The hands dismantled the day slowly. Nearing six the morning was halfway cleared and already beginning to trail out into the darkness like a circus leaving town.
I stirred the others from their sleepless dreams as the van came to a stop at the field. The twelve of us climbed out - 'Nine men and three women' was today's count. Some came but more went and few lasted long.
They split us into groups of ethnic stereotypes and handed out our costumes from the boot of an old Rolls Royce. It was always a lottery - sometimes I was a gypsy or a gangster, a plumber or construction-worker. I'd been a Cossack, vampire, a KGB agent and a Womble. It was all quite humiliating but at least it gave the job some diversity and faced with the choice, it was preferable to picking cabbages or working in a slaughter-house.
We were given our wages and expenses by the man in the camel-haired coat who was driven off in his gold Roller while we were herded back in the van.
The journey was longer than usual and from the window I realised we were heading in the opposite direction of Thanet, we were approaching Deal. Deal Town, with its bohemian cafes and bars, its great English writers - Priestley and Raven. Its streets, lit like Dickensian fog.
We were dropped off at the pier and told to return at three. Most of the men headed straight towards the amusements arcades on the seafront, while the women went to see whatever fashions could be found on the high street. We drew some strange glances from passers-by but none of us stopped traffic. We were meant to be agent provocateurs stirring up racial prejudices in East Kent but mostly our days involved drinking, shoplifting and sex.
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