ephraimjohn | Muppets for peace

A (probably) overlong review of the weekend follows...

Friday morning was actually morning for once (as opposed to dragging my carcass out of bed in hours that can only be described as p.m., I was up and about at 9a.m!), and dawned pretty bright and early. Admittedly I was assisted out of bed by Shelley moog, who insisted that 9 am was the time allocated for playing. Fighting off exuberat cats and the after effects of shouting at the telly the previous evening (Question Time and This Week), I dragged my sorry shambles of a body to the bathroom. Imagine my horror when I realised that I'd forgotten something. Staring into the mirror, I discovered that my hair had grown sufficiently that there was now a big grey stripe of undyed new growth right down the middle of my head - giving me the general look of a somewhat elderly badger. I'd known that I needed to shop for dye, but had completely forgotten. Cue tearing around like the proverbial azure posterior-ed insect. Speed dying done, and ears suitably blackened; it was time to start the long trek London-wards.

The journey was pretty good, considering the usual friday crush that is the M25. We arrived at

jfs's house in fine spirits, which were slightly dampened by descriptions of

seuleange's car exploits. Having popped to the off-licence for pre-B-Movie lubrication, and avoided heading to Gants Hill (despite

boglin's insistence that running to said place was good for the soul); it was time for some old skool getting ready. Kat was having a few crimping issues and thus it was time for yours truly to leap to the rescue. An hour or two later and I was suited and booted and ready to rock. In spite of London Underground's best efforts we made it to Kings Cross.

B-Movie was as wonderful as it always is. There is nothing to compare.

sexbat and

hopecottage were as stunning as ever, and i could not have asked for a better night musically. It was lovely to see

cookwitch, Juliet, Becca and Guy, though I have a feeling I spent a while drunkenly ranting at a slightly bemused Guy. If you are reading this Guy, apologies if I was talking codshite. Transport home was provided by lovely Heidi's friend, and was most most welcome. Everyone was knackered and bed ensued. I am , however, left to lament the alcohol that prevents my mastery of words from being used to good effect when there is so much that needs to be said, especially in late night conversations.

Saturday was yet another a.m. start. Too damned a.m. for my liking. But, thanks to

jfs, I was furnished with a caffeine bomb that took me from somnambulent to awake in seconds. A quick whizz around the corner to pick up

westernind and we were off... march bound. We met up with everyone at Blackfriars, only to lose them seconds later. Ho hum. Such is the nature of cat-herding. It left me,

boglin,

jfs,

westernind and

maleghast with Sal tagging along (muppets for peace); to march in support of the anti-war campaign. Oh and a miiiiiiiiillion other people.

We'll cheer if we only have something to cheer for - Spirit of the Falklands - New Model Army.

Saturday gave me something to cheer for. I don't do as much as I should. I don't do as much as would make me happy. I really, when it comes down to it, do pretty much nothing. But saturday I did something. I was a part of something big. I was a part of something important. I stood up and said something. I let my presence speak the words that could not be ignored. Far more powerful than a lone voice screaming in defiance of ignorant blinkered megalomaniacs, two million feet pounding the streets of central london spoke volumes. Much has been made of the disparity of the constituent parts of the march. True there were Tories, Liberals, Muslims, Anarchists and Older Lesbians (I kid you not) all marching side by side. There were Dykes in Black, Jack Straw's constituency, Daily Telegraph columnists and Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells. But, and this is the feeling that I will remember forever, there was mainly just a million people who disagree with Bush and Blair's feeble justification for war. We marched, we shouted, we talked and we laughed. And for a time, we made a difference. If only our own minds. We were Kings and Queens and if we squinted we could almost believe that we lived in a country where we mattered, where democracy mattered. This will be forgotten soon, by the press, by the politicians, by the public. But we were there, we stood up and were counted. We made history. And I love all of us for it. Naive bugger that I am.

We met Paul and his pink haired girlfriend (whose name I am ashamed to have forgotten) who were lovely and stayed with us for the majority of the march. We fought for our right to travel on the tube. We finally made it to the pub. It was packed. We managed to secure a table with some very friendly protesters, and chatted in a spirit of camaraderie that's not often seen in our stilted english world. I failed to meet Steve. A big shame as I was very much looking forward to seeing him in the flesh. Ho hum.

Then it was back to Brum via John's house. And a couple of bottles of wine in good, if shattered, company. Today was sleep, sunday papers, Julie Andrews and then the pub. The best sort of arguments and discussions in the pub, followed by chinese food and the arrival of

pax_draconis. Then the (not so) long haul home, and an enthusiastic reception from the moogs (apparently Shelley has missed me, whilst Byron is his usual lovely dumb self). And so here I am. Back home after a great weekend, tired but on a high. Thanks muchly to everyone that helped make the weekend so good. You know who you are.

Muppets for peace

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