MRS RAFT GOES FOR A WALK, NOVEMBER 5TH

A number of ordinary people happened to meet in a pub and went for a walk, all of them dressed in dark clothes and some with their faces covered. It was not the bejewelled extravagance of the Venetian masked balls, but then it was only 11.30am and it was dreary London. One or two of them were wearing niqubs but for the most part they settled for Guy Fawkes masks to protect their delicate skins. Besides, today was the build up to Remembrance Sunday and the area was full of real heroes in proper uniforms for a service at Westminster Abbey. Remember remember, we will remember them. It would be neither respectful nor helpful to upstage the people who risked their lives so that Tony McNulty can claim £60k for his parents' house and only pay back a paltry £13k when finally challenged. If he has paid it back, which can be believed when you see him hand over a pile of folding money verified as real by Mervyn King.

The War Veterans didn't bat an eyelid at people in slightly off-beat clothes, having applied some commonsense and decided that just as burglars don't really wear stripey jumpers, eye masks and carry sacks marked "swag", so urban terrorists would probably take the trouble to look ordinary, instead of sticking out like a sore thumb. The police were polite but exasperated. You can understand that; F4J have made a speciality of dressing up and carrying out acts of vandalism which are expensive, so maybe you can't be too careful. Most of the time it really is just a pillock in front of you, but sometimes its a dangerous pillock. How to tell which is which? Hint: the ones who seem to be very anxious to get back to the pub for a right old grumble are probably not much of a threat to public order, providing you don't obstruct their stampede line to the bar.

The walk then proceeded past Downing Street, where police officers wearing the regulation "I'm so cheesed-off" face eventually accepted his gift rose, to Westminster where Old Holborn said that as everybody has paid for the democracy theme park, we ought to go in. The theme park attendants duly looked annoyed, feeling they were being made fun of (they weren't - the 646 are the point here, not the hospitality staff) and over-reacted to the threat of a handful of people with plastic faces. What do they do when people with facial disfigurements show up? You can't ask a burns victim to take off their pressure mask.

Eventually they decided that the visitors would have to be let through, but as they were not Muslims, Sikhs or Terry Wogan, they had to take off any face coverings, hats and/or wigs. One officer scurried down to the clearance area shouting "Don't any of you down there EVER answer your radios?" There's a certain tension between the real police, the House of Commons security staff doing the normal checking and the staff who are part of the historic offices. It's noticeable that the suited men operating the public gallery have an aristocratic poise and ease with the public which the others lack. They are not phased by mere props - they've seen plenty of them in their time.

However, the security staff were spooked by thin sheets of plastic. The masks were kept in the luggage bay and everyone was given a receipt. It doesn't make all that much sense. So what if someone wears a mask? So what if they pull up their polo-neck shirts over their faces, or tie a scarf over their noses - their face would be just as obscured and anyway, it's only relevant if the person has not been photographed because to do so would be a religious issue for them. It isn't immediately apparent why somebody's religion trumps everybody's freedom - but that's an argument for another day.

After staying for a few minutes in the public gallery and noting that Frank Dobson is still alive and on his feet down in the cock-fighting pit, and worried about global warming and its effect on low-lying areas, it was time to get the mask back, go outside and help the up-and-coming photographer Cassie Mayers take a photo as close as possible to the point where the gunpowder was stored. The cellar is beneath a scrap of car park, so the nearest spot is by the steel barrier.

What is perhaps surprising is that the only place to buy promotional goods - fridge magnets, pencils with House of Commons stamped on the side - is inside the visitors area. The HoC is missing a trick, here. There are thousands upon thousands of people who would cheerfully pay a pound to pose by a police officer (real or just a pretend one) and then another pound for some token of their visit. The last thing they want to do is muck around with security clearance in order to sit in a chamber they've already seen on telly. They want to take a picture, buy a souvenir face-flannel with that famous portcullis woven on the label, or maybe a nice bar of English Lavendar soap, then be on their way. With our deficit, all sources of income should be looked at and a whacking great visitors' shop could do very nicely.

Finally, wearing the mask for the sake of the day, it was back to the pub for some real democracy.


Author: Woman on a Raft

Update: Video Courtesy of Volatile Barry

A rose for Gordon



Outside the Houses of Parliemant

MRS RAFT GOES FOR A WALK, NOVEMBER 5TH