Having strolled along Queensdown Road, we stopped off at pub nearby. I got a pint of cider (somehow, on a day like this, you weren't going to ask for a gin & tonic. But I'm certain the lady in the pram below must have been gagging for one). I found myself talking to a bloke who'd supposedly designed a badge on my jacket that I bought down at the 'Mad Pride' fest, as well as a lady who refused to shave her legs as she didn't want to be influenced by the fashion industry.
        Among themany things we discussed were sexism and organised religion, scepticism towards mysticism, the curious links between fascism and homoerotica (namely the films of Leni Rheifenstal - hope the spelling's right - along with the photos of Robert Mappelthorpe) and the politics of black consciousness.

Here's the glamourous northern anarchist lady and bloke with his military drum. She very kindly gave me a bottle of champagne (it weren't Moet though, otherwise you'd find me with a trailor-load of garage fans posing in my Ralph Lauren, Versace & Hugo Boss gear down in Appya Nappya or whatever that place off Cyprus is called that's become the "new Ibiza" - God help the locals!), later on as we walked down Lower Clapton Road.
        I heard her mention to one of the press that she had a degree in art and she cheekily said that her effigy was "the culmination of her life's work" (a colleague of mine at the South library called Gary told me that he thought it looked like actor Ed Bishop, a.k.a. Commander Straker off 'UFO' - suit yourself!). Even though there wasn't that many people present, I have to say there was a v.visible police presence throughout, which I personally found intimidating (but that was the point of it, I guess).

Here's two blokes from the press speaking to a bloke who'd previously pushed the pram with the glamourous northern anarchist lady. The bloke with camera around his neck is from 'The Sun' (so he can be perfectly trusted to be objective and impartial in his photoediting). The bloke with the suit tried to get a pic of the impaled royals draped on the table that I sat at turned around to suit him, but finding his request ignored by all of us, he gave up and skulked around outside.

Having finished our drinks, the parade resumed and we walked through a local estate which soon had its walls echoing with the chant that was heard as long as the procession went on of "Queen Mum - DROP DEAD!" (though occasionally Prince William, Prince Charles and other assorted royals found themselves tongue-lashed as well). The procession wound its way down Lower Clapton Road, before reaching a pub somewhere on Dalston Road where I decided to head off back to Tottenham. Shaking hands with the bloke who'd allegedly designed a badge on my jacket, I cycled back home. Before you go, we'll leave the last words to the lady of the day, who's v.kindly scrawled a heartfelt  message on her best handbag for you.


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