I better start this entry by saying that I haven’t been hospitalised or arrested, and that I’m perfectly fine at home. Yesterday was, however, quite an interesting day to say the least. You know me: the temptation to go up and see what was happening in Westminster was just too much, so slightly after noon I thought I would get the Jubilee Line into Central London. When I got to North Greenwich though, I found the Line closed for maintenance. That didn’t matter though, because I could simply hop onto the cable car and get the Elisabeth Line from Custom House.

That meant that I had to go to Bond Street instead of Westminster, and walk from there. It was a pleasant trundle, but London was teaming with people yesterday afternoon. When I eventually got to Parliament Square, however, I was about two hours too late for the main pro-Palestinian march. I found the place riddled with right-wing thugs shouting all kinds of reactionary nationalist crap. You could almost smell their stupidity in the air. I’m sorry to say the sight wound me up: London is a diverse, open, tolerant metropolis – such barely literate neanderthals have no place here.

The rest of my afternoon was spent in Parliament Square, trying to talk sense into the scum. My initial intention had been to press on to join the anti-war march, but I got so worked up by the shouts of the barbarous, intolerant disgraces to human civilisation that I chose to remain there. At about six I decided to head to Westminster Station in order to get home, only to find it shut. That meant I had to head all the way back to Bond Street. I got home about eight, rather tired and hungry, still furious at what I’d seen earlier. I love London for it’s vibrancy and openness. To see it riddled with racist morons whose only sense of identity stems from a flag was utterly sickening.