Relay

“What’s in the bag?”

 

I don’t have much choice,

 

“It’s a panda costume officer”

 

He isn’t fazed. Which is fair; velour panda legs are quite visible under my wishfully inconspicuous coat. I have no one to blame but myself it seems.

 

“I’ll need to do a search”

 

It’s only the panda head and paws in the bag. I’ve left everything else at my girlfriend’s house, apart from a £10 note and a phone number to call in case of emergency.

 

If I do end up at a station (which is now of primary interest to me) they could take my phone and document my contacts, which I consider a discourteous offence to the reputation of my friends (none of whom are in the least bit disreputable…). I would loathe implicating any into the records of police clerks due to my dissenting behaviour, standing here in Ladbroke Grove, headless but panda-bodied.

 

It snowed today. Lovely, puffy big flakes making a stand against the English calendar. London was for one day a little Siberia, and I its proud panda preparing for peaceful protest. That is, until we got utterly rumbled by a group of policemen who didn’t really need to be too observant to notice a group of people aimlessly loitering, two of which with very big black feet.

 

“When were you intending to put this on?” gesturing towards the panda head, now looking distinctly dejected.

 

I detail our plans with openness and calm. This is how we’ve been briefed. We even had role-play exercises;

 

‘Excuse me Sir, could you please vacate the premises or we may arrest you for Breach of the Peace and Obstruction of the Highway.’

 

‘Fuck off pig or I’ll cut yer inta’ cubes bitch! I’m the motherfuckin’ P.A.N.D.A.!’ was generally a tone we were recommended to avoid.

 

They group us into a side alley and await further advice. We exchange humoured glances of incontestable defeat. The Olympic Torch and its entourage process before us; legions of police on foot, bikes and cars, black vans with black windows, carnival floats with offerings from official sponsors (who will not be mentioned), dancing girls pretending it’s not freezing, crowds pretending they can see anything…

 

We hear word that the torch is actually in a bus as it’s too dangerous to be exposed. That shouldn’t seem so reasonable.

 

Another policeman takes our details, which does involve one panda having to de-robe to access his wallet. “Oooh Officer!” raises the faintest smile, and I conclude that we’re both just fulfilling a role.

 

After we’re deemed to be of no danger, we’re free. We follow the wake of the procession, taking photos with the displaced spectators, performers and other protesters. Somewhere ahead someone is carrying a flame to China, and with it angry people are rushing like moths.

 

But that urgency is absent in me, as I question my reasons and motives, personal and political. I’ve never done this before. I find myself looking at the eyes of a child staring at me through the holes in my panda head.

- by Dr. Fieldmouse.

This entry was posted by Neil Keating, on Tuesday, 8 April 2008. You can leave your response.