G20 summit and the "Thought Police".

Police defend the Bank of England from protesters' assaults. -5h 30-

Violent revendication occured this morning in the city's neat street surrounding the financial temple artery.

The remains of the day darts in between the buildings from which a cold and sombre shadow falls over a deluge of office workers. This morning had started the G20 summit. The information as to access the heart of the area, I direct myself on overnarrow alley to cut through. Policemen poped all around dressed for battle.
I finally reach the city's financial heart : Bank.

The crowd pours down every narrow alley ways, fleeing the area with anxiety."Better stay out of town for awhile!" says one before rushing for the safety of the underground.
Litter covers the streets and adds to the scene a tragic outlook

The crowd is massed on the siege of the protest and the tension raises as the sun quickly runs away leaving the feeling that the night will be the scene of intense altercation. Protesters flood the streets and joins the agitated swell crushing against police lines. Clenched fists emerge from the tumult, peace has vanished. Chants are now a cacophony of shouts and groans.

Police charge and heightens the assailiants' anger. Every forward step into the police blockade engender battle and injured bodies are dragged with difficulty out of the mess. Beer bottles and rubbish bags flown from every points. At that time, the Police started to circle the protest, front and back, leaving no choice but to run for safety. I decided then to head for the climate camping, held on Bishopsgate.

The ambience there was more settle. Musicians entertained the movement and a less turbulent crowd was standing in the front of the campement. Police was once again overpresent, professionaly not answering questions asked. At that time, I met one of the volunteer, tittled as "legal Observer". The main aim of this group of 30 people , spread in and out of the Camp, was to prevent the police to delocalise the sitting. Their position, claimed as a peaceful intervention, did involve the supply of food and water to the 200 tents.

Divided in a few numbers, responsible for different media coverage, medics or hygiene, they intended to protect the camp against Police agression. "It turned out to be in danger when the Police started to restrain the water supply" reveals a witness. Despite the Camp's intention as to keep a low key violence, the lack of goods started to ensure the Police a break in and finally got through around one in the morning. The Police walked on the place, confiscating tents and searching people, leaving exhausted protesters with no shelter for the night.


Comments gathered from: Anonymous Legal observer.
Picture : Delvecchio Victor.

Forthcoming events

Bash out

N.O.I.S.E.

Once and for all Neon Noise Project is taking the party to offer to our tender hearing the most profitable cure. After a two month rest the venue will take place at the Coronet theater for a unique and tremendous nightset of Electro.

The rendez-vous will include the theatricals Fischerspooner, Yursek and Autokratz in room one plus the synthetic "french and italo-touch" representant Sebastian (Ed Banger), Al-Hot Chip and JBAG (Jerry Bouthier & Andrea Gorgerino). As to conclude the show the dark resident Buster Bennet will summon the "Nuke them All" undead army.

Another night of Mayhem.

"Hells Angels" by Hunter S. Thompson.

The Times, August last year.
“Returning from the Bulldog Bash Bikers fest’, Gerry Tobin, Canadian Biker in his 30's , is shot dead on the M20.” At a glimpse on the patch sewed on his jacket, a black-denim which the sleeves have been ripped off, we recognise his affiliation to a well-known motorcycle group called “Hell’s Angels”.

“I’m born in a desert, raised in a Lion’s den...”

- Grateful dead, New Minglewood Blues -

Starting like a “scritch” throughout Eisenhower’s presidency, “Hell’s angels” tells the story of one of the most notorious gang of outlaws overflowing the USA. Going through newspapers quotes and sciological reports, this close study of the hoodlums, confronts the media’s favourite game and real experience. Using his most successful Gonzo skill, H. Thompson gives us the whole report of what was going to be the biggest publicized gang in America.

The statement begin in San Bernardino, California, where the first charter was created in 1950. Counting a few dedicated bikers, it is needless to say that they had build their reputation by collecting police records. Felonies and burglaries were the most common acts, but some of them could go for sexual harassment and gang rape.

As they would deny these last accusations, the police and the media aimed accurately to distort the related facts, trying to eradicate the new raising movement. But it didn’t last long and soon enough, the “making of a menace” had been given up. Swinging fist through the media persecution that had been created, the rush for idolization had inevitably been triggered and followed meticulously by the most famous magazines at that time.

From false accusations to worship, Hunter S. Thompson had succeded to bring us the first feature of his carreer. Chasing the Angel’s all along the sixties, he had completed his induction into the group which “respected” him like one of them. Keeping in mind his duty as a Gonzo journalist, the eloquent scoop will keep you into it as if you were sharing their own booze. Described as the book which made “Thompson’s name”, this story of sex, drugs and rock n’roll could make you reconsider most your valuable belongings.

From line to line.

Support your local outlaw.

Feasts and Brewering.

The Scolt Head
The Ep bar

The EP bar.

Right on the joining corner of Curtain Road and Old street, the place is a casual South American cocktail bar. Prics are cheap and the quality of the drinks is often surprising.

From time to time.

Anti Social Behaviour Order
A flight over a crow's nest
G20 coverage

The Scolt head.

The setting is authentic, and the vivid ambience sounds like a painting of a provencal garden as a paved alley leads to an old front door. The place is halved by the counter where a shiny blonde is drying wine glasses. Wrinkled leathered sofas are disseminated over the place until a large entrance which seems to be restaurant room. I move furtively to the closest divan, the one with the biggest pile of newspaper. The menu is appealing mainly composed of various fish dishes. Prices are common for this place full of character.

From places to places.

Feasts and Brewering.

A flight over a crow's nest.

- February 29th -

Ah, here we are again. After a long time without a decent thing to write...I do not mean that these past days have not been creative, as they were. Some say that the time to digest is always the most important as to be able to transmit content.


I have done a few things, through the maze of "Zeebigcity", and some quite interesting ones. As I am fond of various sorts of events, gauging my purse to make sure it will follow, I sunk my teeth to another restless week-end. Food as a starter, music as main, all senses were involved.


Glamorous time when the sun is out, the terrace of the Scolt Head fronts east, surrounded by trees. Nice ales and nice food. Oh...Well. Nice place.




After a long struggle to leave my cosy sofa, I head back to the Tube to digest my lunch. Almost asleep when my stop is announced (though it's often like that!), a quick check to the time reminds me tea time. Although fond of Earl Grey but without milk, Cocktail's time rings. Once out of Old Street station, I decide to go to the Ep Bar where I have rarely seen south american's cocktails so cheap...


No time to rest and I fly to the Cross Kings which is holding the launch of the Post Apocalypse night. In crave for a nice bit of experimental sound, the party was four quids and worth it.
Trendies were playing on child drum's kit singing the bliss of squirrels, when celtic harps were covering a few of well-known English's opus such as the Smiths.


But as good time always ends, I had to go back home missing the favorite band interview... The next performance will be on the 5th of April. Same place...

“Anti-Social Behavior Orders” ?

- 9h25 - Through the haze of another morning, the door slams behind me. With the blood pressure of a galoping horse due to the few coffee cups of a very strong Italian brand, I decide, though a bit late, to scan my pockets and head to the tube.

"Keys ? - OK. - Money ? - Errr, ooookaaaay...- Tobacco ? - OK. - Something to read ?..."

- 9h30 - Not having left home since quite a long time, my reading list remains short. Scanning the "Far-away", a bright color attract my attention. Pushing my spectacles back on my inquisitive nose, I start to figure what's coming. The guy is handling papers. The free delivery of another pile of crap which will make more talks about the recycling process on the planet.

- 9 h 35 - It's Shortlist "for men with more than one thing on their minds" magazine, and the awaited column of Danny wallace. Brilliant. At least something slightly attractive to read when commuting.

- 9 h 40 - The carriage is fairly busy. Seats are empty but still warm from the last traveller. The morning seems quiet until a sudden cacophony reaches the platform. Travellers lift their sleepy faces scruting with fear a hord of a Girlschool students.

Invasion. Screams and "laughs out loud". Song singing, giggling and finger's pointing.

At a glimpse, I notice the way that the rest of travellers have lifted their posts higher, hiding behind their papermade shields. Trying not to be unsympathetic, despite my favorite thursday's reading session basically ruined, I leave my gazette for a while and put on my best humor as to be confronted. Their extreme hyperactivity is flourishing, bouncing inside the carriage. One of them looks at me but her thin voice doesn't cover the noise. She apologises for the inconvenience as I ask her the reason for over-excitment. She tells me they were going to a theme park and were all very happy.