Jonesey had no kids of course, but he whispered in the ears of anyone he caught sleeping and thanx to him (and God, Coolio, Aretha Franklin etc) these folks soon had photocopy memories, strong hearts and perfect vision. Nightschool was Jonesey’s apotheosis and soon he knew all there was to know about the night. Indeed, in many ways he was the night, indistinguishable from it, cloaked, created and concealed in its power.

Weeks and months passed and Jonesey did well in life, eating chips from the chips van and pouring by candlelight over interesting pamphlets like INSTRUCTIONS FOR DECEPTION. Only on the third day of the fourth month did things go wrong. Jonesey was just getting a bus into town to attend nightschool when someone further up in the queue collapsed from a broken heart. As a crowd of on-lookers gathered Jonesey pushed his way through and attempted to revive the bloke. His attempt was successful and the bloke thanked him loads, local press (Shanghai Courier etc) showering him with photoflashes.

The attitude of the DHSS to this weren’t too good though. So far as they were concerned Jonesey rescuing the bloke at the bus shelter was a kind of undeclared and hence illegal work. No matter that he received no remuneration from it or that a life was saved – Jonesey was a malingerer and hence untitled to benefit henceforth. Worse than this he was a law breaker and charged with 3 (three) separate counts of cheque book fraud and a further count of dancing naked in the woods with poppets and demons.

At the tribunal Jonesey was drunk on Brandy but he kept remembering that advert for OFFICERS CHOICE whisky where it says in BIG letters: OFFICERS CHOICE WHISKY: There’s no choice . . .

The jury were three men and nine women. Eight black, one Puerto Rican and four Anglos. The judge was a Chinese American and Jonesey got a dream-team of defence lawyers – many of them straight from Hollywood. As part of the defence strategy they dreamed up Jonesey had to change his name but he found it hard to remember what his new names and many complex alibis were.

In prison, waiting for the trial to end Jonesey counted the days. He met up with a few of his old mates from night school or borstal or whatever and they were soon up to their old tricks. Their favourite game was to astrally project out of the jail and go out on the town gambling and seducing women. Jonesey was good at this, so was Hank Marvin and Varmana Gupta. What a trio they made and what long conversations they had about the nature of real reality and how the guards never once noticed they were gone from their beds.