February 16th, 2003


Yet we are the movers and shakers of the world: for ever, it seems.

Nearly one in the morning, at the end of an odd day.

I went to the anti-war march in London.

Police estimate that there were three-quarters of a million of us, organisers estimate two million, the truth inevitably splits the difference.

Do you know London? From Charing Cross along the Strand to Aldwych where another stream was joining from Waterloo Bridge, down to Victoria Embankment somewhere near Temple tube, back along the Embankment to Parliament Square and from there up Whitehall past Trafalgar Square and along Haymarket to Picadilly Circus, where we met yet a third stream, and then along Picadilly to Hyde Park Corner. All the way occupying the whole width of some of the widest streets in London. (we were restricted to the opposite side of the road going past Downing Street, but apart from that ...)

I don't do protest marches. I never have. I'm not politically active (although I do carry a membership card for one of the main British parties). So it was very strange for me. But very heartening too, sharing a common mind with a million-plus other souls many of whom hold political or religious views at odds with mine.

And will shiny Tony "bush-baby" Blair take any more notice of a million-and-one marchers than he would of a million? I hope so.

Afterwards I filled myself up with beer, and chatted with friends, and then I came home.

There will be photos once my ISP has fixed whatever is stopping them delivering the pages I've uploaded.
Maybe a caption competition too.

But until then, I'm going to bed.

Captain Archer, you're a twat.

Captain Archer says "When you don't have the capacity to repress emotions, you learn to deal with them and move on."

Sounds like bollocks to me.

There are three people here who might know what I'm learning about just now. The rest of you ignore me, I'm just having one of my moments.

Edit (3 hours or more later): A measure of how stressed I was at the time -- I never swear normally, and here's a post about a t**t that talks b******s. Poster, know thyself.
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    "Enterprise" closing credits

The Tempest, act IV

"We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little life is rounded with a sleep ..."

<smug mode=on>

There was this LJ post from someone:
> Had a dream last night. Quite strange and quite...interesting.

I commented:
> You can't say something like that and not go into details.

There was a further exchange of comments, and then she emailed me:
> Funny that you were the one to ask about it.
> Yes, the dream was about you, as I not-so-subtly hinted. And yes, it was sexual.
> Your very presence on the slash list, as a het male, fascinates me -- and the fact that you *write* slash, as well.
> Basically, you fascinate me (sexually) at the same time as you intimidate me (intellectually). It's very strange, and I'm probably not explaining it very well.

And then one exchange of emails later, she said:
> You can crow online if you want to. Now that I know you haven't taken offense, I wouldn't mind.

What a pity we're three and a half thousand miles apart. And she has a boyfriend.

But it made me feel good.
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