Sheltering from the torrent of hailstones from the heavens beneath a bright blue umbrella with a pot-bellied cat brandishing a sword, we waited for the skies to clear again so the May Day play could commence.

In a quiet, unsuspecting square in Mayfair, about a hundred people had gathered to celebrate May Day. Under the watchful eyes of the metropolitan police, who almost matched the revellers in number, the procession of cross-dressing, costumed merry-makers bearing flags and baskets of food to share gathered in Shepherd Market. Sound systems on bikes accompanied them, and provided the music for the maypole, which arrived a few minutes later and was erected in the middle of the square. This symbol of fertility had been made to look particularly phallic for the occasion, with white ribbons fluttering from the head at the top of the pole.

Some people danced in the street to the music, others milled around with baskets of food, offering snacks to the baffled police looking on, whilst others, still, threw wet sponges at one man in the stocks (next to the maypole), who sported a mask of Boris Johnson.

The play saw the hero of the people, Robin Goodfellow (a predecessor of Robin Hood), defeat the evil Fat Cat (my umbrella partner), to save the May Queen from his evil clutches and share his wealth amongst the people.

This was no standard May Day protest. In fact, it was decidedly not a protest. It was a celebration. A protest is subject to the public order act, as was made clear following the pro-Tibet demonstrations that followed the Olympic torch around London. However, if one happens to be celebrating, the party can go on.

Whilst the celebration was good-humoured, the police took video footage of the event where they could, although this was hampered by a persistent band of black banners held by some in front of the cameras, proclaiming themselves to be “recognised enemies of the state.” Other “celebrators” in turn filmed the police filming them, making light of the police presence.

The event was marked as a celebration of the 300th anniversary of a Grand Jury suppression of the traditional May Fayre in central London. One party-goer proclaimed it, “the first May Fayre in Mayfair for 300 years,” adding that I should be dancing more.