There is a ‘Stop bombing Syria’ protest at the Clock Tower in Leicester on Friday.
Everything in Leicester happens at the Clock Tower by the way. It’s the law. I suspect Richard III was actually originally buried under the Clock Tower until some busybody moved him.
I decided to go to the protest. The last time I went on a protest it was because my friend Rachel and I got caught up in the poll tax riots by accident on our way between Pizza Hut and the theatre. It’s time I took up my placard waving for real.
I’ve not always been a rabid political naysayer, as you can see.
I thought I’d give the children the option as to whether they came with me or not. I do not expect them to hold the same political convictions as me, and I was quite prepared for them to say they preferred to stay at home, in the warm, within easy reach of the biscuit tin.
Oscar and Tallulah: ‘Brilliant! Can we come?’
Me: ‘Certainly you can come.’
Tallulah (thoughtfully and slightly hopefully): ‘Will there be riot police?’
Me: ‘I doubt it. Do you still want to come?’
Tallulah: ‘Oh, go on then.’
Oscar: ‘Can we make a placard to wave?’
Me: ‘Yeah. If you like.’
Oscar: ‘Yes! I love placards.’ (This is true. He has been envious ever since Tallulah made a light up one to go to her Taylor Swift concert with. He made a small one for the Proclaimers, but it was so small they couldn’t really see it. He has been itching to make a new one).
Me: ‘I’m not carrying it though.’
Oscar: ‘Ok.’ Pauses for a moment to reflect on the issue in general.
‘What about tea?’
Me: ‘Good point. There’s a new Belgian frite stand. We can have frites.’
Tilly walks in at this point to general oohs and aahs at the thought of frites.
I explain what’s going on and ask her if she wants to come with us.
Tilly: ‘Of course I do. Political unrest and chips are two of my favourite things.’