Friday 24 October 2008: Resist
I was walking up past Bristo Square on my way to a meeting this morning, when I spotted two student girls in the distance handing out flyers. Assuming I'd be well outside their target demographic, I did what you should never do if you don't want whatever it is people are peddling on the street and looked at them as I approached.
She lurched over, arm outstretched, and we both started talking at once.
"I don't want..."
"Stop the war..."
"...one of your leaflets..."
"...demo this Saturday! Everyone..."
"...because that would mean taking..."
"...my hand out of my pocket."
She stopped in her tracks and gave me a look like no-one's ever given me before. It was something along the lines of 'I know my leaflet is poxy, but there are children in Iraq being maimed and you don't even care enough to take your hand out of your fucking pocket'.
I felt kind of bad, being dead against the war and all, but I was campaigning against it while she was choosing a pencil case for going to big school. And, along with most of my co-campaigners, I realised long ago that resistance is utterly futile.