Two years onOn Wednesday it was Winter, Thursday and Friday were Spring, and today for London’s peace march we had Summer – the peaceniks were sweaty and footsore, but hugely energised. It felt big and solid and persistent.
Favourite placard (trimmed with the same bright fabric as her dress): WE DON’T HAVE TO FUCK EACH OTHER OVER TO SURVIVE.
Favourite chant: IF YOU THINK THAT BLAIR’S A POODLE, GO WOOF WOOF! All: WOOF! WOOF!
More of the march when I’ve downloaded my photos.
I heard on the radio the young soldier who’s been awarded the Victoria Cross – the first in 25 years – for risking his own life to save others in Iraq. He was saying those things that ordinary heroes say: ‘I didn’t think, just did what seemed obvious’… ‘He’s still a Private – not for long I suppose?’, the interviewer asked the army spokesman. Well, the spokesman said, with some embarrassment, he was still recovering from his terrible injuries and might not actually stay in the army. ‘Oh’, said the interviewer, a man renowned for having a great deal to say, ‘oh, um, I see’… There was a pause while he (and all the listeners, I suppose – this one certainly) swallowed hard - unimaginable horrors suddenly brought down to one man, whom we couldimagine.
Walking home through the park after the demonstration: magnolia trees suddenly in flower and squirrels racing and the softest air, scoured clean by Winter.
¶ 7:32 pm
Hi Jean. I came here from Tamar's site, In and Out of confidence. I'm also thrilled that the sun shone on the march.