The Non-stop Dancer

+ 5 And A Half Hours

The blight of the nosey neighbour has existed as long as time immortal. Throughout history, human beings with absolutely nothing else to occupy themselves have gotten their kicks by making life considerably more awkward for others. The original nosey parker went by the name of Judas. He preoccupied himself with spying on his neighbours and complaining to the authorities until finally, they took action and really nailed the bastard that lived halfway down his street.

Nosiness, or the condition of obsessively observing others, dates back to when human beings first started identifying themselves through possessions. As soon as the cavemen of old developed the first comparative adjective which, incidentally, was 'Ugg-Lee-Aaarrgghh', a competitive dam was broken, and the flood waters of jealousy swept through mankind.

As objects evolved to beliefs and in most normal countries, back to objects again, the evolution of technology offered an abundance of methods for disturbing your neighbour's life. On this particular day the disturbance took the form of a telephone call to the emergency switchboard that went something like this:

"999 which service do you require?"

"Police."

"What is your emergency?"

"There is a man."

"Sorry?"

"There is a man and he won't stop dancing."

"You do realise that it is an offence to waste time by prank calling this number?"

The first call was never likely to succeed as it is rare that ordinary people can see the busybodies view of the world. Not one to be deterred our caller located a phonebook, unbelievably they do still exist, especially if you happen to hoard a library of utter garbage inside your own home, and called the local police station, albeit, equally unsuccessfully.

"Good morning, you are through to the police."

"Good morning. I would like to report a man."

"Doing what exactly?"

"Well, he is dancing."

"That's hardly a crime."

It had taken a visit in person to the local police station to make the Community Support Officer realise that a man dancing is hardly acceptable behaviour in the twenty-first century. Especially without music.

After a considerable amount of tea, the Community Support officer, a Special Constable, not because he was not a real police officer, but because at least he thought he was special, made his way through the town centre and first set eyes upon the Non-stop Dancer and his disciple.

The first thought that the Community Support officer experienced was one of the most natural of all for a formerly real police officer to have. It was, which crime can I can charge them with? The problem the officer faced was that it was not a breach of the peace, as they were dancing without any music playing whatsoever. It could barely have been anymore serene if it was a silent disco at the National Convention of Librarians. Similarly, they could not be charged with a public disturbance on account of there being no sound to disturb people with. The longer he looked the more fascinating spectacle it became, it was like the aftermath of an accident. They were not threatening anyone, not bothering people at all. There were no two ways about it, there was very little he could actually do.

When the Community Support officer transmogrified from a policeman he was convinced it would make his life considerably easier. Although he had absolutely no idea what being a Community Support officer entailed, he likely supposed that it included a great deal of cheering, but most importantly, less time being punched or vomited on by members of the public. It was in the community spirit that the Community Support office made his decision. He was going to do absolutely nothing. Except support the community. From a distance. Next to the bakery. With the doughnuts.