The policeman’s attitude changed instantly. ‘Are you deaf, or just stupid? I said move along, and I meant it. If you go anywhere but where I tell you, you’re going to come up against people with a lot less manners than me. None at all, in fact. Now SOD OFF.’

     ‘Dashed rude individual,’ I drawled into the helmet microphone as we threaded our way between the chaotic traffic on the north­bound Holloway Road.

     ‘He meant the Army, didn’t he?’ said Ellie in a half-whisper. ‘My God, we’re in the middle of a war! What did I tell you…’

     ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad,’ I tried to reassure her. I was in the grip of mixed emotions. If we really did at last have a government with enough guts to use armed force to put down the rabble, then a long-held dream of mine was coming true. There might be whole streets knee-deep in corpses…

     But I would have to do without my wedding present.

     What the hell – I could wait. I made a sudden left turn down a deserted residential side street and rode slowly along, looking down each road on the left as we passed. The sudden absence of traffic was extraordinary; it looked just like the estate roads back home did, in the middle of the day when everyone was either at work or slumped in front of daytime T.V.

     The view beyond the fourth road looked promising. I made the turn and raced down the narrow street until we reached the junction with the now totally clogged Camden Road. No-one had left a space, of course. I gingerly eased the bike across, ignoring the blasting horns and avoiding eye contact with the drivers. The other side was less congested; I opened the throttle and we shot across, just in front of a lorry, into another side street.

     ‘Keith, where are you taking us?’ asked Ellie plaintively. ‘That cop sounded serious. Can’t we do as he said, and head north? We’ll still have our honeymoon – it won’t matter where it is.’

     ‘They can’t keep everyone out,’ I replied through gritted teeth. ‘No matter how bad things get in a city, people still come and go. I’ll bet even Leningrad wasn’t sealed off completely. I’ve arranged our honeymoon for London, and that’s where we’re going. I won’t turn back until someone rams a gun down my throat. Stuff the bloody coppers.’

     South. We had to keep going south. Towards the sun, which occasionally pierced the clouds on this mild February day. I had little or no idea where we actually were, but tried to keep the eastward and westward deviations to a minimum. The police, no doubt hampered by limited manpower, were confining themselves to the main roads. I kept weaving through the side streets and the odd narrow alleyway, ignoring signs prohibiting motor vehicles. The maze of streets became a blur. Yet again I marvelled at the taxi drivers, who were required to learn the whereabouts of every road in the capital, and the shortest route between any two points, before they were granted a licence.

     Pentonville Road was appalling. All my inbred courtesy and consideration for others simply had to be abandoned. I somehow made a right turn onto the thing and crawled along between the mass of vehicles. There was a disturbance ahead. Hordes of youths were boarding a bus, one of the old type with an open rear platform. A few seconds later they came pouring off again, carrying looted property – handbags, wallets, personal stereos, even bags of shopping. They raced for the side streets, kicking out at the cars as they went.

     I spotted a gap and coaxed the bike through, following a couple of the youths down the narrow road.

(To be continued)