It was April fools day 2009 and the storm clouds were gathering beneath the crisp blue skies of the first signs of spring. The distant beat of the drums of revolution set the pace of heart beats from EC3 to W1.
Thousands were ordered to travel to work in disguise lest they be torn limb from limb by the drooling hordes of the G20 protest.
Police publicised fears of 35,000 strong mobs who wouldn't give the slightest countenance to bludgeoning any man seen making a financial transaction.
The scene was set, the curtain tautened on the final act in London's beastly, unforgiving capitalist greed. Beads of sweat ran unfettered down the foreheads of City employees.
Co-workers dared not look up from their work in fear of catching the each others eye and the paddocks of panic be thrown open.
London waited.
I waited.
Missing my alarm I was awoken with a phone call hyphenated by the immortal words, 'you gracing us with your presence today then mate?'. It was 10:30am and I was already and hour late for work.
'The protests will be in full flow by now' I thought, 'surely my bus will be mobbed by enraged anti-capitalised and I be trampled to death when the bus emerges on to Old Street?'
Such is the price of lateness that one must cross mountains and burning cinders with bare feet to keep ones job, regardless of the empty canyon of pointlessness that awaits at the final destination. Thus, I set about my intrepid journey risking my very being in the process. 45 minutes and no incidents later, I was in the office.
I say no incidents, one lady on a bicycle stopped at a traffic light then leaned out with her hand to rest on the bus door. Unfortunately the bus door was open and she fell through screaming in shock as she did so. Hardly the limb tearing, hippie induced carnage that I was expecting but harrowingly hilarious none-the-less.
So here we are, 14:59pm and what of the 35,000 strong protest wielding the baton of the unknown? Well, BBC live indicates that roughly 3,000 people are calmly and reasonably objecting to the excesses of those who plunged us into economic decline.
This is not an indiscriminate finger pointing, simply a significantly sized protest aimed at the institutions that represent the individuals who let us all down with their greed and thoughtlessness.
What of the disguise that I had to wear to work today? Has the purchase of a stick on moustache and blacking up all been necessary? Working in Soho not in the EC3 area means that it most probably has not. Perhaps were I a city worker it would have held more provenance. However i wonder how they have gone about disguising themselves? The advised 'smart casual' is unlikely to have resulted in much more than a give away pair of chino's paired with slicked back hair and loafers. Perhaps they were given Shoreditch issue skinny jeans and tattoos? Regardless, the casualty list is thus far minimal.
Regardless, A window at RBS has been broken, the building graffiti (presumable with 'Citizen Smith woz 'ere') and the live BBC feed informs me that one policeman felt the need to tap a man on the head with baton. I advise the man to sue.
All in all, what will come of this?
Exaggerated anecdotes and a piece of fairly innocuous history? or Global revolution?
I hazard the former.
It is all rather wonderful that there are people who will come out and stand up for what they believe in though. Even if does happen to be 3,000 instead of 35,000. I wouldn't stop them, I wouldn't want them to stop, I wouldn't cast a middle class Tory voting judgemental glance their way.
I'm elated that this can all happen.
The real question, the burning, agonising inquisition on my the very tip of my tongue is...'Where in good Gods name did those near adolescents get that armoured vehicle from?'
Absolutely fucking fantastic.
