it is, just white and red bits. Loads of people appear and the noise hits us directly. There’s a massive lot of them. They’re all walking along Addington High Street shouting stuff I can’t make out. ‘England.’ Matt points out a banner held up between two poles. It’s an England flag with England written on it. I don’t know which one of them Matt recognised, but either is pretty good for his age. He’s a smart kid. He must get the brains from Georgina. That’s what everyone will say if he does well at school. I must have got mine from my Dad. He wasn’t around much either. I smirk at my own joke, but then I hear something I understand. I can’t see him but I can hear his voice through the noise. It’s crackly and buzzed, like a dusty car speaker without the cover. You can wire them directly to a stereo and then put the volume up to max and they shake and rattle and the music is all distorted like it’s been blasted through a fairground mirror. That’s what he sounds like, twisted and mangled and fucked up. That’s Phil Harris. He’s shouting bollocks through a megaphone. The words are all lost in the crowd, but I know it’s him. My teeth are grinding. ‘Are you with them?’ The policewoman who was on the walkie talkie has come up behind us. I turn my head to follow her finger. She’s pointing at the bundle of people on Addington High Street. They’re making a right fucking racket. I can’t think straight. I look back at the copper. She’s got a little blonde cut like open curtains across her forehead and if it wasn’t for her army sergeant face and grown-up school trousers, I’d probably have