
In praise of Just Stop Oil
As a child in the 1960s, all I wanted to do was get to London: to be rich and famous, yes, but also to go on demos. As I watched the attractive young adults having seven bells knocked out of them by the boys in blue for protesting outside the American embassy against the Vietnam War, I yearned to join the struggle. But as I was eight years old, this seemed highly unlikely at any time in the immediate future. Instead I sought out and found images of the American civil rights marches: men in suits, nuns and priests, dignified black and white students. Then the suffragettes: delicate Edwardian women
