“HE TAKE FOTOGRAFIA!”/”NO FOTOGRAFIA!” (The Guardian)
The day before yesterday:
A plainclothes officer jogged across the road and got in my face.
“Of the sea?”
“Give me your camera.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ve got my Oyster card”.
He takes my licence. A group of policemen have sauntered over, and mutter Greekly about the enormous threat to the smooth running of Bilderberg I seem to represent.
“What is this?” asks one of the local militia. He takes my notebook. Opens it at random.
“What are you writing? What here?”
He points to an old 8 Out of 10 Cats joke (well, barely) about what would happen if we had a female Doctor Who. He jabs at it, proof, in black and white, of my status as an agitator. I read it out: “I’m not saying we’ve already had a female Doctor Who, but Sylvester McCoy put cracks in the glass ceiling.”
“Who is this? Syl… Syl…”
“A friend of yours? He is staying here?”
There’s also a delightful photograph of Greek policemen on the Guardian but it would not go well with the Almodovar colours of the header.
But there is more…
They drove me to the police station. Other cars followed. At the station, officers gathered from all quarters. They’d sniffed an incident. A dozen of them stood round me. The Greek chorus reached full voice: “Give the camera! Delete photos! You understand?!” I hated my hands for trembling when I wrote down my father’s name so they could look me up on “computer”. But at least I got a chuckle hearing them try and pronounce Melvyn.
One of the policewomen smiled. “Delete photos and you can go, no trouble.” She looked like Christina Aguilera‘s slightly butch cousin and I fell on her smile with a thirst.
Series: Charlie Skelton’s Bilderberg files (Touch of class =)