Helen, Alice, Tam, Heather, Pablo, Ramon, Dick, Janet, Graham, Sarah, Will, Mel, Jody, Ben and quite a few other people's grand day out. Organised by Tam, hosted by me, with a guest appearance by the cat.
It's rather lucky really that the largest-ever demonstration in Scotland (allegedly) is happening about twenty yards from my front door; on the other hand it means that everyone in branch and all their pals are in and out all the time, having glasses of water, using the bathroom, picking up more copies of Socialist Appeal and other literature and stuff which is selling like hot cliches, sorry, cakes, and storing tables and chairs and all sorts. Still, it's good that we have a base close to the Meadows, and Marjorie is very excited to have all these people in and out of her house. We also have some folk from London staying who absolutely adore her, as does everyone before they get to know her. (So small. So fluffy. So cute. Such a funny little purr. And the scars on my legs which she inflicted two months ago are nearly healed up.)
But I spent four hours yesterday - helped by Heather and my wee sister who has been absolutely wonderful throughout the entire thing - making cheese rolls to sell. This was going to be either a triumph or the greatest cock-up committed by a Socialist organisation since someone said "This Blair bloke looks nice, let's give him a go," and at the moment - because I don't want to be complacent - it looks quite like the former. Two hundred rolls - yes, that wasn't a typing error, two hundred - at 50p each, they're nearly all gone, and we've sold loads of papers, six books which is good because a book at six or eight or ten quid is not often an impulse purchase, and lots of packets of crisps. To be honest the roll triumph is probably just because there weren't gigantic queues at the stall; there were queues at the food vans, the toilets, and very possibly the first-aid tent, because the main activity pursued during any large gathering, from Greenham Common to Glastonbury to bloody Crufts, is queueing, and thinking "I'm hungry" and immediately purchasing a slightly squashed bread roll for 50p is preferable to standing in line for half an hour to spend [GBP]4.50 on some chips.
I tried to join the bit of march that set off at 1pm, but it was just like standing in a queue going nowhere at all, so I gave up. This was a shame, as I was dressed in white head-to-toe in order to look like a slightly bitter angel (however my skirt only just fit, and when I put my phone and stuff into the pockets came a bit undone, giving me an air which was less celestial than who-ate-all-the-pies), but shit happens. They managed fine without me anyway. The whole thing seems to be a wee bit more militant than it was originally designed to be, which is good. Through the window I can hear the anti-war people yelling from their stage, and 120,000 or 200,000 (I'd say the latter, because official statistics are, well, official) people hanging around - well, it gives me a bit of hope.
Not a lot, and maybe too much, but a bit.
