If you live in the UK and haven't heard of SOCPA, you probably should have. This is a law that the Government passed to stop people from protesting outside Parliament, and was passed with one single goal – to remove peace protester Brian Haw from Parliament Square, where he had been protesting against the Iraq from a tent for several months. The ramifications of the law's presence of the statutory books would be funny if they weren't so serious; a woman was arrested for reading out the names of soldiers who died in Iraq at the Cenotaph, another for a having a birthday picnic with the word 'Peace' written on a cake. Members of the House of Lords had to get police permission to petition outside their own chamber, and wearing a Red Nose on Red Nose Day is a criminal offence if you're within the 1km square SOCPA zone.

So I decided to call h2g2 to arms. There have been a series of lone protests outside Parliament where campaigners apply for police permission for individual protests, and I planned to get a few of us together to do our bit to get this ridiculous law overturned. As it turned out, only me, AlexAshman and tjm were able to make it, but we pushed on nonetheless. Here's my account of our micro-meet.

5.25am isn't a time to be awake, being closer to my bedtime than a time to rise, but in the name of revolution I'm at Torquay Coach Station boarding a bus to London. I feel like hell; it was my cousin's birthday the day before, and I have fuzzy memories of being the tequila king in the Mexican restaurant at his celebratory meal. Fortunately, the back seat is free, and I stretch out and grab as much sleep as I possibly can. You can't take on the police state with no sleep and a hangover.

I feel pretty rough arriving at Victoria at 10.45, but fortunately we've arranged to meet in a pub. I neck a pint of coke and start to feel better. Jon has left a message on my answerphone saying he can't make it, his protest scuppered the police, who've lost his form. This means I'll be completely in Alex's hands for the day; I find it hard to cope with London and struggle to find my way around alone. I like to think that a City banker in a remote part of Dartmoor would feel much the same, but for now that's by the by. I'm delighted to see Alex – it's no fun doing a lone protest alone.

After a good pint of livener, we decide to head to Parliament Square to see what's about. We have a bit of time, as our protests don't start until 1.30. We see Brian Haw down there and go and say hi; he's not very talkative, but some of his comrades have a good chat with us. We're told that we can see Brian's original protest boards, which were confiscated by the police, at the Tate, so with time to kill we decide to head over for a look.

Half an hour and several wrong turns later, we're in a pub. We're not quite lost, but decide there's nothing like Dutch courage…

Back at Parliament Square, we find a corner and begin our protests. I'm protesting against supermarkets. My partner's sister had a horrible 'mass interview' experience at a new branch in Newton Abbot, which sounded utterly humiliating; the branch in question was given planning permission despite being right next to a market that has been there for hundreds of years and will probably ultimately be the cause of its demise. I put on my specially-made 'Asbos for Asda' T-shirt and put together my sign. With a nod in the direction of Father Ted, it reads 'Down With This Sort Of Thing. Careful Now.'

Alex takes his sweatshirt off. His T-shirt reads 'Dr Pooh' and features dear Winnie standing beside a Tardis. He's serious, almost raging; despite not being a fan, I'm absolutely convinced by his argument that David Tennant should be replaced by Winnie The Pooh as Dr Who.

We protest for a good hour and a half. We're near the traffic lights, so drivers have plenty of time to assess us; some beep their horns, some wave, white van man looks at us in what he imagines is a withering way. A bloke on a bike stops to ask us what we're protesting about. Our confidence grows, and we shout our slogans a little louder. A couple of tourists take photos, tour bus guides point us out and wave. The same police car drives past us several times, very slowly. Most people just stare or ignore us completely, though; just another couple of nutters in central London. We've done our bit. Unfortunately, the lunchtime pints have affected our bladders, and our protests are cut short by a need to wee.

The protests over, I suggest we take a stroll down the Thames. Much as I dislike London in general, I love being by the river; there's always something going on and plenty of sights to see. We end up near St Paul's, so for old times sake head for Ye Old London Inn for a further pint. It's been a good day; the rain has mainly stayed off, and I've fulfilled an ambition to protest outside Parliament.

I'll gloss over the last couple of hours of the afternoon. Suffice it to say that Alex knew where he was going the whole time, and had clearly just decided that we'd take a look at St Paul's from a variety of angles before heading back to Victoria. A cheery goodbye and thanks to Alex, and once again I was alone in London. Back on the coach, I found myself sitting behind my mate's brother; he'd just been for a fairly desperate few days of training for a fast food chain in north London. Clearly, although I'd done my protest, the battle against humiliation of the proles wasn't over yet…

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Skankyrich

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