It must be said that yesterday was quite an interesting day for me. I really don’t want to get too bogged down in the politics of it today, as to be honest I have quite complex, ambivalent feelings on the subject; but yesterday afternoon I thought I would pop up to Westminster to check out what was going on with regard to the disability rights/PIP protests. I got up there at about four, and it took me a while to find the protest itself: it wasn’t in Parliament Square as I’d expected, but in a smaller area just off it. Broadly speaking, I went up there mostly to observe rather than protest: while I certainly want to show solidarity to my fellow disabled people, the fact is the welfare budget has grown exponentially with far more people claiming disability-related benefits now than twenty or even ten years ago. That is surely unsustainable, and I think it’s a problem which needs to be dealt with, not just on an economic level but a social one too.

Even so, I wanted to go up there to try to get a better grip of the situation. The bottom line is the welfare state needs protecting. By the time I arrived I think the protest was winding down slightly, but there was still a good number of people there, with a wide range of disabilities. I got talking to a few, and as usual got complemented on my anti-Trump baseball cap. Pretty soon, though, people started to move: it seemed that they were actually going to go into the Houses of Parliament.

That would obviously be too interesting to miss, so of course I followed along and went in with them. I was quite surprised at how simple a process it was, as after a bit of queuing and bag checking, I found myself in the Palace of Westminster, being lead along the corridors to the main lobby. I found the place fascinating, with it’s ornate medieval decorations. Believe it or not I had never been in there before, and I was in awe.

However, it wasn’t long before I began to think about going home. It wasn’t just that it was getting late and I was getting hungry, but I was nervous that if a politician I recognised and disagreed with showed up, I would end up causing a scene. If, for example, Nigel Farage somehow showed up (extremely rare as his appearances in parliament actually are), there was a distinct possibility that I would start shouting or even try to attack the p’tahk. I would then probably be arrested, and the whole evening would have been spoiled. In all, then, I decided it was a good idea for me to head home, and watch how things played out on the evening news.