Woolwich today was a vision of peace. The only raised voices were those raised every Saturday by stall holders, broadcasting their wares. I persuaded John to push me down there, still being powerchairless, curious to see the famous BNP and EDL march. I had joked to Lyn that I was out to find something to blog about. When we got there, though, I almost wept: children played on bouncy castles as their mothers, some in islamic dress, looked on; music was being played, ice cream was being sold. It was a vision of Britain far truer than that of any thug: content, inclusive and serene.

The only clue at all that something may have been afoot was there was a group of four or five police officers off to one side. I rolled up to them, and asked them about the protest. They explained that it had been cancelled, and I cheered: true britain had prospered over a fascist bastardisation of it, and there was nothing else to do but enjoy the peace, continue our walk and try to find something else to blog about.