Yesterday I took a 'walk' in a cornfield. This is the life, I thought, as the fresh air swirled about my cheeks. Every night I collapse into my tent and listen to the trees rustle. Fortified by cider and the nightly fireside singsong I pass into deep, dark sleep.

We left Haddenham and the Jesus Band behind days ago on a marathon march into Oxford. That day we walked from dusk till dawn only reaching our next camp as the sky went black. In the morning I emerged from my tent, checked no one would see I was wearing my Speedos, then dashed to the corner of the field. There it was! The river I had been promised, snaking through the edge of our plot. I squirted shampoo on my head and down my trunks before sidling down a metal plank. Cold is not the word.
‘BUGGER FUCK CUNT’
A swan floated by, it looked at me with regal reserve, then drifted off.

Such private moments are good for the soul but there is a bigger picture on the Climate Rush Road Show. Just half an hour after my dip in the Thames (apparently that was what it was) Fred and Millie got nicked busting in to Oxford Airport! Yes that’s right we fought the law and the law won. Well it was more of a score draw really. The police, by the way, have been shadowing us all the way. Their vans drive ahead of the carts and they snap us like sneaky paps as we trot by. However we got to the airport that morning to protest its proposed expansion, we found quite a lot more than just one lurking van. A line of grim faced coppers blocked us from entering and massive police horses snorted behind them.

Our numbers had swelled too. Local activists had come along, the plan being to hold a ‘picnic protest’. Climate Rush had one before in Heathrow. So dressed in costume and banners flapping we sat down in the road outside the departure gate. We ate humous, we blocked cars. The police looked on, dead faced.

To be fair to the police they have been communicative and helpful on the whole. They’ve held up traffic and talked to me in lay bys. One copper that followed us for days was called Malcolm, once or twice we had a chat. He’s part of ‘Operation Rumble’ a 365 day a year operation that exclusively polices protests in the Thames Valley region. Malcolm struck me as a cautious but not unkind man, one who had thought about what he does. He even smiled once or twice. Still for the first time in my life I looked down at his belt stuffed with devices to hit and restrain me and thought ‘Those might be used on me.’

As watchful as they normally are at airports, that morning they didn’t notice everything. As the singing and road sitting was going on Millie and Fred snuck under a hedge and rushed behind the police lines. Millie was scooped up at once and arrested straight away. Fred made it on to the airfield where he draped his ‘No Airport Expansion’ banner on the tailfin of the nearest plane. The American pilot promptly jumped out and chased Fred round it several times. Amazingly Fred had the presence of mind to offer him leaflets about the Road Show, hanging them behind him like a relay baton. He grabbed them, scrunched them then shouted in his face.

’HEY FUCKHEAD GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY PLANE AND GET A FUCKING JOB!’

At this point the police caught up, cuffed Fred and shouted a lot. They already had Millie in the van and were shouting at her a lot too. Millie looks like a sort of Dorset beauty. Big limpid eyes and corkscrew hair. How anyone could shout at that is beyond me but yodel right in her angelic mush they did. And just to join in the Yankee pilot had one more thing to shout at Fred as they shoved him next to Millie.

‘HEY BUDDY! I’M GOING TO BURN A SHIT LOAD OF MORE FUEL JUST FOR YOU!’

What a charmer. They’re both out now and fine. Fred declared he hadn’t had so much fun since he ‘ran away from school.’ Millie though was a bit upset by the constabulary hairdryer treatment. From here’s it’s on to Stroud, home of all things eco tech. What will happened there readers? An action on a certain car loving celeb? Read the next exciting instalment* as the Road Show rumbles on.