Anarchy in the UK.

Report on the Carnival for full enjoyment. Edinburgh. 04/07/2005.



"TV rots your mind."

My mum used to say that to me when I was a kid. Now I'm older I realize that she was right. TV does indeed rot your mind. It also has issues with telling the truth.

If you were to watch the news last night you'd probably get the impression that Edinburgh city centre yesterday was a war zone where riot cops battled with black clad anarchists bent on destruction and mayhem. Allow me to set the record straight. It wasn't.

I left my house at 10:30am so that I could witness the build up of police and people that I knew was going to occur. I walked towards the west end and saw crowds of people waiting patiently for the chaos that they had been duped into thinking was going to take place. At least three hundred people were standing, or milling, around.

I asked a passing policeman, of which there were several, if he knew where it was the anarchists planned to meet. He replied that he didn't know and could I please move on. Why? I asked. He told me that I was being a nuisance and that he has the power to arrest me for being there. I smiled at him, said "Have a nice day." and walked away.

I walked over to the foot of Lothian Road, to make my way towards what is laughingly referred to as the "Financial District" but is actually two buildings, but was halted in my path by a steel fence. I wandered over to the fence and asked another policeman if I could get past so I could go towards Tollcross. He said that this part of the road was closed for security reasons and that if I wanted to go towards Tollcross I'd have to find another way to get there.

I turned around, walked along a side street, up a lane and wandered into Lothian Road. I felt like walking back down to the fence and asking the same policeman if he could let me pass so I could get back to Shandwick Place but thought better of it.

As I turned the corner the Standard Life building came into my view and I saw at least 100 police standing outside the main entrance. Press photographers and TV camera crews shoved and bustled to get the best pictures of the police as they stood guard on the building. It all seemed a bit farcical to me. The press and the police were the only people there. Sure, there were people standing about, waiting for whatever was to kick off to actually kick off, taking pictures on their camera phones and generally standing about, but there were no troublemakers. Or indeed anyone who looked like they were going to attempt to storm the building and bring down capitalism.

I sat on a marble plinth outside a building and made some notes while smoking a cigarette. One policeman looked at me with suspicion in his eyes but I ignored him and carried on writing. A few minutes later I looked up to see that the same cop was still keeping an eye on me so I decided that I'd wander around the west end of town. I reached into my bag, pulled out a beer, popped it open, took a nice long drink and began walking.

As I walked past the policeman who had been looking at me as though I was the guy who shot Bambis' mother I raised the bottle to my forehead and saluted him. "Keep it up man, you're doing a great job of guarding that traffic island. Your mother must be so proud." I said, and wandered off smiling.

As I walked back down Lothian Road sirens blared and I turned around to see a convoy of five police vans streaming past. I whipped out my camera and quickly got off a shot just as the final three approached me.



They looked like they were in a serious rush to get somewhere so I swallowed the rest of my beer, dropped the bottle into a bin and headed in the same direction.

As I walked onto the junction of Princes Street and Lothian Road I saw small groups of protesters and other pedestrians being watched closely by throngs of policemen.



I popped open another beer and waited for a while, taking notes and getting some pictures of the police racking up overtime. As the clock struck midday the hubbub of the crowd dropped and silence descended. I laughed out loud and a woman who was standing next to me asked why I was laughing. I told her I was laughing at the fact that the crowd had felt that the clock striking midday was the signal for windows to be smashed, bars and baseball bats to be produced and Pret a Manger and the police set upon by foaming mouthed anarchists. She noticed the strange silence and laughed.

I stood and chatted with the woman for a few minutes to get her general opinions on the goings on around us then said goodbye and began walking towards the east end of Princes Street. The crowds were getting heavier now and the street was filling up. Before the clock had struck midday the majority of people had been standing on the pavements but now the street was the preferred byway.



I approached the bottom of Castle street and saw four or five police vans parked across the road. Crowds of people were being held back by a line of police who had linked up to form a human barrier. I pushed my way to the front, and came face to face with a very large policeman.

People all around were being told to get back by the police. I asked if I could get past and was told that I couldn't walk past the cordon. "Why not?" I asked. No reply. "I'd like to walk along Princes Street." I said. No reply. "All I want to do is walk along the street, why won't you let me past?" I enquired. No reply. For the next few minutes I kept asking to be allowed to walk along a public road and was faced with nothing but a wall of silence. So much for the police being communicative.



A cop inside the cordon shouted out an order and suddenly the policeman whom I had been chatting to sprung to life and bellowed "MOVE BACK" into my face. All around me the police were telling people to walk the other way. A small group of people who had been playing music were caught inside the cordon and when the police leapt into action speakers began blasting out the theme from Benny Hill. I laughed as I stood face to face with the policeman and then realized what the carnival was all about.

I stood my ground and began asking to be let through. I was met with the answer "Can I ask you turn around and walk the other way sir?" An Italian guy next to me was shoved by a policeman and told to move back. He told the policeman that he wanted to go along to see the Scott monument but met with the same fate as I had. Turn around and walk away.

Try as I could I couldn't keep a straight face. I laughed into the face of the policeman and told him that he should be arrested for blocking the queens highway and preventing, not only myself, but an Italian Emissary from making our way to visit the monument to one of Scotlands' greatest writers. The Italian guy laughed and said to the policeman in front of us that he was most displeased and could he possibly get a note of the policeman's number so he could make a formal complaint.



The policeman took this not so well and began shoving us both backwards. All around the police were beginning to push up in ranks and force the crowd backwards. Resistance was met in the form of questions. People asked police for a reason to walk the other way but none was forthcoming, just move on. I gave up attempting to goad the cop and turned around and walked back towards the west end.

I got no more than thirty feet from where I had been when I came face to face with another police cordon. This cordon was preventing me from walking the way I had just been instructed by the other policeman to walk. I laughed and asked to be let through. I was told to move back. I told the cop that I had been told by one of his colleagues to move away from where he was and that I'd like to go to the west end. Move back.

I considered telling him to get fucked but didn't as he'd no doubt have had me arrested. That's how they think. If they think at all.

I turned around, walked onto the pavement, around a bus shelter and walked straight into another cop. To my amazement he apologized for bumping into me, asked me if I was ok and let me past.



Leaning against the railings for Princes Street gardens I pulled another beer out my bag and popped it open. I took some notes and a couple of pictures and wandered back in the direction of the west end. People were still making the move to go along Princes Street but I knew they were pissing into the wind on that front.

As I reached South Charlotte Street I saw a large crowd of people being held at bay by mounted policemen at the entrance to George Street. I walked into the crowd and reveled in the carnival atmosphere as I watched a game of Frisbee between a group of clowns.



For the next hour I wandered in and around the police cordons using the back lanes to get in and out of the area watching the street party that was going on around me. I sank another two beers and then decided to make my way towards home.

At no point did I see anything that would be considered to be a criminal act. Sure, people were lighting spliffs, drinking bottles of wine or slurping from cans of beer but there was no trouble.

I caught a bus and went around to my mate Steffs' house and watched a couple of hours of whatever coverage I could find on the news channels and was shocked to see that the impression that the news was giving was way off the mark. Reporters spoke of the west end being the scene of running battles between police and anarchists and I wondered of the news will ever tell the truth.

Perhaps, one day. But don't hold your breath.