On October 12th, after ten years, the residents of Dale Farm traveller’s site lost their final bid to overturn their eviction, when the High Court refused them the right to appeal the judgement.  With every legal option exhausted, it was simply down to the matter of eviction, so I was sent down to cover the unfolding story.

By way of background, the two sides of the story were pretty straightforward. The case for the prosecution had built its argument on the fact that the Dale Farm site was based on Metropolitan Green Belt land so, as such, building and development laws were very strict.   No official applications had been made for the homes of the 80 families.  The residents had based their defence on the fact that, prior to them moving onto the land, it had been a scrap yard and a Police car pound, not protected land.  They argued that the eviction was simply based on a bias against the travelling community.

Whichever was correct, the law came down on the side of Basildon council, and I found myself driving east before dawn on the first day that an eviction attempt could take place.  Having visited the site once before for a press conference following an earlier reprieve, it was clear that this really was looking like the end this time.  Police and bailiffs had sectioned off large areas around the camp, with secure media parking, staff canteens and toilet facilities, as they prepared for the long week ahead.  While I’d been allowed inside on my previous visit, the camp was now very much on lock-down, with only a handful of journalists and photographers who’d invested more time on covering the story allowed inside.

The day cruised by with very little to focus on as the fortified defences were strengthened around the site, and warnings and murals were painted onto the main entrance.  By 4pm, it was clear that nothing was going to happen, so I volunteered to return the next day and headed home.

Arriving at 6.15 the next morning, the vibe was very different and it was clear that today was the day.  Hundreds of police officers in full riot gear were gathered in the fields and car parks around the site, and the media parking was near-capacity when I pulled up.  Thankfully, there were two of us from AFP on shift that day, as I was joined by this year’s “News Photographer of the Year” Carl Court so we had the chance to spread out and cover more angles.  With Carl on the front door, I went cross-country and found a different way into the camp.  By the time I arrived at the main entrance, the police had already got through the defences and had claimed an area around the scaffold entrance.  Tensions were running high as residents argued with police and activists and supporters clashed with riot teams.  Bottles and bricks were soon flying through the air.  Thankfully, predicting the way it would go, I’d brought my helmet with me so was spared the constant fear of looking to the air for incoming missiles.

With police breaking through the defences at two points, it became harder to locate where the action was, but this was soon cleared up when a small puff of smoke went up.  Activists had dragged an empty caravan into the middle of one of the roads and set it alight.  While everyone dashed towards the smoke, it quickly became a rather embarrassing situation with photographers and camera crews stacked on top of each other to get the shot.  When a woman brought out a crucifix to hold as she stood in front of the blaze, we quickly realised how set up the shot was becoming.  Unfortunately, this is one of those situations that members of the media have to face sometimes.  While you’re sadly aware of how you’re being led into a picture, you have to shoot it.  Those that are unhappy with shooting any staged event during a live news situation will often sadly miss out as the papers want the “big shot” of the day, even it does feel contrived at the time of capture.  As an interesting side note, Italian photographer Ruben Salvadori recently released a fascinating but somewhat embarrassing film highlighting how photographers can often “create” the event without having to actually physically set anything up.

With two caravans now simply piles of smouldering plastic and metal, the focus returned to those activists that had built the structure around the main gate.  While they were in their “crows nest” above the main gate, police and bailiffs were unable to gain access to remove the military truck and debris that was blocking the access road.  After clearing most of the ground around it, the police sent in trained climbers to test the structure.  I’m well aware that I may get some criticism for this controversial statement here, but I’m constantly impressed with the police force that we have in this country.  While some of the more aggressive activists hurled abuse and rocks at them, they calmly worked out how to get the protesters in the structure down to the ground, without any injury or loss of life.  There are so many countries elsewhere in the world where, faced with this problem, the police would have gone in there with an armoured vehicle and just brought the whole thing down.  It baffles me how people can scream at these guys, accusing them of brutality when they so clearly are one of the most considered and ordered police forces in the world.

I guess I may have had different feelings if it was my house being threatened, but I like to think that I’d still be able to direct any anger I had at the people responsible.  Having said that, the police did use a Taser during the very first stages of entry into the camp which may have been a little over the top, but I guess when you’re faced with signs warning of imminent death, you may end up over-reacting a little.

Once the structure was cleared, the bailiffs entered the site, for the first time, to erect fencing around the newly secured area, and seeing that this would take some time to clear what they now controlled, I spent the rest of the day looking around the site.

With sunlight fading, the bailiffs were called off-site and the police erected security lights.  With the light gone, it was my turn to call it a day.

Now that the police had near-total control over the site, Thursday was always going to be less explosive than the previous day.  With the gate now secured, it was simply a case of clearing a path and getting on with addressing each of the blockades that had been built.  To ease tensions, police teams came onto the site to visit the houses that had been highlighted as legal, by residents, and got the chance to explain that the bailiffs would not be coming roaring onto the site to destroy the buildings today.  By now, the residents were clearly just waiting to go and most had packed up their belongings and were passing the time until they could drive away from the site.

Once the police teams had cleared the protesters from under a former Soviet army truck, they moved on to two people who had attached their hands together through a barrel.  Sensing that the end of the protest was near, other activists came to say goodbye to them as they left the site, resulting in emotional scenes.

With the “Industrial muncher” (as Sky News called it) tearing the final parts of the defences down, it was time for the residents to finally say goodbye to their home of the last decade.  Whatever you think of the travelling community, it must be so hard to see your community split apart like this.  It’s a real shame that this could not have been resolved amicably between residents and Basildon Council.

I hope their next site brings them more luck and hopefully, stability.

Before I begin, I should explain my own experiences with fees and student debt.  When I was 17, I took a Foundation course in photo-journalism with my A levels.  On passing this, I applied for and secured a place on the next stage, the Pre-entry NCTJ Photo-Journalism course.  However, when I was told this good news, I was also informed that I’d have to fund the course fees of £2000 myself.  Being far from wealthy, this actually forced me away from the course and I moved on to pursue music.  Eight years later, the European Union began to cover the fees for those accepted and I managed to get a position once more.  Without that financial assistance, I would never have completed the course so I can thoroughly understand how some can say that £9000 of fees will be enough to dissuade them from attending University.  Fees are bad, mmkay?

Having managed to time my days off with all of the three previous student tuition fee protests, the fourth demo became my first full day of revolting students.  With other photographers having already experienced the fun and games involved, many were already complaining about the long day ahead before it had even started.  Not a good sign.

Speaking of signs, a group holding oversized model textbooks gathered at the front of the march before it set off, making quite a nice frame.  It only dawned on me later in the day that it was a “novel” (snigger) way to disguise your riot shield.

The march from the University of London to the Houses of Parliament went smoothly enough with a few kids at the front running ahead and taking a different route but eventually regrouping with the main body of protestors.  When they finally reached the arranged destination, it quickly became clear how odd a decision it is to march on Parliament; the square is one giant containment area surrounded by buildings with bomb and bullet-proof windows.  Basically, the march led itself into the kettle.

While the people filed in, all was calm enough but within a short period, a handful of protestors began to kick off with the odd missile being thrown at the police, barriers being pushed down and statues being vandalised.  While the majority of the crowd were happy to just be there and make their presence speak for itself, it was clear that others had come to cause trouble.  It didn’t take long for it to begin.

At the junction of Victoria Street and Parliament Square, a flashpoint soon became apparent with the police line being consistently tested by surging crowds.  For those that have never been in this kind of situation, allow me to give my take on how the stories of police brutality against innocent youngsters occur.  Firstly, Mr. or Mrs. “FightThePower” gets to the front line and starts kicking off and pushing the police around.  Once it’s started to get loud and aggressive, others come over to see what’s happening.  The initial troublemakers take a step back from the front line, allowing the less-aggressive protestors to slip to the front.  Once they’re safely away from the danger, the incredibly brave soldiers of anarchy begin throwing sticks and rocks at the police line while surging forwards, pushing the ones at the front into the police.  The police respond by pushing back and inevitably someone gets hurt.

Throughout the day, you could clearly see that the majority of the masked kids that were shouting for people to target the horses and throwing broken chunks of concrete were conveniently never on the front line.  Way to go, tough guys.

It was around this time when the first photographer casualties occurred with colleagues James Vasey and Luke McGregor both suffering cuts during crowd surges.  With the crush becoming more severe, a number of photographers were pushed to the floor under fencing with two of them saying that they thought that it could be about to get REALLY serious.

With the police horses now out to hold the line, a few small groups in the crowd started to take out their frustration on what was to hand with construction fencing and a security shed being targeted.

Before long, the fencing was being used against the police back at the flashpoint.  It was so clear how this was going to end up by this point.  If you try to force a large metal section of fencing at police and they start wrestling it back at you, who’s going to come out worse; the police dressed in body armour and helmets or the guys on the front line with nice soft heads?

As the sun went down, the fires began with benches and the previously mentioned shed getting the lighter treatment.  With all this happening, I have to restate that the vast majority of the people in Parliament Square were chatting, chanting and remaining calm.  From what I saw, there is very obviously a smaller element that are just there to break things, or in their words, “fuck things up”. A man mentioned to me that he’d asked one of the masked protestors if he’d heard when the vote to decide if the fee increase would be going through in Parliament.  The masked man responded by asking him what vote he was talking about.

By 4pm, the police decided to close the area of, effectively forming the “kettle”.  From this point on, only accredited media or those with medical emergencies could pass out of parliament Square.  By now, the marchers had been in the square for around 3-4 hours with at least a few more hours in containment ahead of them.  A small area in the centre of the grassed area became an impromptu toilet with a definite “festival” feel to the mud around that corner of the square.

As it got colder and people got hungry and tired, more of the demonstrators headed towards the exit but found the “kettle” still in place with nobody allowed to leave.  With nowhere to go, the flashpoint moved to Whitehall with huge numbers funnelling into the closed off road.

This time, I decided to get right into the thick of it and managed to both lose my protective headgear and have a flashgun smashed.  Whoopee.  Still, it resulted in me having to shoot catch-flash instead which, thanks to an abundance of photographers in the area, was pretty easy with some decent results.  Like most of the protests and demonstrations that happen now, the media is there in the front line with agency, newspaper, freelance and amateur photographers scrambling for positions.  A number of times in the evening, there were similarities with the clashes at the G20 demonstration in central London where I was half expecting a PR to come along and start handing out press releases to the rows and rows of media.

By now, word had come through of THE incident of the day with Matt Dunham of AP managing to be at just the the right place at just the right time to capture the moment that a breakaway group of protestors attacked a car carrying Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall.  Now when something like that happens, it’s game over.  Everyone very quickly realises that with an image like that on the wire, there’s no point in even thinking of another angle.  Sure enough, Matt secured nearly every front page in the UK the next day and very probably in countries all over the world.  Up to that point, Ki Price had been the man of the day with his picture of a guy swinging on a Union flag, suspended from the Cenotaph war memorial.  Thankfully, he also managed to get his day of front pages the day after Matt, when it was discovered that the boy in question was the son of Pink Floyd‘s Dave Gilmour.  Despite him being a history student at an exclusive University, he claimed to have no idea what the Cenotaph was.  With today’s news that he’s been arrested, I guess he’s going to be learning something for free after all.

After smashing a few windows on the Treasury building and the Supreme Court, the Police managed to push the group back and after holding them for a little longer, the containment was slowly opened along a secured route, allowing the remaining group to slowly make their way over Westminster bridge and home.  With this being the final protest scheduled for 2010, the new year promises to hold more demonstrations, despite the bill passing through Parliament.  With neither side appearing to want to back down on their opinions, it looks like this story is set to rumble on for some time.  Looks like I might need to get that hard hat replaced…

Yesterday, I was put on “Climate Camp” watch along with fellow AFP photographer and good friend Shaun Curry.  Following a few days of media hype with demonstrators refusing to give any information on their planned camp site location and the police offering “community-style” policing if the demonstrators were prepared to cooperate, we both went to our pre-arranged meeting points. With seven groups announced on the group’s website, I headed to the headquarters of Rio Tinto where the 70 or so protestors sat around waiting until we finally got the go-ahead and travelled via tube and train to the mystery final destination.  Before we started to move, all of the media were handed “guidelines” and here is where my annoyance begins.  While economic and environmental protest groups were falling over themselves to get images and video from members of the media following the recent trouble at the Mayday demonstrations in central London, they were now imposing their own rules.  It seems that as long as the footage shows evidence of police errors, the media is their friend.

With an official but smaller version available here, I’ll just pick a few choice highlights for you.  Firstly, it should be pointed out that the eventual destination and current climate camp is on Blackheath which is public common land.  This means that it’s open for the public to access and enjoy at all times.

You will be accompanied by an assigned camper during that time, who will ensure that both campers and journalists are kept happy, and can ensure that consent is obtained from people being filmed and photographed.

Outside of these hours, there will also be a particular spot close to the entrance to which TV crews can be escorted to do interviews.

What? So in a public area that has been cordoned off with temporary fencing by the protest groups, we have to ask permission to access this land which will only be granted between certain hours (10:00-16:00) and only if guided by a steward?  On the plus side, for some reason this year’s occupation doesn’t feel as insane as last year where the group illegally occupied land by the side of Heathrow airport and THEN started telling the media when we were allowed to come onto their land and to respect their rights and not to try to come onto their land at any other times.

Certain neighbourhoods and work spaces may decide to ‘opt out’ of the media access policy, and no journalists of any kind should go to these spaces in any kind of capacity. This is not because these areas have ‘anything to hide’ but because the camp process respects the right of those neighbourhoods and working groups who don’t feel comfortable engaging with the media. Our ability to provide wider access to the camp depends on us being able to respect the decision of these groups to opt out like this. Journalists will be informed by the media team on arrival which neighbourhoods and spaces have opted out. The neighbourhoods that opt out may change during the week.

Again, I’m not allowed to go to certain areas of this publicly-owned land because some people have decided that the laws that cover media access and control for every other part of society aren’t quite good enough for them.  However, if they decide that they now want publicity, they have the right to suddenly beckon the journalists in to record their experiences.

In another sheet, we are also told that “you must display your press badge at all times“.  The logic behind this is that “if you’re identifiable as a press journalist..then you’ll find it easier to get an insight into the camp”.  So it’s fine to retain your anonymity if you’re a protestor but not if you’re media.  ID cards anyone?

The guide goes on to say that “if you want to take a picture or video and it includes people, always always ask first.  If you can’t ask, don’t take the picture“  Again, UK law says if someone is in public and not on private property and as long as they’re over 16, you’re free to take whatever pictures you want.  This is a part of UK law that should be protected to the end as without this, how does the media hope to get a picture of anyone?  As soon as controls of this type are introduced, our hands are effectively tied.  The fact that these restrictions are trying to be enforced by “Smash the System” ecological and financial protestors would be hilarious if it wasn’t so stupid.  I was shooting for about ten minutes before I was told to stop.  When I enquired why, I was told I had to ask everyone first.  I told him that I didn’t and he informed me that camp policy was to strongly request me to ask first.  I informed him that I’d officially heard his strong request and chosen to ignore it.  I carried on shooting, he stopped talking.  Grrr..

For further reading on this situation, check out Jonathan Warren’s blog here.

Now after reading all of that, the last thing that I want you to think is that I’m some Neo-Con Littlejohn fan.  Far from it, I would hate people to grow up and live their lives thinking that they were unable to change the things in the world that they disagreed with.  The feeling that you can change the world is such a vital thing for everyone to feel at some point in their lives whether it’s for a phase during the College/University years or for their whole lives.  My problem comes from organisations believing that they have the right to cry that the world’s not fair and then bring in rules and regulations that are far tighter than the governing bodies that they rebel against.

At home, I have eco-bulbs, I reuse my shopping bags, I never use the standby function on my tv and I use public transport.  However, I now really feel like buying a Hummer..

..”That’s the way to do it”.

Having extensively covered the G20 protests last week, I can honestly say it was a real pleasure to photograph the Tamil demonstration in Westminster. By arranging the “flash-mob“-style protest through text messages and avoiding social websites that can be monitored, the group managed to appear from nowhere and catch the police totally off-guard as they set up camp in the middle of a very busy arterial road next to the Houses of Parliament in central London.

Since anti-terrorism laws came into force a few years ago, not only do demos have to be pre-approved but they are also forbidden from stopping within one kilometre of Parliament itself.

As I’ve previously stated, I couldn’t help but find the G20 protest weak due to the amount of people there who clearly did not fully understand the reason for the event. It may come across as very revolutionary and exciting to teenagers to write “Smash the State” onto the Bank of England in chalk but sitting for a few hours in the sun in central London before complaining that you can’t then leave to go home when you’re tired is a very different level of protest to what is happening in Westminster.

When a protest genuinely means something to the people in the street, you can feel it.  There have been no threats of violence, no smashing of shops windows, no graffiti. On the first night, I was constantly approached by people in the crowd to thank me for taking time to cover their protest.  I, as well as the police that were surrounding them, was offered a share of their food and drink.  Young guys in hoodies would approach me, ask who I was representing and then begin an eloquent and heart-felt explanation of why they were there including details of political history and dates of events.  According to reports, the controlling government in Sri Lanka is currently pushing to stamp out their Tamil Tiger enemies but many civilians are being caught in the crossfire. While both sides have been accused of war crimes over the years, it seems that this last push by the Government is proving particularly destructive.

The group is made up of a whole cross-section of the Tamil community with pensioners sitting alongside their grandchildren.  Last night, the people spent their second night outdoors, chanting and drumming with unbelievable amounts of energy.

Having now been moved from the roads onto Parliament Square, it will be interesting to see how long they are prepared to stay there as there is also a march planned through central London on the 11th.

After countless hours of research, meetings, plans and tactic proposals, the G20 rolled into town on Wednesday for a few days of PnP (politics and protests).

First job of the day was a visit to Maggie’s Cancer Care unit in Hammersmith with Michelle Obama and Sarah Brown.  Usually a pool job means one photographer and possibly a film crew will be allowed access to the event due to security and space restrictions.  The results will then be shared among certain agencies and new outlets and all is good with the world. Knowing how the US media works, it didn’t come as too much of a shock to find that the pool actually involved four photographers and two camera crews.  Bahh..  Thankfully, things went well and I managed to get a few frames before grabbing a lift back to town in the travelling media bus.

After editing en route (travel sickness has been pretty much overcome due to forced wiring of pictures in cars and buses) I headed to the Bank of England for the planned “Meltdown in the City” demo.

After days of build-up from the media (damn their speckly hides), protestors and police, hyping the threat of violence, it soon became clear that 40% of the crowd were journalists with the slightest oddity being pounced on by gangs of photographers and TV crews within milliseconds. As police units began to close off roads and pen protestors into certain areas, scuffles began to break out on the front-line.  As is always the case with these events, a small group of people come to cause trouble and, combined with young kids who are out on their first protest and buzzing like tartrazine-guzzlers, flashpoints occur.

I’m a big supporter of the energy and belief that “the youth” and students are prepared to bring onto the streets during demos but it is thoroughly frustrating to see how insincere some of them are. I would never dream of telling them not to do it as it’s important to voice your feelings but their knowledge is so wafer-thin. I’m not joking when I say they had painted their faces, chalked “today capitalism ends” onto the Bank of England and ended the day discussing how they taught the world a lesson as they sip their latte in Starbucks around the corner.

One group I ran into later in the evening asked how they could get past the police blocks to get back into the protest as they’d been to the pub for a few hours but were now wanting to join in again.  They have as much passion to smash the system as an episode of Heartbeat.

Anyhow, inevitably the cocktail of testosterone, alcohol, bravado and a full compliment of willing press resulted in the first window being broken at the RBS bank.  Within minutes, a semicircle of TV crews and photographers had gathered as windows were smashed and the offices were raided with keyboards and monitors soon being waved in the air.  It’s difficult for me to write about the media’s part in this as it’s very easy to criticise it’s part in both encouraging violence and portraying the events in a twisted way.

My defence to this is that despite the recent march through London going smoothly with no violence, our coverage was just as in-depth with four photographers covering the route and rally to the end.  If I’m at a different event and it turns violent, I’ll cover that too but the pictures will be so much more dramatic that people will want to see them as they’re unusual and interesting.  Also, I’m guessing that the same people who were shouting about police brutality if they were pushed may soon cry of censorship if the smashed windows and violence had received no coverage at all in the news. Just a guess of course but it certainly seems a possibility.

Back at the demo, events soon calmed down again and the day-time protestors headed home leaving a die-hard group within the cordon.  Once the police were happy that the remaining people weren’t planning on going anywhere, they closed the area down again and penned them in.  By this point, I was outside the cordon sending pictures so on my return, I found myself blocked from entering.  Grrr.. People who asked were genuinely surprised to hear that I couldn’t come and go as I please with my media pass but that’s a thing of the past. With so many members of the press at events like this from all companies ranging from international agencies to local papers and campaign freesheets, if they allowed everyone with a presscard to move around as they wished, they’d have been no point in trying to stop anyone.  Very frustrating to us but there’s a part of me that understands.  I guess that’s what makes the cat and mouse side of getting back in so much fun..

After an hour or so of patrolling the perimeter, fortune saw me in the right place at the right time as another flashpoint erupted and I could slip into the frontline again.  By this time, the light was fading and as the protestors were herded through the Square Mile, fires were lit in the road and smoke filled the air.

As the police managed to dilute the crowds, I filed my last pictures of the day and headed back for a debriefing in the office.

With everything still in one piece, it was time to head home and get some kip before day 2 kicked off.

Friday?  That makes it tear-gas o’clock..  Today, I joined up with Abbas once more and headed to the village of Billin to cover the latest round of weekly clashes with the Israeli Defence Force soldiers.

Different to last week, the routine at Billin is to approach the wall along a dirt track until you reach the barbed wire-topped fence that marks the controversial line between the West Bank and Israel.  Once there, the locals try to cross through the gate, waving flags, to which the IDF soldiers react with the ever-popular cocktail of tear gas and flash bang charges.  I’d actually managed to forget what the gas tasted like until the first cloud hit us before I’d had chance to get my mask on.  Yum.

It seems that I must have some kind of Israeli homing beacon attached to me somewhere as, again, a soldier decided to take a shot at me.  Now, I’m glad to say that this will be my last gas-filled protest of the assignment as this was decidedly close.  After a few minutes of the first charge being fired, I heard a shot so ducked and immediately heard something whistle very loudly over my head.  At this point, everyone around went “woahhh!” in a 3d cinema-audience stylee.  Apparently, if I still had a head of hair, the tear gas canister would have given me a nice centre parting, passing 20cm over my head.  Okaayyyy..

Aside from that little wake-up call, this weeks protest was less dramatic as the troops didn’t come through onto Palestinian land so after everyone had received a few good lungfuls of chemicals, the group started to fade back into the village.  With a few remaining youths continuing their slingshot fire, we headed back to the car and off in search of drinks to wash away that marvellous taste I’ll miss so much.  I wonder if it’s available as a roll-on?

Holy Land? More like Holy Fu..

On arrival, I’d been told about the “Friday protests” where there’s always a few scuffles between security forces and those with anger to vent so I wasn’t surprised to be told I was to cover one this week.  My assigned protest was to be the weekly rumble between fired-up Palestinian and members of the Israeli Defence Force (IDF) in the rural village of Nilin near the Israel/West Bank border.  Teamed up with AFP photographer Abbas Momani, I drove back into the West Bank to meet up with him.  Warning bells began to ring as he asked me where my gas mask was as I climbed into his car..

After picking up another photographer, it’s fair to say that as the kilometres of winding mountain roads and crumbling villages passed and we neared Nilin, my nerves were starting to build.  As we arrived into the village, heavily-armed IDF troops checked our Ids before we weaved through the concrete road blocks and drove the short distance to the hilltop car park that each week becomes the centre of events.  Getting out of the car, a area near a pole carrying the Hamas flag was pointed out to me that was the scene of a protestors death a few weeks before. Ah. Okay.

After twenty minutes of prayers, the protestors joined up with a small group of Israelis who support the Palestinian cause and headed down into the olive groves. By now, TV crews wearing body armour had arrived and were already wearing their gas-masks as they filmed the chanting group so I decided to follow their lead and get prepared.

At this point, I should break away from the story to point out that however surreal this situation sounds, it can’t capture just how insane it was to be there.  Finding myself gasping for breath through my mask as Palestinian youths all around me start to break out slingshots and launch rocks at lethal speeds just over my head at the approaching heavily-armed IDF troops is an experience that I won’t forget in a while.

It didn’t take long before the IDF returned fire as volleys of tear gas canisters and flash-bang charges whistled back towards us, bursting through the olive branches.  As I built my confidence and started to work out when and where I could move to, Abbas showed his experience and confidence by disappearing deep into the clouds of smoke.

Hiding behind rock outcrops and trees, the game of “Tom and Jerry” (as Abbas called it) began with the photographers trying to get between the youths and the soldiers to capture expressions while constantly advancing and retreating with the flow of the fight.

After an hour of fighting in the olive grove, the action moved back down into the village. As soldiers tried to come around from different angles, the Palestinians ducked and jumped over hedges, walls and fences and ran through the gardens of homes nearby.  All of the time, there was the constant action of shooting pictures, running for cover, looking for troops and listening for shouts while checking for moments between gas bursts where I could pull the mask off for a second and fill my lungs with fresh air.

Tear gas is an interesting thing as, hours later as I sit here in a restaurant back in Jerusalem, I can still taste it in my nose and throat despite having worn a military-grade gas mask.  The protesting youths that turn up every Friday to pray and fight have only scarves.  In between volleys of canister fire, groups of men came spluttering and wretching back through the clouds of smoke into the arms of the Red Crescent medical teams who sprayed a liquid onto their scarves that counteracted the effects of the chemical.  Within minutes, the men were back on their feet and searching for fresh rocks to launch across the tree-line.

As we ran between gardens and down alleyways, the sounds of domestic life would come through house windows which made me suddenly realise just how ordinary all of this was. My adrenaline was charged and I was shooting nearly everything that moved but all around me, people got on with their weekend as though nothing was happening just outside their homes.

The car carrying the tannoy speaker that a short time before had been broadcasting prayers to the congregation was now blasting out Arabian-sounding music, providing a strange soundtrack to the experience.

Then, as soon as it had started, Abbas gave me the nod and it became clear that it was over for another week.  Neither side had gained any ground, neither side could claim victory but the anger of the Palestinian protestors had been vented and the IDF had successfully controlled the situation.  “Tom and Jerry” looks set to continue every week for as far as anyone can see.

So as Christmas grinds ever closer and everyone begins to slip into holiday gear, I thought it would be a good time to wish all and sundry a very happy Christmas/festive season/holiday and here’s to a fantastic 2009.  Cheers for taking the time to read this ramble over the last few months and, to those of you who always provide me with plenty of chortles through your comments and feedback, an extra special thank you.

As for the New Year, I decided while out on the AFP Christmas drinks the other day that one of my rather pointless challenges is to get one of those protest pictures with a Policeman reaching out and covering up my lens.  Every archive should contain at least one but, to date, I’ve clearly been far too compliant.  May 2009 bring out my inner anarchist.. 

Happy Christmas!

Of all the protests that I’ve covered since being in London, surely the prize for most unique chant must go to the “Citizens not Strangers” rally in Parliament Square on Friday;

“What do we want?”

“To pay taxes!”

“When do we want to?”

“Now!”

A slightly different cry from the poll tax riots of old..

Organised to highlight the plight of Zimbabwean immigrants who have fled their native country for our shores but are now facing red-tape, bureaucracy and regulations that either block their applications for residency or forbid them from working, banners chants and hand-drums accompanied the rallying cries. With a few speeches from politicians (that can never sound like anything but rent-a-purpose soundbites), campaigners and religious leaders, Archbishop of York Dr John Sentamu took centre stage with considered and appropriate words.

It’s a real shame when you get to hear from Zimbabwean refugees who are desperate for change on one day, then find out that China and Russia have vetoed the rest of the G8′s sanction plans the next. Sanctions certainly aren’t always the answer but without action, it just leaves politicians making ineffective “down with this sort of thing” speeches in forgettable press conferences. Mugabe must be quaking in his boots.