March

I went on a march yesterday. You might have seen something about it on the news.

The march itself, I mean. Not my involvement.

My participating probably wasn't covered by the mainstream, so-called "news" outlets. But I was there.

I should have taken photographs to illustrate the fact, but I didn't. So what could have been an interesting pictorial account of the day, will become just another stream of vowels, consonants and the occasional vonsonant (but no cowels - I draw the line there).

I probably don't need to explain why I was marching, but I'll give it a quick go.

The government's policy of sweeping cuts is both immoral and detrimental to the future of the economy. Poor people and public services are taking the brunt of an assault which is only happening because of the mistakes of the rich. The government have made their priorities clear: they'd rather have happy bankers than libraries; they'd rather have competition than justice; they'd rather have a patronising and false expression of concern, rather than a single shred of human decency.

We've been told they don't have a choice. But they do have a choice - they're just not interested in the option which doesn't conform to their ideology.

Anyway, I'm sure there are places where you can find this expressed more eloquently and with more actual information.

The long and short of it (and the middle of it, and the quite long of it) is that a huge range of people from different professions, parts of the country, and with a wide selection of haircuts all marched through London. And so did Lucy and I.

Lucy is a seasoned protester from her student days. She'd done it all: anti-war, anti-top up fees, anti-arms trade, anti-Muscovado sugar, pro-arms trade, anti-hairnet, pro-sugar war. [Some of those are lies] So I let her be my guide.

We left early on the Oxford Tube (which is a coach that goes between Oxford and London, and is a constant source of refuge - especially on journeys back from London, which are always a cause of huge relief).

This journey didn't prove to be very relaxing, however. I had to go to the toilet. So I went to the coach toilet. (I hope you're following this)

As I was closing the toilet door, I didn't realise my left thumb was in a dangerous place, near the hinges, so I closed the door hard. I immediately sensed something was wrong. I think it was because of the metal biting into the tip of my thumb. And then the pain. And the blood.

If you're in discomfort, one of the worst places to be is a coach toilet. It doesn't have much of a soothing atmosphere. It smells, and is small. There are no nurses on hand. They don't have a comfy bed in which to lie down.

I managed to complete the task at hand (which was only a simple urination, I should/shouldn't add), and got back to my seat, where I nearly passed out. I think it was from shock (the injury isn't so bad).

I think the shock was exacerbated by the secondary shock that I'm a complete wimp. If I faint when I get my thumb caught in a door, I probably wouldn't do too well in a war/torture situation. I always assumed I'd be a tough, rugged warrior. But apparently I'm a complete sissy. (Is 'sissy' politically correct?)

After some water and some sitting still, I felt a lot better and (after plastering the affected appendage), we were ready to march!

You might imagine that during all this, Lucy was rolling her eyes: she (a warrior) being tied to this grimacing casualty before we'd even left the bus. But luckily, she was very compassionate and helpful. I suppose she's used to being ashamed of me, so this wasn't much of a shock.

We got the tube to Temple, and then joined the throng of people feeding into the main march. 'Throng' might be the wrong word (is 'throng' politically correct?), but there were loads of people. It was really uplifting to see so many people, and so many types of people.

(Not sure about the italicisation there. Makes me sound like I'm judging particular groups with scorn. But sadly there's no way to undo italics. Thanks a lot, Bill Gates.)

So many accents and age groups, people representing fire fighters, teachers' groups, local unions. And the atmosphere was really positive. I think that's something that hasn't been emphasised enough in the media coverage: though we were there for a serious reason, there was a real sense of positivity and creativity in proceedings. There were costumes, balloons, funny placards, and bands.

Incidentally, you never feel more like an old-fashioned protester or than when you're marching with a brass band. Something about brass makes the atmosphere seem noble and historic - I would have joined the Communist party if I didn't look so bad in red.

As the march slowly, slowly made its way along the route, noise would spread its way along. People had horns and whistles and drums, and every now and then a wave of sound would ripple forward through the crowd as though it was a separate entity, or like an electric current pulsing though a conduit composed of people - marching forward with us.

It was very uplifting. Weirdly, it reminded me of going to watch football. There too, there's a sense of being part of a mass - the closest we get to being a flock of starlings, moving in unison - and having a shared purpose. And (despite what some people say), football crowds have a similar positive energy: everyone is together.

One of my favourite things from the march was accidentally bumping into a fellow protester. I excused my self, and at the same time, she apologised too, saying "I'm sorry!" in a sweet, well-spoken sing-song way, all the while wearing a David Cameron face mask with a swastika drawn on the forehead. Superb.

It was quite tiring, moving so slowly. But there were always things to look at: a line of policeman protecting a branch of McDonald's, the rising boos as we passed Downing Street, a child giving out badges.

We walked past Trafalgar Square (later to be the site of some media-pleasing violence) where flares were lit, and there were eerie puppets of death and a large horse, for some reason.

Eventually, we made it to the rally in Hyde Park. It was difficult to get a sense of the numbers of people, but watching it later on the news made it clear what a massive movement it was.

We arrived about halfway through the rally (which consisted of various speakers, live music, and protest videos). I'd half expected it to be a parade of celebrities, but the majority of the speakers were union representatives and individuals from a wide range of places, all united by the cause. The union speakers were all excellent: passionate, concise, moving, and all seemed excited by the prospect of speaking to such a crowd.

At times I felt like a bit of an intruder, given that I'm not a union member, and that the cuts aren't particularly affecting me, but the speeches clearly expressed the problems that were happening, and that the whole country was being hurt.

It's funny (and by funny I mean horrible) that all the things I truly value about this country are under threat: the NHS, the libraries, funding for the arts. I don't think I really expected Cameron to be as stereotypically awful as he has.

I should say that I like to think of myself as someone who tries to rationally engage with politics. I really do consider different sides and different opinions. Despite my generally leftist stance, I don't think I'm closed to the problems with that ideology.

And I know that the rally was put together with a particular viewpoint. But I think there's agreement about the detrimental nature of these policies that's really far-reaching. This wasn't a group only composed of anarchists, keen on demolishing the state. This was a broad group of people united under a banner of fairness.

I probably haven't put enough thought into this entry. Or enough jokes. And I've probably included too many vonsonants. But what can you do?

We went home, tired but satisfied. Will it make any difference? I don't know. This is just part of a wider campaign. Hopefully even if this doesn't make the government reconsider existing plans, it will make them wary about the implications of future ones.

So, well done comrades! I was proud to be there.

Doing a good deed is a real boost. Now the next time I throw hot Starbucks coffee into the face of a homeless man, suffocate him with a Tesco carrier bag and then film it on my Vodafone mobile, my conscience will be clear as crystal.