As the G20 protesters massed, London feared the worst. What it got was a giant bunny, totty ‘terrorists’ with lipgloss and face-painting
At 10.30 on Wednesday morning the sunny front of the Bank of England is furiously busy with men in combat trousers, leather jackets and old trainers, carrying suspiciously heavy rucksacks. They are purposeful and menacing. They’ve come a long way for this; they’ve come to show the world a thing or two. They are the media.
“We are the media and we won’t be moved! We are the Albanian Early Evening News!” They stand around complaining that demos aren’t what they used to be. A Turkish photographer tells a Japanese reporter that if you want a good riot you need to be in Athens, Switzerland wasn’t bad, Canada was surprisingly eventful, but what you really needed for a gas, fire and water truncheon party were Kurds. You can’t beat the Kurds. Or rather, you can’t beat them enough.
Fifteen minutes later the mood is turning ugly. There are no demonstrators. They’re late. Then, bit by bit at Liverpool Street station, one of the four starting points for the mass attack on the mother of all banks, an emetic trickle of what appear to be public school pupils on half-term arrive. They hang around waiting for something to happen, apparently unaware that they are what’s supposed to be happening.
The look is Die-Hard-meets-emo: faded grey jeans as tight as surgical stockings, Converse trainers, big hoodies, T-shirts advertising retro bands rather than actual convictions and scarves. Scarves are all-important. There are still some Palestinian keffiyehs, but frankly they’re a bit passé. Much better are the knock-off Alexander McQueen scarves with the black and white skulls. The skull is the 21st century’s ban the bomb sign, a perfect, omni-cultural symbol for groovy activism: a bit Damien, a bit ironic Motörhead, a bit ecological and nuclear, a bit Natural History Museum.
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http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/the_way_we_live/article6035809.ece