Financial Fools Day and the G20 in London

The Guardian Clip of a gentlemen malfeased by police at the G20. He later died of a heart attack.



Oh dear Readers, what shall I speak of the fair people's battle in London?

Twas the first of April, and all through the streets, not a being was quiet, save perhaps the police. As they battered and pressed against the great righteous throng, they inspired the weary to break out into songs. Albeit, Kumbaya has been too often heard, there were also some poems both politic and absurd. We pushed at the back, with quite fearful peace in our eyes, open palms, no threat to the police. They battered and kicked with their steel-toed leather boots, and purpled my shins to tear up our roots, until in a moment we all sat, they quit. How bad it would look for them to bludgeon those that would sit. And we sat most the day until the night came to roost, and they started again, to ram our caboose. They moved us, at length, without sparing the whip, for we are the bad children on this sinking ship.



Earlier in the day, I asked a Bobby (as they call the police here in her majesty's England) what was his first name. He wouldn't tell. I started calling him 3, as that was the first of three numbers on his lapel. He was not amused.

I cannot speak of the long-term results of such protests, nor will I speak of the politics. Here is a set of lovely images for you, dear reader, so that you make of them what you will.

Tovio


A bicycle-powered generator making the soundsystem of Climate Camp into a formidable weapon of organization...well, if everyone wouldn't have been quite as drunk as they were. Still, pretty neat.







Climate Camp prior to the police pushing the lines back.










Everyone sitting after it was clear we wouldn't be able to hold the police back.










My valiant attempt at writing with my very power of CURSING!!! I do, however, wonder why someone would tape "cunt" onto a window. Seems rather time-consuming.









Kayne smiling with the Climate Camp party going on behind.










The day after the fiesta/fiasco, we played a quick set at RampARt in London, to a gaggle of the weary protesterators and they didst whoop and hollar, old chaps. One was wearing old chaps, in fact. We like UK, because apparently you have a thing for us. We've been hurt, we're sensitive, we like to see you liking us. We like you. Maybe one day we we'll make it a little bit more. Brown Chicken Brown Cow...