The Arab greybeard touches him on the arm - "there are many beautiful moments to be had if you embrace Mohamed". The young man shrinks deep into his seat, wondering what could be more beautiful than the Lake District, especially after a year in a sullen bed-sit.

He waves goodbye to the beat-up van and finds the lake-edge camping ground. He meditates on his newfound freedom with the seagulls, hot chips and super lager. His tent is full of holes from the London damp, and the ground is hard, but he sleeps like a baby.

In the crisp morning he reloads his hefty pack and walks out of Keswick. Around some hills and wrong turns, over fences, he refuses to ask for directions. The campsite is close to full. He pitches his tent behind a hedge, with views of the valley and a tent containing six young women.

In his daypack are healthy filled rolls and cans of warm cider. He hikes through the edge of a forest, alongside a cascading stream. He stops for an hour and sits quietly amongst the moss and branches. He carefully washes his amulet, his crystal, a plastic cow and a small black stone. For each he utters a magical mantra, before returning them to a velvet pouch.

In a paddock behind stone walls he finds the stone circle. It is waiting. He studies it from every angle before leaning against the tallest menhir and reading a paperback by Jean-Paul Sartre.

When the sun goes down it is almost the next day. Fifty people are split into small quiet groups. They have sleeping bags and heavy coats, little tents and flashlights. The police near the gate quietly observe the private property. The crowd grows. He feels claustrophobic. He climbs the tallest stone and breathes deeply. Bongo drums begin, then guitars. A woman with black eyes and a granite face stands near. She drinks wine from her bottle like a pro. They exchange glances. Her boyfriend searches the grass for some hash. She climbs and sits beside him. Others catch on and soon it is a circle of stone sofas and chairs.

She points out all the travellers she knows, tells him stories. She introduces Geezer, the six foot six skinhead in a Drizabone. He dips his fingers into the man's pockets and licks off hash yoghurt. He dabs the man's speed. He dances with everyone and sings and plays with toddlers and their mums and parties until the sun returns. The summer solstice. They awaken many that are face down or in sleeping bags. They stand in silence and feel the sun.

He hitch-hikes out of the Lake District in search of an afternoon nap somewhere new.

The Australian witness was on the outskirts of Carlisle, standing at the intersection of the A12 and the B119. He had been attempting to thumb a lift North and had been waiting for approximately ninety minutes. A blue Volkswagen van pulled over. A man in the passenger seat, who we shall refer to as "the passenger", offered him a lift. The Australian witness thought they looked like "happy hippies" and accepted the offer. The passenger opened the rear door, and the Australian sat in the back. The van had no side windows, the door could not be opened from the inside. The driver, who we shall call "the blonde psycho", drove on in the direction of Brampton. He appeared to be intoxicated and veered on occasion into the path of oncoming traffic. The Australian idiot yelled out that he should "look where he is going". The passenger assisted with the steering.

The vehicle stopped for a time at Collin's Garage, where the passenger purchased a bottle of Coca-cola and some cigarette papers. This has been confirmed by the their staff. They continued along the B119 before turning down Brandish Road. The blonde psycho was still driving in an erratic manner. At this point the innocent Australian said "it would be okay if you let me out here". The blonde psycho yelled back that he "takes orders from nobody" and continued driving.

When the blonde psycho saw a police van approaching he swerved into a driveway and parked behind some trees. They argued for sometime about his driving before the blonde psycho relented and exchanged places with the passenger.

They drove on and parked outside St Matthew's Cemetery. The blonde psycho told the trapped Australian that his grandfather was buried there. He said that he would bury the Australian there too. He said that he would rip his guts out and feed them to the birds. He opened the door and smashed an empty sherry bottle on the tarmac, which we present to the court as Exhibit A. It has the blonde psycho's fingerprints on it. He held the bottle to the silent Australian's throat. He was grimacing, snarling and glaring. He was full of rage. His language was foul and hateful.

The Australian said he was used to his estranged wife acting similarly, and was able to remain calm.

The passenger took the broken bottle from the psycho and threw it onto the grass verge. They drove on. The clever Australian remained quiet. They parked in Brampton forest, on an unnamed access road. The passenger demanded that the Australian pay them five pounds for the ride. He said he had no money. The two accused then opened the backdoor and leaned in. Again they demanded money. He opened his wallet to prove how empty it was. A twenty pound note was visible and they took it. They let the bewildered Australian go and drove off. He noted that the licence number was F895BEK. He phoned the police from a nearby cottage.

The suspects were apprehended an hour later at Dhaba's, an Indian restaurant, where they were creating a disturbance.

The celebrity Australian helped the police locate the broken bottle and made a statement. He hitch-hiked out of Brampton the next morning.

He flew back from Australia yesterday to be present at this trial.