The Countryside C(o)unts
Sep. 15th, 2004 02:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
webofevilI've just stood inside the gates of Parliament watching a crowd of yahoos hurl fireworks and smokebombs in my direction, most of which detonated next to a line of police horses. This from the people who are always claiming that "you don't understand the ways of the countryside". (Those missiles that didn't go off next to the horses seem instead to have done so among the crowd, which is some consolation.)
Then, as I came inside and walked past a TV monitor, I saw the protestors running around in the chamber of the Commons. "There's going to be trouble," said the nearest policeman, darkly. (He looked disconcertingly like Ken Campbell.) "They've come in from the Civil Service entrance. That can only be an inside job." I watched the protestors being manhandled through the lobby and away to a van—five beery nimrods you could easily imagine whiling away their lives in some desolate pasture, badger-baiting and wanking.
If a stray firework ends up setting fire to the building, for once I hope that Blair, true to form, rustles up a fucking air strike in response.
LATER: I went back outside to find that, although there was still some haranguing going on, the crowd had largely abated. I found myself standing next to Douglas Hurd. We agreed that there was a lull.
My attendance at other such events led me to think that they had all just retired hurt to sundry local pubs in order to get their breath back, have a good kvetch, sink a few pints and return refreshed to the fray. However as dusk fell and there was still no sign, it dawned on me that this demo was different from the others I'd seen, in that all the participants had to leave at a reasonable time because they all had trains to catch. A policeman confirmed this when he told me that all the regrouping in pubs had occurred round about lunchtime.
EDIT: That entry was written before the identity of any of the Commons-invading protestors was known. In the light of what we now know about them, I would like to amend my initial observation to "five beery nimrods you could easily imagine whiling away their lives in some desolate pasture, badger-baiting, playing polo and wanking".
Then, as I came inside and walked past a TV monitor, I saw the protestors running around in the chamber of the Commons. "There's going to be trouble," said the nearest policeman, darkly. (He looked disconcertingly like Ken Campbell.) "They've come in from the Civil Service entrance. That can only be an inside job." I watched the protestors being manhandled through the lobby and away to a van—five beery nimrods you could easily imagine whiling away their lives in some desolate pasture, badger-baiting and wanking.
If a stray firework ends up setting fire to the building, for once I hope that Blair, true to form, rustles up a fucking air strike in response.
LATER: I went back outside to find that, although there was still some haranguing going on, the crowd had largely abated. I found myself standing next to Douglas Hurd. We agreed that there was a lull.
My attendance at other such events led me to think that they had all just retired hurt to sundry local pubs in order to get their breath back, have a good kvetch, sink a few pints and return refreshed to the fray. However as dusk fell and there was still no sign, it dawned on me that this demo was different from the others I'd seen, in that all the participants had to leave at a reasonable time because they all had trains to catch. A policeman confirmed this when he told me that all the regrouping in pubs had occurred round about lunchtime.
EDIT: That entry was written before the identity of any of the Commons-invading protestors was known. In the light of what we now know about them, I would like to amend my initial observation to "five beery nimrods you could easily imagine whiling away their lives in some desolate pasture, badger-baiting, playing polo and wanking".
