#G20 Fools Day
I went to the April 1st protests on Wednesday, mostly because something was happening in my home town and I couldn't just sit at home and ignore it, than because I am anti-capitalism. I'd be a hypocrite if it was for that reason, with my clothes from high street shops, and my camera and mobile phone (never mind that I bought my coat in 1999 and my phone is falling apart).
That's not to say I am completely anti-socialism, either. There are good points to be said on both sides, and there's a lot to be said for the fuzzy grey area in between. People at protests can be quite didactic and only see things in black-and-white. Such didacticism doesn't allow any room for the grey areas, and heaven forbid you might actually be able to see things from the enemy's point of view…
That being said, I was quite happy to avoid the ruckus taking place outside the Bank of England, although beyond the police barrier people were milling around with little direction, seeming unsure about what they should be doing or where they should be going. It seemed as though the police weren't really sure what they were doing, either. Outside the Bank on Prince's Street, there was just a row of regular bobbies in their silly helmets, having a laugh with the people nearby. Meanwhile, on Lothbury at the parallel side of the building, not more than a few metres away, the police were all dressed in riot gear, looking very surly. It was as though the Met were trying some sort of controlled experiment to see which approach would be more successful. Over on Wormwood Street, there was a line of them, wearing different clothes all together.
Down on Bishopsgate, the Climate Camp had a nice atmosphere, more like a festival, although of course lacking any sound systems or music besides the usual drums. As we passed by all the little groups of people, I noticed quite a few earnest discussion groups, and pockets of people with instruments although nobody was playing them at the moments we went past.
It was great to see all the tents in the middle of a road which is usually heaving with traffic, although we did laugh at it, because they were all dome tents. Dome tents in themselves are not funny, and everyone has them these days, but it was funny to think that 10-15 years ago they wouldn't have been able to pitch any tents in the street, because no one could afford dome tents back then, and ridgepole tents don't work on concrete, since there's nothing to drive the pegs into. Mind you, 15 years ago there would have been sound systems. (Actually, 15 years ago we were protesting against the Criminal Justice Bill and its anti-rave provisions. Anyone else remember the day all the ravers from across the country ended up dancing in the fountains at Trafalgar Square? Good times…)
I bumped into a couple of pals at the Climate Camp, and we went for a wander around but there was nothing happening. I don't mean that we were looking for riots, there really was nothing happening, anywhere. The protest outside the Bank of England was so well contained that nobody outside seemed to know what to do, except for the people watching avidly from their office windows. It would have been nice if more people had just taken advantage of the sunny weather and traffic-free streets, in a kind of Reclaim The Streets thing, but, other than milling aimlessly around, no one was, so the boys decided to look for a pub.
We ended up at Ye Olde Watling on Bow Lane, quite a nice pub, with an intriguing line in sausages (pork + rhubarb or beef + damson, anyone?) and some good guest beers - although the stairs to the toilets are scarily some of the steepest I've ever scaled. The pub telly was showing the news, so we could see what the mess inside the police blockade was like, which was, er, messy. Typically, the news kept banging on and on about the riots, but didn't mention that outside of that tiny area there was no trouble at all, everyone was very peaceful and even most of the police were quite smiley. We would have been happy to stay in the pub, but they decided to close, as did most of the other pubs we passed. I don't really blame them, though, considering the way the media was scaremongering so much.
We walked up to St Paul's and thought we'd try the pub in Paternoster Square, because it looked open as we walked past the windows. The only problem was getting in to Paternoster Square, as all of the entrances were being guarded by riot police with those giant tank-like vans that looked utterly incongruous in such a quiet peaceful area (see photo above). We thought it was a bit of overkill - what were they expecting to happen here? It looked weird as there were so few people there, mostly workers and the occasional bemused tourist. There was about one police officer for every civilian, and it was the only place any of us had any police hassle.
Most of them, even in their riot gear, were still being smiley, and waved us through when we said we wanted to go to the pub, but one regular bobby with his silly helmet appeared determined to have his day, probably because they'd all been standing around with bugger all to do all day and he was desperate for some kind of action. He was convinced that Rooney's monopod was about to be deployed as a weapon at any moment, even though all of the riot police had seen it and not had a problem with it. He was being a real jobsworth about it, too, and it took three constables to question Rooney for about 15 minutes. The funny thing was that the other constables nearby were all rolling their eyes at him and trying to distance themselves from him by saying things like, "he's not from my unit." One of them in particular was very avuncular and moaning about the fact that he had to work late and wouldn't get to see his wife, and wishing he could come to the pub with us. Even though he was quite obviously asking leading questions about our plans for later, he did so with a friendly attitude that didn't get our backs up. I know it's just a tactic, but it's a much better one than being an aggressive jobsworth. Despite his avuncular tones, I still made sure I was on the other side of the square when I was breaking the law by taking photos of the police, since that would be such a stupid thing to get arrested for. (Of course, when I got home I remembered that Paternoster Square is now home to the Stock Exchange - which I keep forgetting has moved there - which explains the heavy police presence.)
As it happened, by the time they finished questioning Rooney, and confiscated his monopod (to be collected 48 hours later), the pub there was closed, too, so we ended up at the Viaduct Tavern, where there appeared to be a heavy dude in a smart waistcoat on the door. Imagine my surprise when I heard him asking the bartender if they served scrumpy! Just goes to show, one shouldn't be too prejudiced.
The rest of my photos are here