Polly Put the Kettle On.

Its a cold November night and I was in the pub after a successful march on Westminster, the first time I have ever felt compelled to march for anything other than my sexuality. The tv switched to Sky News and there before me was something I had only seen in my childhood, people standing up to a Conservative government. The debate at the table quickly led to the morality of smashing up a building, then it became a desire to witness the event. After seeing some of the fallout of earlier disobedience in the 80's I was a little reluctant to go, but go I did.

The police number was higher than had been on the tv but the high visibility jackets you saw on the news were gone aside from those in the courtyard, this was a brigade decked in black. We walked past them hiding round the corner and spoke to some of the people still hanging around the front, one man in his 60's has just come out to get some tea. The athmosphere was calm, maybe a little confused, people taking in what had just happened.

Then they started to move. At first preventing passers by from entering the area as we had just done. They moved out from the side of the building then along the river wall, silently trapping us in. It was at this point that I realised why the G20 had gone wrong. Standing there faced with a wall of annonymous shields and battons is intimidating, you cannot get out now and they are coming for you. Its a classic fight or flight complex, yet nothing happened. They did not move and after the initial shock of being penned in people began to chat, some over the phone, others to strangers and friends on the other side of the wall. Concerned as to what was going to happen I went with a friend to ask one of the officers what was going on. They did not know was the response, they were told to hold us in place and that was all for now. Their orders were incomplete, thats part of the power complex perhaps and they seemed quite happy not knowing, they are used to not knowing, they hadn't put the kettle on after all.

As we stood there talking and waiting the 'kettle' got smaller and we got to know each other,we had begun to 'bubble,' there were students, members of staff and members of the public, we were a mix, Goldsmiths, SOAS, Sussex and quite a few retirees . It was a networking opportunity and many people siezed it. As the waiting drew on people began to get restless, needing the toilet was a major concern that received no sympathy. So to pass the time the students and police began talking. One of the officers I spoke to was bewailing the second hand equipment they have, apparetly their CB's are ex BA, they were used to strikes at least. Then one by one the police from the other side of the line began picking people out for questioning and searches. The kettle got smaller still as the crowd pressed to that side, eager to be let out. The freed began chanting our rights not to answer questions or be searched or photographed. One man showed his business card to the police at the edge and began shouting legislation to us about our rights, he was escorted further away and taped off, away from us.

After over two hours confined my turn came and even though the police had been polite I was cold, desperate to piss and hungry, I was in short, maliable. This is the purpose of the exercise, they wanted information. They did not know who had been a 'criminal' and who hadn't. The good thing was I had not been involved and so couldn't give anything away, I had nothing to hide. If they were trying to match my face to cctv at least thats time spent on nothing I thought. Speaking to my questioning offer I finished by pointing out that whilst maybe it had gone a bit far, the banks were a more deserving target as they were holding the purse strings behind the whole thing. The officer smirked, placed a finger to his lips and quietly said, 'I know, but I can't say anything.' I was marched on to the video camera,

'Name and date of birth..'

'Daniel Nield, 22 of January 1980.'

'Turn around'

I did a twirl for them and I was free, but I was cataloged. I'm a model of dissent now and to be honest I feel like a fraud. I broke nothing, but maybe in that one officer I did break something, maybe the kettle has sprung a leak...