Saint Paul's is like some demented rave, although the soaring majesty of the building is only added to. The bells are ringing out proud and hard drowning out the tribal techno beats.
The protesters tented village butts right up to the steps. It looks very medieval, haggered canvas against the brilliant white stone.
Discreet police barricades hide under archways, containing too easily the sprawling encampment. I want to feel more but I don't. It just reminds me of Goose fair in Nottingham.
Someone once told me they would march the flocks through tar and then though sand to make a kind of shoe for their journey to market.