I’m writing this sat in the Elizabeth Line station at Woolwich, desperately trying to board a train into central London or not. You will no doubt have heard about the two protests that are happening there today: a march in favour of Palestinian solidarity, and a gathering of far right halfwits. Part of me wants to go up there, not so much to get involved in either action than to obtain work is going on. Yet I know full well how dangerous things could get; I also know how angry and provoked the sight of such events would probably make me. Part of me thinks I should change my plans and head to Charlton to watch the cricket. Thus, sat here I find myself utterly torn between the desire to get involved in the bigger events unfolding in this city today, and an almost tangible apprehension about what might happen.