Background Intro: Officials cancelled several village concerts last night because the DB levels were too high.

As a protest against the low DB levels I pulled out one of my 1970s loud shirts and cat-walked down the high street.

I was immediately stopped by a noise warden but I was let off with a warning as the shirt only managed to register 40DB. I think the low levels were mainly due to natural colour fading and lack of washing, the latter causing noise distortion due to the so-called dulling stain effect.

I was however cautioned for not carrying the right documentation: apparently the type of shirt I was wearing needs a special entry certificate which certifies that it doesn't clash with the official old town colouring scheme.

I tried to persuade them that the rule only applies to buildings, but in fact the wording implicates "any still object" without specifying timescales, hence if I wanted to sit and have a quiet drink then I would be liable.

To avoid any misunderstanding I started to rock from side to side and move my arms to and fro. I wanted to avoid any chance of being charged with un-colourful behaviour - besides, can you imagine the cost of having to hire an architect to restructure your shirt?

The swaying led to another complication, the fact that we are in an earthquake area - to avoid the risk of it falling apart at the seams and causing injury to some innocent passer by meant that it could be considered for demolition.

Before I knew what was happening a cordon with 'Danger! Do Not Enter!' signs was erected around my shirt and me.

Now normally I would have started to laugh about the silliness of the whole thing but then I started to think: what if I was wrong and they were right? I mean, they have a lot more experience about these sorts of things, the only thing I know about shirts is how to wear them, and apparently I do that badly.

I realised that I was standing not close to, but inside a dangerous shirt. It could fall apart at any moment, I could be killed, or maimed or even worse its collapse could cause my hairy chest to be exposed in public leading to even more complications.

I froze, sweat started to drip down my forehead and started to make its way slowly towards my neck. I knew it would only be a matter of minutes and the already delicate and unsteady situation that my shirt was in would be worsened by damp.

Everyone was holding their breath, eyes fixed firmly on my perspiration. The town had never experienced DB levels so low.

Suddenly a voice came out of the crowd, "make way, make way, I am a professional seamstress" - a small woman armed with a needle and thread came towards me. She examined every seam then turned towards the crowd and gave the all clear.

The DB levels went up suddenly, the woman was arrested for inciting high volume levels and I sneaked off home to change.