She’s so high.

rule

So I have just returned from The Camp for Climate Action, which was an incredible experience on very many levels. I’m so enthused, so excited and so horrified by various things I’ve seen and heard – I was absolutely cream crackered last night as we got no sleep the night before and travelled all day, but then I just woke up at 8.30 now with my head spinning and churning, with this feeling of momentum, wanting to get up and run and shout like when I was a kid. I guess this is what they mean about being ‘energised’ by taking part in action; it’s quite odd and honestly, even in my most optimistic moments I didn’t imagine it would be this good for me on a personal level. That just seems weird to say now, my life is so very… microcosmic?, it’s hard to get everything in the picture.
I’m trying to summarise, to say something that’ll make sense of it all: Six days in a wet, muddy field being a vegan changed my life? No. Listen to this and see if you feel the same way, if this lump rises up in your throat and your eyes water and – no… I don’t think it will be quite the same, but you should listen to it anyway. I’ve become part of a movement that’s involved the High Court, injuncted men, buckets and buckets of tea, Swampy, Richard and Judy, the Boy Scouts and so much more, sat in a little English village pub (called The Red Lion, for heaven’s sake) and listened to a ‘local’ defending Fergus’ right to look the way he does – he has a few feet of golden hair and a matching beard and is wearing a t-shirt proclaiming that Jesus was a Gay Black Hippy Jew? By the way, it was amazing to hang out with F so much (how often do you spend pretty much 7 x 24 hours straight with one of your mates?!) and I met so many other awesome people, which is part of why I’m so buzzing now, (I even got my London accent back a bit, it’s so funny!) and we did also have a wicked party (plus went to Camden and got pissed up on digestive-biscuit-vodka among other things so that was nice) just in case you’re worrying that I’m too earnest? Also while I was away I got offered a job and an interview for another which just goes to show? I don’t know.
And just noticed I’m (sort of) in the Waily Heil! Hahaha! I remember this woman, she did indeed do the washing up on the first day (she said “I really like washing up! I clearly don’t get enough sex”) and she did seem nice and Jewish I thought and a bit mumsy, I wondered what had happened to her. So that you don’t have to actually read that nonsense here is my 1 minute of fame:
A lot of dirty looks are thrown and the police retreat beyond the perimeter. Camp Climate [why does she keep calling it that, even if you are scrawling in the Faily Fail is it that difficult to get two words in the right order?!] has won the pushing competition.
“Hello,” says the woman next to me. “I’m Alice.”
“I’m Tanya,” I reply. “Pleased to meet you,” she says and we shake hands.
We are so English – even when we are evicting the police, we are polite.

Think of it, a ‘journalist’ from the Daily Hate Mail has done my washing up. That’s wicked, I don’t know whether to laugh or wash the hand that shook hers with caustic soda… Eat my lentils, bitch! My radical socialist queer Jewish intellectual lentils! You LOVE IT. Not sure if she actually did eat my lentils, of course, she’d probably wussed out by Thursday which is when we cooked lunch for ‘the whole of London’ (about 200 people).

Have a page from my notebook, more later.

Some short and instructive sentences

Someone had eaten a strawberry in the train toilet

George Monbiot may be a bit of a day tripper

The huge yellow-and-black spider behind the tent never moved

I kissed Bryn on the cheek in a rush

The riot cops let Fergus through to pick blackberries

It took that guy two hours or more to find Kevin

Peanut butter ginger nut sandwiches are really good

We took our shirts off in Antony Gormley’s Blind Light

A man from the village said “may God bless” us

A cold shower really is extremely invigorating in truth

A stencil in Ro’s street reads ‘Don’t you look lovely?’

Sincerity may frighten the boy
*The boy may frighten sincerity [Chomsky, N., Aspects of the Theory of Syntax, 1965 M.I.T. Press]

At the seemingly endless ‘action debrief’ meeting, one woman stood up and said that she’d been talking to some of the coppers and they said ‘it’s really great that you’re doing this, we’ve got kids and you’re going to make the world a better place for them’ and so on. I think I muttered something about ‘take that stupid tit hat off and come and camp then, wankers’, but it was still kind of heartening in a really weird way. Another officer of Her Majesty’s Metropolitan Police force offered this comment: ‘Get back, you fuckers’, screamed at F and me, (made up in kiddy-style leopard and tiger face paint incidentally), while trying (but failing) to trample us with a very stressed-looking horse for no particular reason. So it goes.

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