10 Things I've Done (But You Probably Haven't)

This is a reply to a blog by this gentleman. I thought it was a splendid idea (if only for his excellent use of the word "thrice", which I also decided to repeat) so I set about thinking of some experiences that I thought were reasonably unique to myself. If you've had the same or similar to any one of these, I'll be checking dates and you can expect to hear from my solicitors in due course.

Only joking.

Or am I?

1. Been Run Over by a Bus - Thrice

The first couple of bus related traumas were of a lighter natures (my feet can't speak so their view on it is not taken into account). For the first I one was crossing a bus station and a bus went over my foot. Intensely painful for a moment then it went away.

A couple of years later I was heading out of town to a training course in a hurry. I stepped into the road to avoid a pavement full of people and my foot got it again.

The third incident was a little more serious. I was running down the road in the middle of town - ironically intending to catch a bus - I ran into the middle of the road, this time to avoid a fork lift truck that was being directed into my path - and I was hit full on from behind by a bus that was coming up behind me. Fortunately the bus was slowing to a halt, or I guess I might not be here typing this. Nevertheless I was still knocked into the air, and sailed forward several feet before crashing painfully to the floor.

I'll never forget the guy who was directing the fork lift truck, clutching his heart with a grimace as he looked down to see if I’d bought it. He needn't have worried too much though as I managed to get up, assure every one I was fine, including a frantic bus driver and a nearby policeman before shuffling off, still determined to get to work. Then the adrenaline wore off, the full extent of how much pain I was in became known to me, and I decided to have a long lie down.

2. Due to Misadventure, Ended up Buck Naked – Twice

So I go to the zoo with a group of my fellow kids (this was when I was about 7). I was fascinated by all of the animals we saw at the zoo but some of the other kids were bored and impatient. They'd only come for one thing: they wanted to see the monkeys. I wanted to see the monkeys too, of course, but what about the crocodiles, the lions and tigers and the lizards and the insects and the bears? Nope. None of these attractions cut any ice with these kids. They were here for the monkeys.

So we got to the monkeys (well, more of a baboon actually.  My memory’s fuzzy but definitely more ape than monkey). See the monkey is agitated. The monkey is clearly not in the mood to be gawped at by a bunch of kids today. But what can the monkey do, it's in a cage and we're not.

Why are the kids running?  Perhaps I should run too. Is the monkey throwing something at the kids?  I wonder what it is.

Something hits the back of my neck.

I run.

Something hits me again.  It is cold, wet and mushy, and it doesn’t smell good.

Can you guess what the monkey was throwing?  It was something he'd produced himself.

Rhymes with species.

We returned to my local park where the group was based. The kids returned home giggling. I waited for my parents to pick me up, wrapped in a towel, and nothing else.

Took me a few weeks to live that episode down.

A few months actually.

Okay a few years.

Fast forward many years after this unfortunate incident - to the point where I like to think I’m passed that accidentally getting naked shit. In fact I’m doing alright - I've got myself a job and my own place, and tomorrow I’m going to a rock festival.  So today I’m having a shower (a last chance to feel completely clean for a few days) in the flat that I recently moved into.

But what’s that?  What's that sound? Is it someone on my doorstep? Is it a letter being delivered? I’ll go and investigate.

No need for a towel, I’m only going to my doorstep and I’ll soon step back inside.

So here I am on my doorstep.

The door, that I'm not really used to yet, swings shut behind me, with a click. And I remember it’s one of those doors that only opens from the inside.

So there I am.  Outside, without a key, or clothes or a towel. 

In fact I haven’t got anything at all, except my skin.  And a feeling of utter stupidity, bewilderment and panic.

So what better time to introduce yourself to your new neighbour?

Who happens to be a lady?

The one consolation is it's very difficult to appear in any way threatening when you're standing on someone's doorstep trying to cover up your various bits, and my new neighbour, after a few moments of disorientation, took pity on me and allowed me to call a local locksmith so he could come over and break into my flat for me. 

I would like to say this was the start of a beautiful friendship between me and my new neighbour, but a few months later she banged on my door in a rage over some loud music that was being played somewhere in our block of flats. She blamed me straight away for the noise, despite the fact it should have been patently obvious to her that no loud noises of such kind were coming from my apartment.  In retaliation I was forced to allow my cat to attack her front door matt. Ah well.

That's enough getting naked capers for now.  But we will return to the theme of locking myself out of my apartment!

3. Had an Unfortunate Experience With an Earwig – Twice*

Earwigs eh?  What do you do with them?  I like insects but earwigs do try my patience. If it's not their legendary ability to climb inside your ear and eat your brain while you're sleeping, it's the fact that they fly and they're ugly little armoured f*ckers.  Oh yeah, and they seem to have a fetish. With me.

So I was sitting on the bus going to school. I feel a tap on the shoulder. A girl says to me "there's an earwig in your hair."

"Oh yeah, pull the other one," I snort and turn away.  But the boy sitting next to the girl stood up with the fascinated expression of an entomologist who was looking at a creepy crawly through a microscope, and said "she's right! I can see it! You'd better hold still..."

I did hold very still while the boy rummaged through my locks, as a crowd of fascinated bystanders gathered (I had hair in those days.  Memories...). Then out of the corner of my eye I saw an earwig spill onto my shoulder, and I screamed like a girl.

When it fell to the floor I petulantly demanded the creature's execution. The school kids who surrounded me happily complied, and the eerie wig was squished.  I feel a bit guilty about that thinking back but at the time I was convinced that justice had been served.  Perhaps the earwig world at that moment decided that an act of vengeance was called for, because for me with earwigs, worse was to come.

Fast forward to the following Summer (or the Summer after that, not sure now) and I was in my back garden, drinking a cool fizzy drink on a hot day. I was drinking from one of those novelty straws which I really liked at the time. I loved the way you could watch the liquid make its way through the complex patterns of loops as it made its way towards your thirsty mouth.  But that day I was finishing off my drink, so had ceased to pay attention to what may be passing through that novelty straw.

As I looked out into my sun drenched back garden, and awaited the slipping sounds that accompany a straw that is hoovering the last remnants of liquid from the bottom of my glass, I felt something relatively large entering my mouth, that felt strange against my tongue. My first instinct was that it was something like sugar or maybe a piece of fruit that had got mixed up with the drink, and to simply swallow it.

But then I noticed other sensations. Was that some kind of hard shell that was sitting on my tongue?

Did the object in question… just move?

With a horrible sick feeling rise up in the pit of my stomach, I spat with all my might.  And it landed on the table, in front of me, glistening with my own saliva.

A large earwig. A large, living earwig. 

Screaming like a girl (again) I hit out at the insect using the glass I'd just been drinking from.  But I only managed a glancing blow and was soon forced to duck as the earwig opened its wings and made its escape, having completed its revenge for the death of its curious fellow beetle type thing.

It could have been worse I suppose.  I could have swallowed.

 

4. Ran a Marathon Carrying a Bandage

My joy at the prospect of taking part in my first London Marathon was tempered by the fact that I had what we in England call "a dodgy knee". I first noticed something was up when I felt something go in it as I was jumping over a fence one day (as you do), and as my marathon training intensified, and the big day got closer, so the pain in my knee area only increased.

But I was determined not to drop out of the marathon (as I had done the year before with a dodgy ankle). So what were my options? A knee support to protect my sensitive area!

And so, two days before the marathon, as I wandered round the London marathon exhibition, I chanced upon a purveyor of knee support equipment - and I purchased his most potent looking supporter of knees. If only I'd read up more on taking part in marathons.  Particularly the bit where they say don't try any new or unfamiliar equipment on the day.

And yet as I lined up for the start my spirits were high.  "Let's do this" I declared, as the long run got under way and I set off, admiring my knee that was strapped up like Tutankhamun as I did so.
The crowds were cheering. The sun was in the sky. The swarm of runners that surrounded me were inspired.

And I was in agony.

For it looked like my knee support didn't want to give my knee much support. Quite the opposite in fact. 

I ran; I slowed to a jog; I slowed further to a walk; then I limped. But it was no good: the pain did not recede.  Finally I admitted defeat and removed my knee support, and began to carry it with me as I limped along. And the weather, as if in response, changed dramatically. It started to rain. And I continued to shuffle along in misery as Spiderman, that guy that always takes part in marathons dressed up as a large rhinoceros and various other runners dressed as novelty characters from film, screen and book overtook me.

I had reached my lowest point, and the best thing to do seemed to be to drop out and hope my knee would hold up better another day.

And yet I didn't give up.  I kept on going.  At mile 7 or 8 I realised I needed the toilet. But one look at the queues that stretched from various lavatories dotted throughout the course persuaded me that attempting to spend a penny was a pointless endeavour.

But even then I didn't give up.  In fact, I gained speed, carrying my knee support as I caught up to Spiderman and overtook him back.  Then I caught the guy that was dressed up as a rhino.  I even overtook the Maasai Warriors as they jogged along carrying their spears and shields. At mile 23 I was greeted by the sound of the classic Elton John hit, "I'm still standing". Man, it felt so good to hear that song!  And it was so perfect for that moment!

And finally, with the river Thames and the Houses of Parliament to my left, and a cheering throng to my right, I crossed the finish line!  My knee was throbbing, my nipples were covered in blood, but I was one happy guy!

5. Knocked on a Stranger's Door in a Rough Area to Ask for a Cigarette

As we learned from Bill's Blog (No. 5), acting on an impulse can be a great way to get what you want or get the best out of a particular moment. I know because I have been that impulsive person.

It comes from my somewhat unhealthy desire to have a cigarette when I'm extremely drunk.  One night I was in Birmingham city centre on a night out, and I got extremely drunk. When it came time to stagger home, I decided buses, taxis and trains were for wimps, and that it was a great idea to talk the 6 or 7 miles back to my parents’ house (where I was staying for the weekend) through some of the roughest areas of the city.

Looking back that wasn't too healthy a thing to do either.

Anyway I was doing the one unhealthy thing when the desire to do the other unhealthy thing struck. 
But what could I do?  There were no shops nearby (that I could see), I didn't have directions to find any shops and there wasn't a soul in sight.  So I decided to go up to the nearest house and knock on the door. 

"Have you got a cigarette I could borrow mate?" I asked the very tall, heavily built and startled Jamaican guy who answered the door. 

"Uh... yeah", he replied, too surprised to do anything else.  He passed me the ciggy and as I was using his lighter he asked "did you just knock on this door just as ask for a cigarette?"

I told him I had, and after a pause he saw the funny side.  Good job too really.


6. Nearly Burned Down Your House and Successfully Blamed the Incident on Your Sister

When I was a lad, I went through a short pyromaniac phase (as you do) and one day I'm feeding bits of newspaper into the gas fire in our living room in order to watch them burn.  I graduate on to bigger bits of paper; then bigger. At length I'm feeding double spreads through the safety grill and then watching in satisfaction as the papers ignite and are engulfed in flames before being reduced to a few black, charred remains.

Then there's an accident.

I let one double spread ignite a little too close to the rest of the newspaper, which also catches fire. I panic and throw sheets of paper round the room – that are all on fire.  The next thing I know I’m surrounded by newspaper double spreads that are all burning noisily and angrily.

And I realise I’m about to burn my house down. 

All the while my little sister watches on, passively.

Fortunately I have the presence of mind to grab a large cushion and run round the room, battering down the flames as I go.  Within short order the crisis has passed.  My mother, however, disturbed by the noise, enters into the room and is amazed to find me exhausted, cushion in hand, surrounded by large piles of ashes which cover the room.  "What on Earth..."

Again I think on my feet.  "Vanessa!" I exclaim towards my startled little sister, "What are you doing?!"

And so my sister gets the blame.  Fortunately she’s so young there is no real punishment meted out, so no harm done to anyone (ahem)! 

However if any relatives are reading with any memory of this incident - I confess.


7. Had John F Kennedy Airport Chasing Round on Your Behalf for No Good Reason

So I'm waiting to fly black to Blighty from New York after failing to run the New York City Marathon due to contracting Swine flu.  I have a few drinks to drown my sorrows and voila! Discover my debit card has disappeared from my pocket. Now I must have left it at that bar I had drinks at... the one on the other side of the airport.

Cue panicked drunken complaining at the help desk, coupled with demands to be taken to the place where I dropped my debit card (I was at the departure lounge by now).

The lady at the departure desk was very nice and called out a minibus to take me over to where I'd dropped my card. 

I waited.  Impatiently. All the while the lady at the desk quietly gets on with her work (work that probably has nothing to do with MY predicament). How could she be so selfish??

"Where's that bus!  There isn't much time!" I drawled.

"It's coming sir," she assured me (though I was not reassured at all).  But not long after (though far too long for me in my drunken panic) the minibus arrives.

Soon we were cruising over the tarmac of the airport, and I was enjoying the view of the aircraft that it afforded (though I was still panicking at the same time).  "You were at the Irish bar you say?" asked the driver.

"Yes!  Yes! You must hurry!" I continued to urge, as I reached into a corner of my trouser pocket that I hadn't felt for a while…

... and discovered my debit card.

It would have been interesting to hear the driver's report afterwards.

"Suddenly the English guy seemed to calm down quite a lot.  Maybe he lost his beer buzz, I don't know."

When we got to the Irish bar I told them it was just where I thought I'd left it.

Fancy that. Heh.

8. Star Gazed With a Fox

It was a warm, mid-July evening, and as a very dark night fell, I strolled over to the park just over the road from where I lived at the time.  A beautiful silence was all around me as I lay on my back in the soft grass and gazed at the sky, as, in the blackness above, pinpoints of light twinkled down at me across distances beyond imagining.  I was there to watch a meteor shower that was due to occur that evening, and I had come to see if I could spot any of the cosmic rocks as they burned briefly in the atmosphere; a last moment of glory as their long journey through the stellar night finally came to a fiery end.

How to spot a meteor: you concentrate on part of the sky - preferably as clear as possible. Then you let your mind wander as you focus on this patch of the firmament.  Eventually you should start to notice them. They burn brightly, just for a second. Like a stellar firework display, created by the Universe itself.  If you're watching the right meteor shower you may even see one every few seconds - and then you would count yourself lucky, as they can be a magnificent sight.

Anyway, I lay there very still for a very long time, as it was a warm night, and gazing at the sky can have a very calming effect. I thought about comets, and meteors, and the Universe, and life and everything. As you do. I enjoyed the stillness of the moment.

Eventually I looked up.

There was a fox sitting next to me.

I looked at the fox, startled, because there was a fox.

The fox looked back at me, startled, because I was looking at it startled. 

I could kind of sense that it didn't get many humans lying in the middle of its park, so I guess it was curious.

For a moment I was completely at a loss on how to proceed. I knew instinctively that the next thing I did would probably cause the fox to run away, and the moment would be lost.  I chose to speak, trying to adopt a reassuring tone.  "I'm just watching the shooting stars..."

No good. It bolted.

I mean you no harm!  Never mind.

9. Spent the Night Sleeping On a Park Bench Outside Your Flat Dressed for Jogging Because You locked Yourself Out

As told earlier (No. 2), I'm not bad at locking myself out of my flat.  It's an unenviable skill but someone has to have it.  And so one summer evening I did it again.  This time, I did have clothes - but not many.  What I mean by that is I'd managed to lock myself out when I'd gone for a run, so all I had on was a t shirt and shorts. 

The time around the end of my run (7.30) and the time when it started getting really late (22.30) I spent walking/jogging between my flat the my landlord's house. I must have made the trip about 8 times (on top of the six mile run I'd done early in the evening, so I wasn't short of exercise that day).  My landlord had already assisted me with this problem, once or twice, but this time he wasn't in, and, as the evening got later, and the temperature dropped, I realised I was on my own.

The only thing I could do was find a bench over in the park where I met the fox (Mr Fox was nowhere in sight - mind you I probably didn't smell too good) and try and get some sleep as best I could.

Pub closing time came and went, and lots of confused students pointed and laughed at me as I lay shivering.

And lo! A security guard took interest (for they were digging up pipes in the park for some reason or other, and I guess they needed to keep the students away).  "What are you doing?" he asked me.
"I am sleeping on this park bench, for I have locked myself out," I replied.

"Oh."

"Why are you dressed in t-shirt and shorts?" he asked me.

"I was jogging when I did it," I replied.

"Oh."

Eventually he lent me a fleece, which was handy because it had got very cold by this time.  In fact it got so cold I had to abandon my park bench start walking laps of the park, through the night and into the grey dawn, because I couldn't keep still. The bright side of this  it did mean I was on the doorstep of the Letting agents when they opened up first thing the next morning. How I must have looked to them by the time I couldn't say, but I got the key, let myself in and washed myself up just in time for work! Hurrah!

Okay maybe I was in a bit late that day.

10. Been chased Through a Railway Station By a Mad Lady Who Wants You to be Bombed

So I was due at a meeting that I had to get to by train, and as the whistle blew, and the train set off, I realised I was going in the wrong direction.  Don't you just hate it when that happens?

The first place I could get off my train and then catch one going in the other direction was the picturesque town of Cheltenham Spa, with it's leafy suburbs, its green hills, and its madwoman who stood by the entrance to the station, proselytising about the coming apocalypse.

And didn't she look like a mad lady, with her wild hair, worn grey overcoat, wild voice and wild eyes, as she stood on the corner, loudly heralding the end of the world, and telling everyone within hearing distance that their destiny was to perish in the resulting bloody carnage.

At this point I should remind everyone of the golden rule: the best way to deal with a crazy person is not to attract the crazy person's attention.  So what did I do?

"Thanks for telling me!" I said in a bright but offhand manner as I passed her.  This, of course was all the mad lady needed. Like a hapless fish, I had been caught on her ranting hook of crazed rhetoric, and what left my mouth as "Thanks for telling me." reached her ears as "I have a deep desire to be endlessly harangued and I challenge you to do so."

"You," screeched mad lady as she latched on to me, "you're going to die!"

"You're a ray of sunshine," I said with awkward false cheer as I speeded up my walking exponentially.  But the lady was not going to be put off by my wit or my accelerated gait. "You're going to die!" she yelled as she walked next to me, "You're going to be bombed!"

At this point I weighed up my options and decided to make a run for it.  The passers-by were then treated to the spectacle of me sprinting across Cheltenham Spa Station forecourt with a crazy lady in hot pursuit, shouting imprecations of doom as she ran after me.

I guess looking back it might have been wiser to just stand there and let her have her say, and after a bit she would probably have run out of curses and left me alone.  But maybe at the back of my mind I was thinking "I wouldn't even be in this position if I'd caught a train going in the right sodding direction."

Anyway, I saw a small newsagents coming up and thought maybe the crazy lady might hesitate to follow me in there. So I ducked in the little shop and my hopes were realised. Crazy lady halted, uncertain of what to do next, and appeared to settle on the decision to wait until I emerged from the shop.

What followed after that was a tense stand-off, as Crazy lady waited, and I stood inside the shop perusing the celebrity tittle tattle, looking up occasionally to check whether she was still there.  After a while she got bored and wandered away.  Victory was mine!

I even caught the last five minutes of the meeting I was meant to be going to.  result!

A Philosopher and His Horse

Socrates went walking with his favourite horse

Horse asked "Where are we going?"

"To the river of course

You're going to get something 

We all need from our youth

When you take a drink

From the waters of truth"

Soon they arrived at a barren empty shore

Horse asked "What do I do now?"

"Take a drink then get more

You'll get knowledge and widsom

And all that good stuff

That will arm you for the future

Because life can be tough"

The horse it stepped forward but then came to a stop

And said "I cannot drink from this"

"Well why on earth not??"

"The problem," said the horse

"And don't think me uncouth

But I have a question

Just what is truth?"

Socrates did wail and said "what will people think?

I've lead this horse to water

But I can't make him drink!"

said the horse "I've seen Star Wars films" 

Both the old and the new

They say there are many truths

From a certain point of view"

Socrates did swear and he tore at his beard

"Lectured by a horse

Now that's bloody weird!

I'm going to leave you now

And amble over yonder

You've right done my head in

And I need to ponder"

Horse turns to audience and says "The moral of this tale

Never assume you can know it all

If you do you will fail

For every ending a start point

For every consequence a cause

This poem is now over

This is my truth, tell me yours"

From the River to the Sea Part Two

Or

#ALotOfCyclingWillBeDoneByMe

Around this time last Summer I was engaged in protests against the bombardment of Gaza in Palestine. And as part of these protests I wrote this blog.  I went on marches, signed petitions, got into arguments with people, stopped buying certain products, the same kind of things that many other people did and are still doing (and will hopefully continue while the present, unjust circumstances remain for Palestine and its people).

At the same time I tried to think of other ways how I could help.

Then earlier this year I got an unexpected answer.  I was invited by Mr Dermot Macward to take part in this challenge:

http://www.redspokes.co.uk/thebigride/

A cycle ride from Edinburgh to London.  The ride will begin on 1st August in Edinburgh and end on 9th August in London.  In between I will cycle 435 miles (average 48 miles per day). The most grueling day of this "mission" will be day 2, which will be 74 miles of cycling and a 1570 meter climb (I should probably be having feelings of dread as I type that but fortunately I'm numb to it at the moment - see the next bit for why).

Here's the full itinerary:

http://www.redspokes.co.uk/thebigride/itinerary.php

And now I'm in the middle of some hard training.

Some very hard training.

Kind of hurts to move at the minute.

Actually it hurts when I don't move.

But we're aiming to raise lots of money for the children of Gaza, we're hoping to raise the profile of the struggle of the people of Palestine for their own country, and we're hoping to bring forward the day when there will be peace and mutual recognition between Israel and Palestine.

You can't accuse us of not being ambitious!

I'm cycling very long distances during my weekends at the moment (I did 120 miles this weekend).  I'm also running, doing bikram yoga (to stop my body getting too brittle) and doing lots and lots of spin classes (much thanks to the people at Cyclebeat in London who play good music while you flog yourself).

What else can I say?  As my cycle top says "Another World Is Possible"!

Would you like to sponsor me?  Of course you would! :)

Here's the link:

https://www.justgiving.com/Jeremy-Parker

Now I've blogged about why I'm doing it I guess I should blog about what it was like doing it!  :-)





The Occupy Rupert Murdoch Protest (Through My Eyes)

Occupy Rupert Murdoch was an event that took place between the 23rd and the 29th of March 2015.  It was an event that I only bore witness to a part of, but one that I am proud to say that I supported.  It was also, in my opinion, long overdue.  And it is my hope that it could be the beginning of something greater.  Perhaps even something that will, in time, help to bring about greater justice and even healing to these islands.  Hope springs eternal.

Rupert Murdoch, it seems to appear, is the epitome of everything that freedom and democracy are not. From his newspapers or TV channels that attempt to the twist the political agenda of whichever country they are operating in to suit Murdoch's personal agenda, to the intimidation of workers who wanted to form an independent union that could operate in the places of work that he lords it over; from the unashamed tax dodging operations that not only avoided being classed as illegal but actually conformed to the laws that he and his kind subverted for their own gain, to the demonisation of ordinary working people to make them appear to be the enemy, when in fact it is Murdoch himself who should be identified as such.

For myself his character is summed up by the ugly covers produced by his primary UK tabloid, the Sun: such as "Gotcha!", the eulogising of the murder of Argentinian sailors who posed no threat to the British blockade of the Falkland Islands during the war to reclaim that territory in the early 1980s, or the "Will the last person to leave Britain please turn the lights out (or to put it another way You'd Better Vote the Way I Tell You To)" before the 1992 General Election. Or the ugliest cover of all (for me), the one that screamed "The Truth", before going on to tell bare faced scurrilous lies about the conduct of the supporters who had suffered in the worst disaster that befell British football since the wars.  For all these reasons and more I felt extremely strongly about this cause and knew I had to be part of it and bear witness.  The fact that it was taking place within a few minutes walk of where I work made my attending of this event as easy as it was imperative.

With this in mind I arrived at the site (the protest was being held in the "valley" between the Shard and the News Building, opposite London Bridge Station) on Monday evening at around 6.30 in the evening, full of curiosity at what I might find. At that point there weren't that many people there. It was a windy, cold and rainy evening, and I'd just missed the speaker who was due to address the crowd (Shahrar Ali, deputy leader of the Green Party).  However I did pick up two important things from this first night's activity:

1) There is now a Code of Conduct that governs behaviour during any direct action that Occupies Spaces.  This revolves around mutual respect, sobriety and non-violence towards your fellow occupiers, any observers whether they are sympathetic to your cause or not, and representatives of the authorities including the police.  This code of conduct is very important I feel because ultimately, whatever "uniform" we may wear, we are all part of the "99 per cent" (i.e. the part of the population that does not comprise the elite/super rich/robber barons/choose - your own description).  In this context we are united by what we have in common far more than anything that may divide us.

2) Occupy Rupert Murdoch have created a rough list of suggestions as to how the Press could be democratised and given true independence from monied interests and corporate advertising in order to give it some semblance of objectivity.

It was these two points that dominated our first assembly on that Monday night.  The new "Independent" press framework was very much in its infancy at this stage and I'm glad to say I was able to contribute to the discussion on how its "rough edges" could be "smoothed".  It was a very interesting and thought provoking discussion, and I was so absorbed in it, standing there in the wind and the rain, that I barely noticed that I was becoming ill.

This meant that, alas, I missed most of the subsequent days (aside from a quick "hello" on Tuesday when I dropped off some Jaffa Cakes for sustenance).  When I went back for my next 'proper' visit on the Friday evening the wind and rain returned with me. But I did turn up in time to see Des Freedman do his thing, and experience a curious moment of synchronicity.  I had been on the underground earlier that day reading a book about "The Bully from Tom Brown's Schooldays" and an organisation called "The Chartists" were mentioned.  The Chartists were the first to put press freedom to the front of the agenda in British politics.  This was the first time I had learned about about this movement, and in the book they were a bit of a confounded nuisance to the leading character (who is a professional upper class bounder).  However I found their mention fascinating as I am very interested in the roots of what we would call socialism or left libertarianism, and the Charters appeared to be an important landmark in this history.  Des Freedman addressed the Occupiers, and gave us a history lesson about... The Charters.  It's funny how these coincidences come up.

Since I wasn't 100% yet, I had to leave after this address, but I swore that I would return the next day, the day when Occupy Rupert Murdoch would truly live up to its billing.

28th March 2015

I missed the "People's Trial of Rupert Murdoch" which is a pity as it sounded very entertaining, but arrived in time to see the tail end of some musical entertainment. People were waiving Anarchy flags and there was a feeling of expectancy in the air.  At this point the event was still taking place in the little public square opposite London Bridge and the Shard - but it wouldn't be for long. 

After the music finished the Code of Conduct was read out again, and Donnachadh McCarthy, the organiser of the event, made sure that everyone who was to take part in the direct action that was about to ensue listened, understood, and agreed with this Code of Conduct.  After this we marched towards the heart of Rupert Murdoch's demesne - our intention was to knock on the door, and, see if we could gain entry.

The number of security guards and police lining the doorway of the News Building let us know that our presence was not welcome.

However, the protesters were not to be denied, and while the police and security guards were distracted by the main body of protesters marching up to the front door, they didn't see a couple of "insurgents", including Donnachadh himself, sneaking in behind them, having scaled a wall and come at the entrance from a different direction.  Once they did spot the "intruders" that had been stealing in a different way, the police and security guards moved to bar their entry and began to struggle with them. It was at this point that the main group (us) pushed against the line surrounding the News Building; and for a few moments pandemonium ensued.

I stood in front of the line of police and security guards, and saw that apart from a bit of pushing and shoving, no violence was taking place. A  couple of people did look like they would lose their heads at one point, but they were quickly removed by the protest leaders, and the moments of chaos culminated in all of us peacefully sitting down, linking arms, and beginning to chant "Peace! Love! Respect!"

Things settled down somewhat now, and speeches began by the protesters, as the loudspeaker was passed from person to person. Poems were recited, songs were sang by one or two people or by all of us, and testimonies were exchanged, engendering a feeling of togetherness as the police looked on. I believe the non-violent tactics of the protest leaders were very effective that night; and also the fact that Donnachadh was at pains to stress that the police were also part of the "99%"and so our battle was not with them.  And eventually at around midnight, the police withdrew from the scene of the protest, to much cheering and celebration from those that were taking part.

 By now we were down to the "hard core" of activists who were prepared to stick it out for the night.

Two events broke up the night - first Russell Brand popped by to wish us well, and he turned out to be a very nice chap who knew his football.  About an hour after that some guy appeared and started to (attempt) to hand out warnings (via a very unofficial and hastily assembled looking notice) that we were trespassing on private property.  Nobody took the flyer that he was trying to hand out, and after having "Peace! Love! Respect" chanted at him continuously for a while, he skulked off.

I didn't really get any sleep. The wind howled through the skyscrapers that surrounded us, sometimes threatening to blow away the little tents that sat defiantly in the front of the mighty News Building. As morning dawned, I could see the workers being ushered into an alternative entrance to the building (we never pretended this was anything more than a symbolic protest).

And so my experience ended.  They were still planning for another day's protest when I left them to it mid morning on 29th March.

So what did I learn from the experience of Occupy Rupert Murdoch? 

I learned (and still am learning) about the truly damaged state of British democracy.

I learned that there are people of real courage and integrity prepared to stand up to the forces causing that damage.

I learned (and still am learning) that there is something we can all do to play our part in this struggle.

I learned that I have so much still to learn.

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I met some very inspiring people during the brief time I spent protesting with them.  And I didn't take pictures of any of them.  Because I'm crap like that.  However I did take a lot of pictures of banners!  A selection of them can be seen with this blog.

I have taken two photographs from the Occupy Rupert Murdoch week records.  I hope the good people who made it happen will not mind.

Links

http://occupythemedia.org.uk/ - The main website for the Occupy Rupert Murdoch Protest

http://www.theprostitutestate.co.uk/index.html - The book I'm currently reading, written by Occupy Rupert Murdoch organiser Donnachadh McCarthy.  And an eye opener to be sure.

https://www.facebook.com/?_rdr#!/groups/610896625686974/?fref=ts - Occupy the Media Billionaires.  The Facebook space for the group for people willing to help out in the battle against the corporate interests that threaten our future.

https://www.facebook.com/events/1542806512652040/ - Occupy Democracy May Event - The struggle for real democracy continues.  Get involved!