As Rowsell got increasingly drunker than everyone else, his two friends from the National Front arrived. I got talking to the one in the animal rights t-shirt, who regaled me with stories of his days in “serious activism”. He was no longer involved, he said. The “movement” had gone down the drain. I asked him what he meant, and he gestured disdainfully behind me. Two of the GI boys were wrestling on the pavement, and a glass smashed in the confusion. He sighed.