Much has been made of the dwarf-throwing contest at the Altitude Bar, probably as it is the activity second most alien to Buckingham Palace; the first being topless darts. A small fraction of the mind can imagine a sherry-crazed Prince Phillip jutting his jaw out in pleasure at a garlanded display of Honululuian Pygmy Limbo, only because there is something Royal Tournament-esque about it. The dwarf-tossing detail was what made Martin Johnson’s sober comments about ‘just a few lads having a beer’ seem even more absurd. When he implored that: 'You've got to have a balance in your life’, the billed Mad Midget Weekender seemed unlikely to provide much ballast and stability.
It wasn’t until the intriguingly groomed and camp nightclub bouncer, Jonathan Dixon, waded into the fray, that the whole affair gained a sinister, treasonable angle. Dixon publicised the CCTV footage and with it, attracted the police’s interest. But there was something comically lost and uncertain about Dixon’s appearances in front of press semi-circles, as if he had taken PR lessons from Murray Hewitt in Flight of the Conchords. During one, he seemed to issue the shaky warning of ‘Don’t do a Tindall’, then became childishly obsessed with a ‘rude cat’ representing Radio New Zealand, before distractedly mumbling ‘where are my mates?’ Then he unsuccessfully attempted to blag a lift from an apparent stranger in a green Hyundai Estate.