BARRY

I Pub Chat

When people talk about whirlwind relationships, they always mean romantic relationships but I once had a whirlwind friendship with a man called Barry. Barry and I were inseparable for a summer. He was a total liability but I liked him because usually I am the liability in a friendship group and it was nice to be the sensible one. I got to sigh and say "Oh Barry" like people have always said my name. Or "Fucking Barry, what is he like."

Barry turns up to our local in Wellington one night with a giant duffel bag and says to five of us "Before you say no, I promise we won't get caught." To which the rest of the table say "I'm already out" but he knows I am the weak link. He turns his chair towards me and away from the others. "I have inside information. As of tonight, the Basin won't have any night time security." "The Basin Reserve?" "Yeah, they're not paying for 24 hour security no more." "The Basin Reserve Cricket Ground?" "Yeah! They can't afford it or something. We going or what?"

The rest of the gang seem fascinated by the notion that I am clearly considering this. My friend Jenny, who is a sweet soul, says “You two are a couple of dickheads. Who’d be stupid enough to break into the national cricket ground.” Barry and I then look in each other’s eyes. In a symbiotic light bulb moment. As if to say “Exactly!” Jenny’s attempt to bring some much needed sense to the table has backfired massively. “The perfect crime” I mouth to Barry. He mouths the words back to me as our pal Tim shouts something to the contrary. Not sure what exactly as my mind was already racing in the opposite direction. I ask Barry “What about the cameras?” “That’s the beauty of it. They only check them if they know something’s happened”. “The perfect crime” we excitedly whisper.

Jenny drags Tim to the bar, leaving us with her new fella, who leans in to make sure he's not overheard “What are you going to steal from a cricket ground?” “Steal!?” Barry looked incredulous, even if he were incapable of such an emotion. “We’re going camping”.

We all met Barry on a camping trip three months earlier. We had booked out an 8 bed hut in Remutaka, Wellington. It was our usual tight knit gang of 30 somethings. Plus this cumbersome stranger in the night, Barry. He showed up in the dark, scaring half the gang to death. He weighed 200lbs and was soaking wet. He was holding a bright yellow pop up tent under one arm. And a plastic carrier bag of various cans of drink in the other. Not many people can pull off a mono-brow and Barry was no exception. Really, it broke Kiwi etiquette rocking up without booking a bunk but it would have been far worse of us to turn him away.

He was a bit mad and shit like ‘this tent is my spaceship’, just the sort of nonsense I love but the others found too much. I never understood how his fellow Kiwi's wouldn’t have any follow up questions. He carried that thing everywhere. He was surprised to hear I’m English. It’s not like I lost my accent. Maybe growing a mullet and moustache is more prominent. It can be tough to hear past a mullet. Everyone else went to bed but Barry and I stayed up all night chatting. By the time the sun came up we had invented a new sport - Urban Camping. Two weeks later, I showed up at the botanical gardens fully expecting Barry to be a no show but there he was, holding that bright yellow pop up tent - For our middle of the night, illegal stealth camp.

“You do realise just how illegal it is to break into the Basin don’t you?” Jenny was back from the bar. She even got Barry a beer. This was the nicest thing she’d done for Barry despite the pint being conditional “Don’t make him do it Barry. You know he’s easily led.” Now we all knew that Barry was a total imbecile. Which made it all the more humiliating that he looked at me sympathetically, while he mulled over my various life paths in his head. “Hmmmm” He mumbled to make sure we were all watching. Before pulling a face, that showed us in no uncertain terms, the weight of this responsibility will be milked profusely.

“Enough!” I shot out of my seat and threw my palms flat on the table. I decided I needed to be decisive. Everyone stared expectantly as though I already knew what that decision was. Everyone’s face was the same patronising concern except for Barry’s. His eyes filled with worry as though I was about to let him down. “Drink your drink Barry. We’re going camping.” I thought I heard somebody sink the black at the pool table but it was just the sound of their collective eye rolls. “Don’t try and stop me.” I cry theatrically in the absence of anyone trying to stop me. ”Barry would never set me wrong.“ I lied. I must have tagged that last line on to try and coax some sort of appeal but my lack of subtlety was enough for everybody to wish me good luck. Barry patted me on the back, as if to say ‘thanks for believing in me’. My look of anguish wasted on all of them. I even tried the look on him but, the Barry's of the world are impervious to such pretences. They would never let a little reality derail their optimism. He raised his glass… ”Cheers Barry. Never doubted you for a second”.

II Breaking & Entering

We walked the mile or so from the Moon Bar to the Basin Reserve, home of the Black Caps. Like a lot of cricket grounds the stadium was just a big middle of a roundabout. We slowed to a stop from the far side of the road. “How do we get in?” The answer was obvious, I just didn’t want to be the one to say it out loud. Barry pointed to the front gate “I’ll just give you a boost.” His raised brow somehow adding a “Duh” at the end. No poker face our Barry, he thought I was being slow.

Without slowing down Barry launched the duffel bag over the gate, spun to face me and interlaced his fingers - to make a sort of foot basket. Though loud and unsubtle, it was a slick move throwing the bag first. It gave me no time to back out. No time to suggest we walk a couple laps around the ground first, to dwell on the high-risk low reward, brazen stupidity of it all. In fact all that managed to go through my mind was ‘Better make use of that foot basket before Barry shoots me another condescending look.’ I’m not having him think I’m stupid. Even if in order to prove it I have to do something irredeemably moronic.

I threw my right shoe into his hands and he hoisted me over in four seconds flat. I instinctively turned around and flung my hands through the railings to make a foot basket for Barry. In part, to impress him with my professional, cat-like reflexes. But mainly to discourage Barry from doing a runner and phoning the police on me ‘as a joke’ - something I could imagine him doing. Biting his bottom lip, Barry tried hoisting himself over with the grace of a much older, fatter cat - with fewer legs. The gate made clanging noises as Barry shouted “Bastard!” throughout the proceeding. He lands butter side down and I help him up “At least we’ll know if there really is no security after that fucking racket.”

I go to pick up the bag but he insists. We walked a few paces to the edge of the grass before stopping out of respect. Taking in a stadium lit sparsely by the surrounding street lights, alternating streaks of shadow orange. Barry lent his arm on my shoulder and said “Amazing innit.” “Well to be honest mate, I might be English but ain't watched a cricket game in my life.” He opened his mouth to feign disappointment but then admitted “Same. Went to check the scores during the world cup once and realised I didn’t know what the number meant.” “So why’d you say it’s amazing Barry?” “Dunno. Probably is amazing though?” “Well yeah mate. It’s absolutely definitely probably”.

After we cleared that up, we walked in long strides matching each other step-for-step, as though we were marking out the final paces of a treasure map. As we drew to the middle an emotional wave hit us both. Never has such a sense of achievement been felt so strongly without having actually achieved anything. We had talked about the pinnacle of urban camping but never really thought we’d reach it. He gave me the nod and handed me old yellow out of the duffel bag but I knew it meant more to him. “No you do it.” Confident the next word out of his mouth would be ‘Together’. “Alright” He said and Barry walked up to where the bowlers normally do their thing, took a deep breath and a short run up. Then ‘bowled’ the pop up tent high into the air, where it sprung open and landed just outside the crease - right side up. Beautiful. I’m sure -insert cricketers name here- would be proud.

As ever, we emptied the rest of the duffel bag into the tent to take stock. 11 cans of Export Gold, 2 cans of craft beer for pudding, 2 blow up pillows and 3 bags of premium crisps (2 cheese & onion, 1 BBQ). Then following our precise ritual we then blew up our camping pillows and laid down outside the tent, steadily making our way through the provisions until 1 of us fell asleep or the weather turned. Signalling it was time to head home before we got caught.

“What the fucking hell are you two doing!” I bolted up. It was well into morning. Barry was laying perpendicular to me, using my thigh as a pillow and his actual pillow as an eye mask. “Ooh fuck!” I said at the sight of them. 2 coppers and 2 ground staff. The coppers looming over us, the ground staff laughing and taking pictures on their phone. I gave Barry a poke and he realised what he just heard was not part of his dream. “Ooh fuck.” He then looked to me hoping I might catch him up. I said “That’s what I said.” “Ooh fuck indeed gentlemen.” The male copper not hiding his enjoyment. Difficult to blame him really.

The male copper was tall with short dark hair and the female was short with a tight ponytail. For the life of me I can’t recall what the ground staff looked like. Barry kept on scanning around. His eyes filled with the same question mine was. ‘Just how illegal was this?’ The female copper says “You do realise just how illegal it is to break into the Basin, don’t you?” Barry pulled his disgusted face he usually reserves for Jenny. The fact two people have now said this sent a pang of fear into the pit of my stomach. I looked over to the main gate to see a dozen or so stadium staff and that fear then fell out my arse. “There’s not a match on today is there?” Difficult to say who found this more funny out of the 2 pairs of uniforms. The female copper at least took a breather to explain “Pull the other one. England vs the Black Caps is the biggest match we’ll have this year.” I looked over to that absolute bastard Barry. He looked down & away like a guilty puppy. The absolute bastard.

III Done For

At the police station we were thrown into the same interview room. This means they’re not worried about the charges, which is either a very good sign or very bad. A plain room with a table and three chairs. No two way mirror like in the movies, just a photo of Wellington Harbour. We were barely in there a minute before a sharp looking Maori detective in his 50’s sat us down. Greeting us with a wide eyed and excitable “Kia ora!” each and a firm handshake. He was a bit too pleased to see us, which was either a very good sign or very bad. “Congratulations gentlemen, you two are famous”. Difficult to imagine this was very good.

“Protesters’ is it?” And so I turn to Barry “May-beee weee aree pro-test-errrs?” No point trying to hide it from the detective. There was no point at which Barry might catch on but he wouldn’t. Barry nods knowingly because he realises I am communicating something yet responds “We were just camping.” Idiot. Even the detective looks disappointed at his inability to play the game. “You do realise just how illegal it is to break into the Basin Reserve Cricket Ground don’t you?” I give in “Why does everyone keep saying that!” “Well, it’s one of them older laws that haven’t dated too well. Like how it is an offence to be intoxicated in a public house. Or operate a cow under the influence. Or my personal favourite, anyone who shall break into the Basin Reserve Cricket Ground will be fired out of a cannon!”

I go to reassure Barry that the detective is clearly bored off his tits and having us “Nah, yeah, well we did learn about that one in school like. Everyone from here knows that.” “You’re both having me on.” “No your friend is completely correct. The Basin used to be a Naval dock until an Earthquake reduced the land to a bog. So in 1863 Wellington Council began work to fill the reserve to form a cricket ground, using Mount Cook prisoners.” The detective tails off mid-story due to the absolute disgust on my face. But then he notices an enthralled Barry gawping like a kid on Santa’s knee, so continues re-energised. “One night affiliates of the prisoners broke in and buried weapons in the bog for a coup d’etat. After weeks of violent jail break attempts and riots the council requested the Navy take back command of the site. Seeing as they still technically had jurisdiction over the Basin. The first thing the did was sign capital punishment decree - the last one standing in New Zealand law today. ‘Anyone who shall break into the Basin Reserve Cricket Ground will be fired out of a cannon’. Although nobody ever did, until now.”

“You two need to stop. I’m not having it. Absolutely not. Get fucked, the pair of ya.” I was done. Barry opens his mouth a while before the words follow “Yeaaah” he says remembering. “We went to the cricket museum on a school trip. It’s inside the Basin! There’s a whole thing on it.” “This is actually quite exciting for me as a local officer of the law.” Barry actually congratulated him. His lack of irony making me want to hoof him right in the bollocks. They moved us into separate cells and asked us if we had any final requests. I demanded a phone call with the British High Commission and wrangled my extradition back to the UK. Barry’s last request was that he got to carry his tent with him into the barrel of the cannon. The following morning they fired Barry and that yellow pop-up into the harbour. The reports say it sprung open in mid-air. They never found his body.