“I know you’re tired, but the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can set about tracking down your alibi witness. I’m afraid they’re not going to release you till we can establish that. Hopefully, though, they’re not going to charge you either just yet. If you’re ready, I’ll go and tell them, and we can maybe get started soon.”

Jennifer got up and knocked on the cell door. After a few moments, feet tapped up the corridor, and the Judas window slid open. Satisfied that the right person was about to leave the cell, the officer opened the door. The solicitor turned back and gave Lindsay a smile before the door banging shut cut her off from sight.

Left to herself, Lindsay curled into a ball on the hard bunk and closed her eyes. When the custody officer came to get her fifteen minutes later, he had to shake her awake.

Conference Chronicle
The Paper Off The Record

Did He Fall or Was He Pushed?
They scraped him off the tarmac like a lump of strawberry jam, just like the song says. It may not have been 20,000 feet without a parachute, but it was far enough to spell “Good night, Vienna” for General Secretary Tom “Union” Jack. Our late unlamented leader always thought he could walk on water. But in the early hours of this morning, he proved he couldn’t fly without one of those planes he was so fond of spending your union dues on. Now everyone will remember the inaugural Annual Delegate Conference of the Amalgamated Media Workers’ Union as the one that gave a whole new meaning to plummeting membership figures.

Union Jack was discovered spread over a sizeable acreage of the car-park behind Maclintock Tower about twenty past three this morning when former journalist and conference observer Lindsay Gordon raised the alarm, claiming she’d returned to her room in the student’s residence to discover a mansized hole in the tenth floor window.

This unlikely tale follows the stand-up fight between Gordon and Union Jack on Monday evening (reported in yesterday’s Conference Chronicle). According to our sources, the pair have a history of falling out over a wide variety of issues over the years, ranging from feminism to feminism.

Gordon, who can resemble a one-woman monstrous regiment, had spent the evening at the notorious Scots-Irish Night, a tradition of the former Journalists’ Union that has been claimed eagerly by enthusiastic haggisbashers and bog-trotters in AMWU. There, Gordon and her compatriots did their level best to drink Sheffield dry. This monument to sexism (the women get groped) and racism (non-Celts are barred) was held in the post-graduate common room in Wilberforce Hall.