Another fun day at the office

Firstly, hi to everyone and thanks for the comments. Will answer more fully later as I got nicked again today and used the time to write a blog entry (actually had a custody sergeant who agreed with me that it was my right to have writing materials), so I'm going to try and type it up now before and lose momentum and crash into a small and helpless bundle on the floor.

"Fantastic. I have pen and paper so I may be able to do some work. Arrested for handing out flyers and everything aches. Well my arms and my back more than anything else. So locked in another cell. No crimestoppers number today. I'm probably not going to get out in time for Mark's show.

Just for the record, police station microwaved vegan vegetable chili is just as disgusting as ever. Strange food that doesn't seem to taste of anything but still manages to be totally inedible. I've eaten enough to cover being hungry but I can't face anymore. They've got new safety forks with such a spongy end it won't pick up the pieces of corn.

As ever in these situations, it is time to play the waiting game. I sit, locked in here, until the clogged up wheels of justice (the cops making sure their creative fictions match in the canteen) turn and we all get to waste time on a no comment interview before they decide whether or not their going to charge me. Basically I'm going to be here for many more hours - just hope I get out in time to make the pub. A gal's got to have priorities don't you know!

I find cells difficult to write in. The lights are too bright and there always has to be an internal censor [even more than out here]. Being locked up always makes me want to sleep, although that could also be a repsonse to the let up in adrenalin. If in doubt, sleep. That's always been my motto.

This cell it tiled. White with royal blue edging and a two deep strip running around the cell. The door is standard, silver grey metal with spyhole and hatch for passing things in and out without having to unlock the door. The blanket's better than usual. More of a padded affair, not as rough or with as many flakey bits than the usual startch bright blue ones. This one is a darker blue with red stitching forming either diamonds or squares depending on which way round it's supposed to go. However I'm not bored enough to stand up and spread this one out to see which is the correct way round. Maybe later. There's more of a barred effect in this cell. Most of the English police cells I've been in have opaque squares as a window. This cell has seven white strips running down. Not bars as they are not set away the wall, more built into it.

This is the first time I have been arrested in The City which is strange as I'm surprised it's taken this long. So i sit. I think I'm going to ring the bell and ask for toilet paper and another cup of water.

So I try to write. Toilet paper received. And a newspaper a friend has dropped in. I forgot to mention the glass ball on the ceiling earlier, built in reflecting my small world in an even smaller minature.

I'm getting bored now. I think it's dark outside but I can't really tell. I've asked for coffee, and when they bring it, I'll ask what the time is. They took my watch. I hate it when they do that. I can sometimes persuade them to let me keep it in London, but not here.

By the way, they're diamonds, not squares. In case you were worried about the incompletness of this narrative.

There isn't much to report. I know I've been here for a few hours because the fluorescent lights are beginning to hurt my eyes. Prison ballads are pretty dull really - I sat in a cell. I might as well just write the cat sat on the fucking mat.

They've brought me coffee. As I suspected, it is piping hot, burning to the mouth. Somehow I might injure myself with the zip of my hoodie, or my watch, but scalding hot coffee is okay. Maybe burns don't count as self-harm.

Just been informed they're going to do fingerprints and photograph after coffee (oh it's very civilised here). I said no to DNA, said it was confirmed and that was cool so I'm not going to fight over the rest. I'm not sure I've got the energy. Somedays I think it's worth the struggles, other days, such as today, I can feel a certain amount of pragmaticism creeping in. Go through the motions, sign the boxes (although not the one that confirms they're your fingerprints - I never sign that one) and hopefully get one stage further on the path of release. Follow the yellow brick road, confront the wicked witch and hopefully get out in time for last orders.

Well, that's done and dusted. No blank ink stains from fingerprinting anymore. Everything is done by machines because machines have to rule every aspect of our lives. Apparantly they've got me some fruit. I haven't seen it yet, but it'd be nice as I'm still hungry from the vegetable chilli. I think it's about six now which means I've been here for about four hours. Cops are still busy concocting their stories. No sign of when they're going to interview us.

The custody staff here seem to be okay. No real complaints other than the initial request for a "more thorough" search, although not a strip search. I didn't resist. I would have resisted a full strip search. The cop taking my fingerprints thanked me for co operating. At least you get more gratitude when you're known to be an arsey bitch.

Oh - two apples and a banana. Nice apple too. Just what the doctor ordered. Banana's good too. I try to eat locally as much as possible. But you don't get much Cornish winter fruit which is a bit of a bugger. I'm saving one apple for later. Hey, I've got an idea. Maybe I could use the apple to escape, it's a good weight and I've got the banana skin to trip them up. And another scalding coffee into the mix and I might have a plan. Oh, and I'm sure I could poke out a couple of eyes with this pen. Only joking. Honest. A friend told me that once, after he had been arrested, dreamt he had managed an armed raid on the poilce station and had set everyone free. He was gutted when he woke up to hard foam and a locked door.

The need to smoke factor is rearing it's ugly head. I'm trying not to think about it but I can feel the pangs. There's no smoking here. No outside space. Although I've been told that at other police stations and subsequently found out they've been lying. Never trust a police officer, that's my motto."

And then I was released. They claimed to have enough evidence to charge me but had decided it wouldn't be in the public interest to pursue it any further.

If anyone's managed to reach this point in the post, I should probably explain what happened. I didn't feel comfortable doing this in the police cell.

It was the anniversary of the start of the war in Iraq today and the day had been called as a day of international action against the war. I was coming to London anyway for my book and industry analysis, so I volunteered myself for whatever was going on.

We held a noise demo outside a company benefitting out of Iraqi oil (my brain is frazzled and I can't remember the fucking name of the company). The company is based in a private square near Saint Pauls. Police turned up, moved us to the other side of the square. Myself and two friends decided to leaflet people as they entered and left the square. Nothing too controversial.

I was being followed by FIT (forward intelligence teams - people who make a living out of harassing anarchists). At first they told me as I had left the demonstration, I was now not allowed to return to the demonstration. I was handing out leaflets and ignored them. Then they told me that I had to either return to the demonstration or leave the area as directed under Section 14 (conditions a senior officer can impose on a demonstration). We carried handing out leaflets. The cops informed my friends that what they had said to me also applied to them. We carried on handing out leaflets. I didn't really think they were going to nick us.

However the waiting vans of cops thought differently. As they poured out of the vans we made a vain and desperate attempt to get away. I think I ran about four paces before stopped. It seemed to take about six of them to stop me which seemed somewhat excessive. I remember looking down, or rather being forced down and seeing many many pairs of black legs.

After a short delay while they sat on me, they found their handcuffs and nicked me. I refused to co operate mostly because my friend wasn't and I felt I should show solidarity. I was dragged by cops who stated "they didn't mind if they broke my arm", who after a cop suggested they should use four people to carry me stated "we'll drag her, it'll serve her right" and finally when one of the other cops pointed out that he was dragging me by gripping and twisting one of the handcuffs, or as he put it, "mind her wrist" was told "I don't care about her wrist." Nice. It's strange with those kind of comments. I hear them at the time but somehow my brain does some weird processing function where it shuts down. The information isn't allowed to go in deep enough to freak me out.

So, I'm feeling a bit bruised and battered right now. I'm also peetering out partly because my friends have come back and I feel rude sitting here typing.

This is a very rambling unedited account but don't think I have the energy for anything else tonight.