(Updated - see bottom of post).This was fantastic. I've never seen such a mix of joy and anticipation: the former deriving from the knowledge that Blair is finished, and the latter from a sense that a new field of possibilities is about to be opened up. The turnout for a non-London demo was far better than we had any right to expect. I really don't know if the dissent that was given ample fora today will even be heard of on the conference floor. God knows, the antiwar movement was completely absent from Labour's 2003 conference, and New Labour have moved effectively to block dissenting resolutions. I would anticipate a fixed-up Blair love-in in which admits to mistakes, gets some sustained 'warm' applause and then oversees yet another haemhorrage in the membership while he tours the country trying to build up that wave of euphoria that he intends to depart on. If he really wanted to cheer the country up, he'd set to work aggravating that heart problem he has. Anyway.
I had decided to treat myself and take the 'Peace Train' to Manchester and back, so named because there wasn't a moment of peace to be had on it. It had been advertised that Tony Benn, Craig Murray and George Galloway would be aboard, so I had some vague notion that I would put my feet up on Galloway's spare cigar box and rap with the guys about world politics and that. For some reason, this vision completely failed to materialise, and instead I found myself sitting in a cramped carriage listening to the harmonious sound of the Strawberry Seeds choir, which might have been tolerable had it not been for the crushing hangover that I had hoped to luxuriate in while reading some ephemeral revolutionary leaflets. The atmosphere was only raised when the dissolute
Mark Elf turned up in the seat opposite.
After four hours of camera crews rushing past, socialist newspaper sellers selling socialist newspapers, pamphleteers and leafleters pamphleting and leafleting, singers singing and children making noises that sadistically cut into one's torpor like a dentists' drill - well, after all that, we arrived in a city that looked like London with a slightly higher quotient of red brick. I met the man behind the
Strategic Voter website, who apprised me of the strange ways of the natives and slipped me a leaflet or two. I also ran into
Louise from Stroppy Blog later on. And, you'll never guess what - we all had ourselves a bit of a protest. Here's some pics to look at:
One of the curiosities was the fact that the police seemed to be persuaded that we were about to have ourselves a "terrorist opportunity" as the Chief of Manchester Police said yesterday. Despite the fact that the protest showed no signs of making an attempt on the wire cages that surrounded the Labour conference, and despite the fact that there was not a whisper of violence or criminality, they seemed to find it necessary to have lots of their men running around in military boots, filming people, forming lines to protect certain buildings, sending mounted policemen out to initiate what is certain to be a mountain of horseshit that will build up throughout the week. Take a look at these laughing policemen:

I can't tell you what they thought they were doing behind that wire fence with their little delegates' badges. Perhaps, or rather certainly, Blair looked at the fate of the Hungarian Prime Minister in recent weeks. That guy was also caught lying to the public, you know. I fancy that in all the prancing around in boots and bullet-proof vests (yes, they had those again), there is something of the fascistic desire for impermeability against the oceanic - like the fearsome tide-like movement of these crowds: