An Inspector Calls At Glastonbury

(Scene: A luxuriously-appointed VIP area, set amidst the verdant swamps of the Glastonbury Festival. In a corner, tragically oblivious to the heated arguments taking place at centre stage, inside a blue portable lavatory and with his trousers and a newspaper at his ankles, slump the mortal remains of Sir Reginald Smith-Smythe-Smith. The doleful wailing of that well-known practitioner of funerary dirges, Mr Christopher Martin, can be heard in the background.)

Lord Bono (for it is he): Well, oi’ll wager dem feckin’ anarchist hooligans from UK Uncut’re at de bottom o’ dis, so it is. Sure an’ me gardener will back me up on dis.

The Edge: Oi wooden’ know anytin’ ‘bout dat, sorr.

Lord Bono: Dammit all, De Edge, an’ will ye not take yer hat off out o’ respect fer de departed, man!

(Enter Inspector Savage of the Avon and Somerset CID, accompanied by PC49, a yokel.)

PC49: Bloimy, zum bugger’s knocked orf Doctor ‘Oo! (Peers inside cubicle.) ‘Ere, oi fancy ‘ee do look a lot older’n wot ‘ee do on telly, zurr.

Inspector: Thank you, constable, that will do for now. Does anybody know the deceased?

Lady Rooney: Ai believe the praime minister was well acquainted with the dead geezer, being as he was the party chairman of his constituency innit, like, doncha know?

Inspector: Madam! Are you seriously insinuating that the Prime Minister of Great Britain is to be implicated in a possible murder?

Lady Rooney: I int nevah incinerated nuffink, you nasty little git! You’ll be hearing from mai repro… repper… mate Max Clifford in tomorrow’s soaraway Sun. Wayne, remonstrewate with this cunt immediately!

Lord Rooney: I demand that you take back that slur this instant, sir, you wanker, or you can fuck right off!

Inspector: Well, really! I’m afraid, Lord and Lady Rooney, that I shall have to take you both into custody immediately for verbally abusing an officer of Her Majesty’s constabulary in the course of his lawful duties. Now, where did I put my truncheon?

PC49: ‘Ere, zurr! Take a look at the ‘eadline in this ‘ere Mail on Zunday wot the stiff were readin’ when ‘ee croaked!

Inspector (reads): “'There's No Reason To Join The Tories. We've Come Over As Voracious, Crass, Always On The Take' - Who Says So? Dave's Own Constituency Chairman.” Hmm… I fail to see how this tittle-tattle can possibly have any bearing on the case, constable.

PC49: No, zurr - the front page!

Inspector: “It Is Not Offence to Abuse Police”? Bollocks.

(Curtain.)