Cold sores: the mere mention is enough to strike fear into the hearts of sufferers! Ever since I can remember I have been afflicted with these fuckers, sometimes appearing two at a time, or one after the other in a continuous stream of pain and ugliness. And I have tried everything. My dad used to tell me to keep licking it and the saliva would make it go away. How wrong could he have been! This is the worst thing to do. Well, almost, along with picking, itching, poking, etc.
The best lesson I have learned over the years is: DO. NOT. TOUCH. IT.
At all.
The minute you put finger to tingle, that nasty, spiteful little virus will come flocking to the surface in a cornucopia of red, swollen, liquid-filled blisters, rendering you frustrated and cross for the next two weeks. If you can resist the urge to touch, the blisters will be minimal and the whole ordeal will be over far sooner- not to mention minimising the risk of a second infection by spreading it inadvertently across your face. The other thing I should point out on this note is do not use any kind of lip balm while the poisonous pustules are there. It too will become infested, and the next time you come to use it, guess what? Yep. I don't need to elaborate.
But now, the real purpose of this post is actually to share with the world a wondrous discovery that I hope will ease the horror for all sufferers! And here it is.
Tincture of Myrrh.
Press a tissue or a piece of cotton wool soaked with a few drop of it to the afflicted area for 30 seconds or so (it will sting, if it doesn't you need to press it on for longer), every few hours. The alcohol in it will dry it out, and the myrrh is a strong anti-viral, reducing the swelling and irritation and the life of the beast. I managed to get rid of an uber-sore in a week with this method - normally that would be two or even three weeks start to finish! It would probably have been less if I'd figured out the technique sooner - to start with I was just applying drops of tincture directly onto my lip, which was actually annoying it more because the pipette poked it a little bit and made it extra itchy.
I've read about people doing this with nail polish remover, which sounds completely horrifying! It's the same theory though, drying it out with alcohol - the difference being that acetone is extremely toxic and poisonous if consumed, whereas tincture of myrrh has beneficial effects and will not harm you if you accidentally swallow a bit. I know what i'd rather go for!
Sunday, 2 May 2010
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Blending frenzy!
I've been trying to up the raw content of my diet lately, which means: smoothies! Yum yum. Trouble is, I have a rubbish blender. In fact, it's not even a blender, it's a food processor with a liquidiser attachment. Sadly it has trouble liquidising even so much as already-cooked soup, but we do our best.
Regardless of this handicap, and in anticipation of the new (well, second hand) super (or should that be souper?!) duper blender I have purchased from ebay and now wait for with bated breath, I have been having some fun breakfast/lunch/snack times throwing various ingredients recklessly into the liquidiser in search of delicious combinations, and ignoring the fact that I have to eat the results with a spoon. Yesterday I made two constrasting drinks - first was orange, apple and ginger, which was tasty and refreshing, though it could have done with a little more ginger as mine had got a bit dry. Second was a more porridgey-breakfasty protein-rich number that I found particularly pleasing. It contained, if I can remember it all, oats, wheatgerm, almonds, oat milk, a banana, two little apples and some raisins - and a teaspoon of maca for extra goodies!
This afternoon, in a moment of listlessness, I decided to get Aztec with some chocolate powder - I warmed up a mug of oat milk and put it in the blender with 3 teaspoons of unsweetened cocoa powder (I'm going to sound like I've been sponsored here, but this stuff from Equal Exchange is just so good! Dutch processed and everything), a teaspoon of maca, a teaspoon of flax seed powder (a mistake in a blender that can't crush a boiled potato - it just wound up unpleasantly bitty!) a pinch of both cinnamon and ginger powder and a spoonful of agave nectar. Now that's what hot chocolate should taste like! Next time I might even throw a little bit of chilli powder in there too.
It's going to be at least three weeks until I get my, dare I say it, whizzy, new blender - how will I ever contain myself!? I'm also slightly upset that I haven't been able to get more blending-related puns into this post. Suggestions welcome.
Regardless of this handicap, and in anticipation of the new (well, second hand) super (or should that be souper?!) duper blender I have purchased from ebay and now wait for with bated breath, I have been having some fun breakfast/lunch/snack times throwing various ingredients recklessly into the liquidiser in search of delicious combinations, and ignoring the fact that I have to eat the results with a spoon. Yesterday I made two constrasting drinks - first was orange, apple and ginger, which was tasty and refreshing, though it could have done with a little more ginger as mine had got a bit dry. Second was a more porridgey-breakfasty protein-rich number that I found particularly pleasing. It contained, if I can remember it all, oats, wheatgerm, almonds, oat milk, a banana, two little apples and some raisins - and a teaspoon of maca for extra goodies!
This afternoon, in a moment of listlessness, I decided to get Aztec with some chocolate powder - I warmed up a mug of oat milk and put it in the blender with 3 teaspoons of unsweetened cocoa powder (I'm going to sound like I've been sponsored here, but this stuff from Equal Exchange is just so good! Dutch processed and everything), a teaspoon of maca, a teaspoon of flax seed powder (a mistake in a blender that can't crush a boiled potato - it just wound up unpleasantly bitty!) a pinch of both cinnamon and ginger powder and a spoonful of agave nectar. Now that's what hot chocolate should taste like! Next time I might even throw a little bit of chilli powder in there too.
It's going to be at least three weeks until I get my, dare I say it, whizzy, new blender - how will I ever contain myself!? I'm also slightly upset that I haven't been able to get more blending-related puns into this post. Suggestions welcome.
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Puddingy goodness
I just created a new and completely delicious pud out of desperation for something sweet after dinner this evening - I'm so dead tired after working at the wood shop all day I really needed some sugar supplies!
My initial plan, formed under the duvet, was to mix sultanas and oats with the bit of soya yoghurt left in the fridge, and add something sticky like syrup. Gaving made it downstairs, found an appropriate receptacle (difficult and potentially plan-scuppering tasks) and poured out some oats, I opened one of my kitchen drawers to retrieve the raisins and ponder the something sticky. This is where I had the brainwave that turned it all around. Cocoa powder. I shook out a generous helping over the oats, scraped the remains of the yoghurt over and mixed it up. It didn't taste nice. Then I remembered the wonder-substance waiting quietly in the fridge... Maple syrup! A generous splosh and a good handful of raisins were the transformative ingredients.
The resulting smooth/chewy/chocolatey/fruity pudding was exactly the right thing. I think next time it would benefit from a sit in the fridge to properly macerate - and perhaps a few slivers of crystallised ginger...mmm...
My initial plan, formed under the duvet, was to mix sultanas and oats with the bit of soya yoghurt left in the fridge, and add something sticky like syrup. Gaving made it downstairs, found an appropriate receptacle (difficult and potentially plan-scuppering tasks) and poured out some oats, I opened one of my kitchen drawers to retrieve the raisins and ponder the something sticky. This is where I had the brainwave that turned it all around. Cocoa powder. I shook out a generous helping over the oats, scraped the remains of the yoghurt over and mixed it up. It didn't taste nice. Then I remembered the wonder-substance waiting quietly in the fridge... Maple syrup! A generous splosh and a good handful of raisins were the transformative ingredients.
The resulting smooth/chewy/chocolatey/fruity pudding was exactly the right thing. I think next time it would benefit from a sit in the fridge to properly macerate - and perhaps a few slivers of crystallised ginger...mmm...
Friday, 19 February 2010
Clearing out
It's so difficult to do - I know they're just clothes, but I can't part with them without some serious heart pangs. They seem like old friends. Not to mention being completely fabulous. My other worry is that they won't get the price I think they deserve on ebay - and of course they won't, because their value to me is much greater due to my emotional involvement. In an ideal world I'd just give them away to someone who will love them as much as I do. But in this world - I need the money.
I wonder whether listing them alongside each item's personal story will increase their selling power, but I know it'll just make me look like a fool. So instead perhaps I'll put the photos up here as well, with their stories. Then I will have a record of them, at least!
Why am I selling them, this all begs the obvious question.
1. Money.
2. Space.
3. Practicality - I will never wear these things again and it's stupid to hold on to them out of sentimentality.
4. I need to move on.
I wonder whether listing them alongside each item's personal story will increase their selling power, but I know it'll just make me look like a fool. So instead perhaps I'll put the photos up here as well, with their stories. Then I will have a record of them, at least!
Why am I selling them, this all begs the obvious question.
1. Money.
2. Space.
3. Practicality - I will never wear these things again and it's stupid to hold on to them out of sentimentality.
4. I need to move on.
Saturday, 13 February 2010
Review: Sherlock Holmes
It's been a while since I felt compelled to write a review of something, so it seems a little odd that the inspiration should have been a disappointment. Speaking of which, those of you who dislike 'the book was so much better' reviews, look away now. Though I hope to remain above such a simplistic analysis.
Guy Ritchie's attempt to capture the excitement, adventure and subtle homoeroticism on Conan Doyle's marvellously dark and deadpan detective has somehow left us with something like an over-risen cupcake. It stretches too far, the top explodes, and by the time you've taken them out of the oven all you're left with is a structurally catastrophic mess with a hole in the middle you could drive a ten-tonne truck through, only edible due to the compulsive quantities of sugar contained therein.
What I really don't understand about adaptations like this (and there are many of them), is that the original material is so good one really wonders where you could possibly go wrong. Yet somehow - perhaps in the assumption that modern audiences lack the sophistication to appreciate the nuances of immaculately constructed dialogue and a watertight storyline - somehow, so many of our classic works of fiction are cinematically short-changed. This adaptation plays somehow like Sherlock Holmes as written by Chuck Palahniuk on a bad day. Robert Downey Jnr, much as I normally enjoy spending two hours admiring his visage, is not only no Holmes (he's American, for goodness sake!) but brings an extremely irritating, almost 'madcap' quality to the detective that grates the whole way through. Almost as excruciating as Johnny Depp's psychotic Willy Wonka. The frisson between him and the also totally miscast Jude Law as Dr Watson, is transformed into some sickeningly teenage 'bromance' as I believe it's termed. Whilst I did notice snippets of original text slipped in at inappropriate junctures - the set piece about the pocket watch, for example, was paraphrased from one of the books - much of the dialogue lacked the arch precision that makes Conan Doyle's stories so enjoyable to read. The action scenes were lengthy, pointless and distracting, verging on the slapstick; Holmes' periods of isolation and despair were played as comedy; and, most disappointing, there was not even a hint of the classic interplay between the two central characters. Not one single raised eyebrow, not one outburst of 'But my dear Holmes! That's incredible! How on earth could you deduce all that from this one tiny piece of evidence!'. I've made this up, but there's a lot of that sort of thing. I believe Watson is famous for such expostulations. Or he was, at any rate.
No. The campness was all there. And here it is, misinterpreted and misplayed, thrown in for kicks but missing the point altogether. What really disappoints me about this sort of thing, though, is not so much that they've made a slightly sub-standard film out of one of the canons of English Literature - it's not even that a generation of kids will thinks that this is what Sherlock Holmes is all about, a bareknuckle underdog with a neurotic demeanour and a tendency to wind up in destructive Indiana Jones-esque brawls. (And I can see how, if you have no prior experience of Holmes and Watson, that it is probably entertaining enough to satisfy.) It's that it could have been a really great film. Wasted potential is the key here. The styling is all right - the brilliant steampunked design, the cinematography, the costumes - Ritchie certainly cracked the look of the thing. And that might fool a lot of people. But not me. Sorry, Guy.
Guy Ritchie's attempt to capture the excitement, adventure and subtle homoeroticism on Conan Doyle's marvellously dark and deadpan detective has somehow left us with something like an over-risen cupcake. It stretches too far, the top explodes, and by the time you've taken them out of the oven all you're left with is a structurally catastrophic mess with a hole in the middle you could drive a ten-tonne truck through, only edible due to the compulsive quantities of sugar contained therein.
What I really don't understand about adaptations like this (and there are many of them), is that the original material is so good one really wonders where you could possibly go wrong. Yet somehow - perhaps in the assumption that modern audiences lack the sophistication to appreciate the nuances of immaculately constructed dialogue and a watertight storyline - somehow, so many of our classic works of fiction are cinematically short-changed. This adaptation plays somehow like Sherlock Holmes as written by Chuck Palahniuk on a bad day. Robert Downey Jnr, much as I normally enjoy spending two hours admiring his visage, is not only no Holmes (he's American, for goodness sake!) but brings an extremely irritating, almost 'madcap' quality to the detective that grates the whole way through. Almost as excruciating as Johnny Depp's psychotic Willy Wonka. The frisson between him and the also totally miscast Jude Law as Dr Watson, is transformed into some sickeningly teenage 'bromance' as I believe it's termed. Whilst I did notice snippets of original text slipped in at inappropriate junctures - the set piece about the pocket watch, for example, was paraphrased from one of the books - much of the dialogue lacked the arch precision that makes Conan Doyle's stories so enjoyable to read. The action scenes were lengthy, pointless and distracting, verging on the slapstick; Holmes' periods of isolation and despair were played as comedy; and, most disappointing, there was not even a hint of the classic interplay between the two central characters. Not one single raised eyebrow, not one outburst of 'But my dear Holmes! That's incredible! How on earth could you deduce all that from this one tiny piece of evidence!'. I've made this up, but there's a lot of that sort of thing. I believe Watson is famous for such expostulations. Or he was, at any rate.
No. The campness was all there. And here it is, misinterpreted and misplayed, thrown in for kicks but missing the point altogether. What really disappoints me about this sort of thing, though, is not so much that they've made a slightly sub-standard film out of one of the canons of English Literature - it's not even that a generation of kids will thinks that this is what Sherlock Holmes is all about, a bareknuckle underdog with a neurotic demeanour and a tendency to wind up in destructive Indiana Jones-esque brawls. (And I can see how, if you have no prior experience of Holmes and Watson, that it is probably entertaining enough to satisfy.) It's that it could have been a really great film. Wasted potential is the key here. The styling is all right - the brilliant steampunked design, the cinematography, the costumes - Ritchie certainly cracked the look of the thing. And that might fool a lot of people. But not me. Sorry, Guy.
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Remember Gaza - Smash EDO
Right, I've done the washing up, removed the cornucopia of rotten bits of food from the fridge and various plastic containers around my house, ordered a compost bin, rung the council about the rats (erk), slotted my cobwebby TV neatly into a cupboard in the corner of the living room, got the dinner on, and eaten the last cupcake (oops). So now I can relax for a minute and write my more comprehensive account of yesterday's march. (Edit: it's now been a week since I started this... apologies for my tardiness.)
I arrived at the meet point (the cafe in the park behind the factory) at about 12.30, expecting to join the crowd, only to find about four other people looking vaguely like they might be hanging around for a demo. After 15 minutes or so I was beginning to feel slightly bemused and concerned - not to mention chilly! - no one else had arrived, and the time advertised was 1pm. Maybe I was just uncharacteristically early, or maybe it was some kind of decoy plan and us mugs were the only few not in on it. The police has certainly got the same memo - they were all over, in cars, on horseback and on foot. An Australian woman I spoke to asked if it was normal! Sadly, yes. What was not normal was the lack of protesters!
Eventually, other people arrived, sneaking out of the woods with props and trickling in from the main road. By 1.30 about 100 people, all dressed in black, had gathered, and we set off towards Home Farm Road. The road was predictably blockaded by several police vans and a double row of coppers. I had no idea of the plan, but as we came to a halt at the bottom of the road, most of the crowd started to move up onto the verge by the side of the road. Someone with a loudspeaker gave the go ahead, and about two-thirds of out number legged it up the hill (no mean feat considering how steep it is) to get around the back of the factory. The cops didn't seem especially interested and we supposed they must have known it was covered. Later someone who went up there told me that they had mounted police and dogs all around the perimeter!
The rest of us stood in the road for about an hour waiting for them to come back, and I felt a bit disheartened at the whole tedious exercise. It was cold and we didn't seem to be achieving much, except providing entertainment for passers-by. Eventually we regrouped and headed off down the road towards town (actually, one of my favourite things about demos is being able to walk down the middle of the road! somehow familiar surroundings seem to appear differently). All along Lewes Rd we were stop-started by the police. They'd start a line, we'd try and dash past them, then they'd move a bit further back and try it again... It's all so pointless. Then they started to get a but more pushy as we reached Brighton uni. On a loudspeaker they announced that there'd been an accident and there was an injured person in the road, which was the only reason they were stopped us. We were totally blocked in at this point, despite several attempts to find a way through the campus. Quite a few people got bored and wandered off here I think - the crowd had swelled quite a lot on the walk, but seemed to thin out considerably once we got moving again. Now, I'm not accusing anyone of anything - but there was not a single ambulance in sight, no sirens were heard, no injured people spotted, no damaged vehicles parked up at the side of the road with drivers being questioned. I'm just saying. I did, however, count 20 - 20! - police vans following the march, on top of the lines of police both mounted and on foot, some in riot gear, and several other cop cars. As one protester on a loudspeaker said - 'ladies and gentlemen of the public, do not panic - we are being kept under control by the people in the yellow jackets'!
Ar the bottom of Elm Grove we were temporarily kettled again, and given an ultimatum - we could go as far as the Level and continue the protest there, or we would be in violation of the Section 14 notice they had failed to issue whilst we were in the park earlier. There was a very amosing moment when the police line was ordered into formation - each one of the officers in the line shouted out the order, and they all fell in step one by one like some little dance routine, closing together with one shoulder back and one forward. I expect they'd been practising that all week. They looked very pleased with themselves. So we were allowed to continue, but naturally ignored the instructions to stay at the Level.
The problem, once we had run off towards town as per the plan, was that there was no plan. We couldn't decide which road to run down next, and as a result became split into several small groups. I was lucky enough to be in the one that decided to squeeze, inexplicably, down Kensington Gardens, where surely enough we were immediately and resolutely kettled for several hours. Lucky I brought snacks. What is baffling about this scenario is their reasoning: 'we are stopping you because you are causing a public disturbance'; and, 'we will let you out providing you agree to disperse'. Now, call me crazy, but isn't this a bit like walking up to someone, standing in front of them and telling them that they're in your way? I'm fairly sure that blocking off one of the main roads in the North Laine with cars, horses and various double-strength police lines is more of a disturbance than a group of 50 or so people walking through town. Of course we all know what it's really about isn't 'protecting' the public (because we are not members of the public, of course), but making sure that anyone foolish enough to protest is criminalised in the eyes of the general populace. Nevertheless, the ridiculousness of it still doesn't fail to astound me. Some of the police seem to actively enjoy it, too - I saw a couple of them in the line giggling at our predicament. The mind boggles.
Two arrests were made while we were standing there - neither with any apparent reason. One man who was directly up against the line of coppers was pulled out after a bit of argy-bargy (I didn't see what happened as there were too many people in front of me) and bodily wrestled to the ground by about 5 police, then had both his ankles and wrists cuffed. I believe he was later de-arrested, but the whole unsavoury proceeding was caught on camera by a sympathetic onlooker from an upstairs window, who announced this to the offending officers once the incident was over. The next one was more unnerving - with no warning suddenly 10 or so police marched into the kettle, shoving us out of the way (and causing injury to at least one person that I know of) and seizing one of the medics.
Eventually we were allowed to leave 'in groups of 5'. Just like a school trip.
I arrived at the meet point (the cafe in the park behind the factory) at about 12.30, expecting to join the crowd, only to find about four other people looking vaguely like they might be hanging around for a demo. After 15 minutes or so I was beginning to feel slightly bemused and concerned - not to mention chilly! - no one else had arrived, and the time advertised was 1pm. Maybe I was just uncharacteristically early, or maybe it was some kind of decoy plan and us mugs were the only few not in on it. The police has certainly got the same memo - they were all over, in cars, on horseback and on foot. An Australian woman I spoke to asked if it was normal! Sadly, yes. What was not normal was the lack of protesters!
Eventually, other people arrived, sneaking out of the woods with props and trickling in from the main road. By 1.30 about 100 people, all dressed in black, had gathered, and we set off towards Home Farm Road. The road was predictably blockaded by several police vans and a double row of coppers. I had no idea of the plan, but as we came to a halt at the bottom of the road, most of the crowd started to move up onto the verge by the side of the road. Someone with a loudspeaker gave the go ahead, and about two-thirds of out number legged it up the hill (no mean feat considering how steep it is) to get around the back of the factory. The cops didn't seem especially interested and we supposed they must have known it was covered. Later someone who went up there told me that they had mounted police and dogs all around the perimeter!
The rest of us stood in the road for about an hour waiting for them to come back, and I felt a bit disheartened at the whole tedious exercise. It was cold and we didn't seem to be achieving much, except providing entertainment for passers-by. Eventually we regrouped and headed off down the road towards town (actually, one of my favourite things about demos is being able to walk down the middle of the road! somehow familiar surroundings seem to appear differently). All along Lewes Rd we were stop-started by the police. They'd start a line, we'd try and dash past them, then they'd move a bit further back and try it again... It's all so pointless. Then they started to get a but more pushy as we reached Brighton uni. On a loudspeaker they announced that there'd been an accident and there was an injured person in the road, which was the only reason they were stopped us. We were totally blocked in at this point, despite several attempts to find a way through the campus. Quite a few people got bored and wandered off here I think - the crowd had swelled quite a lot on the walk, but seemed to thin out considerably once we got moving again. Now, I'm not accusing anyone of anything - but there was not a single ambulance in sight, no sirens were heard, no injured people spotted, no damaged vehicles parked up at the side of the road with drivers being questioned. I'm just saying. I did, however, count 20 - 20! - police vans following the march, on top of the lines of police both mounted and on foot, some in riot gear, and several other cop cars. As one protester on a loudspeaker said - 'ladies and gentlemen of the public, do not panic - we are being kept under control by the people in the yellow jackets'!
Ar the bottom of Elm Grove we were temporarily kettled again, and given an ultimatum - we could go as far as the Level and continue the protest there, or we would be in violation of the Section 14 notice they had failed to issue whilst we were in the park earlier. There was a very amosing moment when the police line was ordered into formation - each one of the officers in the line shouted out the order, and they all fell in step one by one like some little dance routine, closing together with one shoulder back and one forward. I expect they'd been practising that all week. They looked very pleased with themselves. So we were allowed to continue, but naturally ignored the instructions to stay at the Level.
The problem, once we had run off towards town as per the plan, was that there was no plan. We couldn't decide which road to run down next, and as a result became split into several small groups. I was lucky enough to be in the one that decided to squeeze, inexplicably, down Kensington Gardens, where surely enough we were immediately and resolutely kettled for several hours. Lucky I brought snacks. What is baffling about this scenario is their reasoning: 'we are stopping you because you are causing a public disturbance'; and, 'we will let you out providing you agree to disperse'. Now, call me crazy, but isn't this a bit like walking up to someone, standing in front of them and telling them that they're in your way? I'm fairly sure that blocking off one of the main roads in the North Laine with cars, horses and various double-strength police lines is more of a disturbance than a group of 50 or so people walking through town. Of course we all know what it's really about isn't 'protecting' the public (because we are not members of the public, of course), but making sure that anyone foolish enough to protest is criminalised in the eyes of the general populace. Nevertheless, the ridiculousness of it still doesn't fail to astound me. Some of the police seem to actively enjoy it, too - I saw a couple of them in the line giggling at our predicament. The mind boggles.
Two arrests were made while we were standing there - neither with any apparent reason. One man who was directly up against the line of coppers was pulled out after a bit of argy-bargy (I didn't see what happened as there were too many people in front of me) and bodily wrestled to the ground by about 5 police, then had both his ankles and wrists cuffed. I believe he was later de-arrested, but the whole unsavoury proceeding was caught on camera by a sympathetic onlooker from an upstairs window, who announced this to the offending officers once the incident was over. The next one was more unnerving - with no warning suddenly 10 or so police marched into the kettle, shoving us out of the way (and causing injury to at least one person that I know of) and seizing one of the medics.
Eventually we were allowed to leave 'in groups of 5'. Just like a school trip.
In which I achieve something most people learn when they're about 10...
Walking home this evening I had the feeling that it was very late - like walking home after a party. The sky wasn't quite dark and a few lone birds were singing in the trees. But, of course, the reason for this was that it was only 9pm. The late-night feeling was caused by my tiredness and wiredness - that post-action feeling where you're exhausted but somehow hyper-aware.
I'd been on the Smash Edo demo. It was a funeral march to remember the people killed in Gaza a year ago, during a siege in which bombs, whose components were manufactured in Brighton, were used to murder 1417 Palestinians. It's unfortunate to admit that as demos go it was pretty unspectacular, and little seemed to be achieved (thanks, as usual, to the over zealous efforts of out boys in blue - or fluorescent yellow, as it seems to be these days - but we'll get to that in a minute). But by the end of the day I felt like I'd had some personal kind of revelation; or at least joined up a few more dots. I attended the demo alone - though I briefly saw one or two acquaintances on the march - a first for me, and something I'd never have considered before. And despite my semi-isolation faced with a huge police presence, I didn't have the same tremulous fear as on previous demos. Perhaps it was just because I felt a bit more prepared, knowing what to expect now.
After being released from a ridiculous kettle on North Street (about 30 of us, stuck in an area not much bigger than a pedestrian crossing), I headed to the Cowley Club for food, warmth and, most importantly, a toilet. Having fed and relaxed for half an hour I went to help my... non-boyfriend, for want of a better word, in the kitchen, washing up and bringing out the orders. It's not a great leap or anything and I've waitressed (albeit badly) in many a pub, but somehow I've always been a little timid about working at the Cowley. Maybe it's the volunteer aspect, maybe it's the anarcho aspect, either way there has always been a sense that I don't really belong there and I'll get it all wrong - but in the light of my dashing about playing cat and mouse with riot police, perhaps it was put into perspective! And made me feel a bit more hardcore... Whatever it was, by the time I made that walk home, I had a sense of being strong and able, in a way I haven't really before. I hope this experience bodes well for my imminent steps off the cliff into self-unemployment.
I'll write some more about the demo itself - but now it really is extraordinarily late, and I might finally be unwired enough to sleep. (This, no doubt, will prove untrue - I'll turn the light out and spend the next hour composing my follow-up blog post in my head.)
I'd been on the Smash Edo demo. It was a funeral march to remember the people killed in Gaza a year ago, during a siege in which bombs, whose components were manufactured in Brighton, were used to murder 1417 Palestinians. It's unfortunate to admit that as demos go it was pretty unspectacular, and little seemed to be achieved (thanks, as usual, to the over zealous efforts of out boys in blue - or fluorescent yellow, as it seems to be these days - but we'll get to that in a minute). But by the end of the day I felt like I'd had some personal kind of revelation; or at least joined up a few more dots. I attended the demo alone - though I briefly saw one or two acquaintances on the march - a first for me, and something I'd never have considered before. And despite my semi-isolation faced with a huge police presence, I didn't have the same tremulous fear as on previous demos. Perhaps it was just because I felt a bit more prepared, knowing what to expect now.
After being released from a ridiculous kettle on North Street (about 30 of us, stuck in an area not much bigger than a pedestrian crossing), I headed to the Cowley Club for food, warmth and, most importantly, a toilet. Having fed and relaxed for half an hour I went to help my... non-boyfriend, for want of a better word, in the kitchen, washing up and bringing out the orders. It's not a great leap or anything and I've waitressed (albeit badly) in many a pub, but somehow I've always been a little timid about working at the Cowley. Maybe it's the volunteer aspect, maybe it's the anarcho aspect, either way there has always been a sense that I don't really belong there and I'll get it all wrong - but in the light of my dashing about playing cat and mouse with riot police, perhaps it was put into perspective! And made me feel a bit more hardcore... Whatever it was, by the time I made that walk home, I had a sense of being strong and able, in a way I haven't really before. I hope this experience bodes well for my imminent steps off the cliff into self-unemployment.
I'll write some more about the demo itself - but now it really is extraordinarily late, and I might finally be unwired enough to sleep. (This, no doubt, will prove untrue - I'll turn the light out and spend the next hour composing my follow-up blog post in my head.)
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