thoughts on RTS
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
After that magnificent party, the dark forces did their best to ensure that it could never happen again. They ripped the heart out of rts, and they must of been well pleased with themselves.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
this is all a work in progress
Perhaps a bit of background is needed.
I'd been in the decor group since the very first meeting. I hadn't got involved in any decision making or planning groups till after M41, when the absolute need arose.
In my postion at the very cor of the decor group I had been given the brief:
Think Big.
Think six lanes.
Think of a trojan horse type thing to that could possibly house say, a sound system, or something.
And that alone was quite an awesome resonsibility.
We had a budget of £250, perhaps a bit more, and Limetrees drove Debora and me to this factory in Manchester and we bought rolls and rolls of beautifully coloured ripstop nylon, and we set to work in a dissused railway depot in Kings Cross known as the Battlebridge centre where we also had our weekly meetings.
These meetings were quite incredible in that they were huge, regularly more than fifty people would turn up, full of enthusiasm. I would marvel at how each week, I would read out a list I'd drawn up of with stuff that was needed, be it black gloss paint or jig saws or climbers or carpenters, and someone would would always raise their hand and provide the resources or skills. I even remember the meetings as fun, as well as being really productive.
Everday I'd cycle up from Brixton, and kind of be a a regular presence, It was great , like having a really ace job, facillitating all this creativity, handing out brushes and paints to volunteers, and getting to pour my own creative energies into giant appliqued flowered festoons of colour.
It was dead exciting.
Alongside the making of these gigantic fabric banners, the wooden women idea was worked out. A team of carpenters and designers worked ingeniously to build the collapsable moblie structures, each had to safely take the weight of the performer and stood on huge castors so that she may be wheeled around. Underneath her billowing skirts could hide anything.The costumes for the performers were lovingly designed and costructed, whilst the massive fabric skirts themselves were sewn and hung over giant crinolines made with liberated cable tubing. They were indeed magnificant.
It was the most wonderful creative experience, shared by a great many. The battlebridge was a hive of activity right up to the day of the street party....
I'd been in the decor group since the very first meeting. I hadn't got involved in any decision making or planning groups till after M41, when the absolute need arose.
In my postion at the very cor of the decor group I had been given the brief:
Think Big.
Think six lanes.
Think of a trojan horse type thing to that could possibly house say, a sound system, or something.
And that alone was quite an awesome resonsibility.
We had a budget of £250, perhaps a bit more, and Limetrees drove Debora and me to this factory in Manchester and we bought rolls and rolls of beautifully coloured ripstop nylon, and we set to work in a dissused railway depot in Kings Cross known as the Battlebridge centre where we also had our weekly meetings.
These meetings were quite incredible in that they were huge, regularly more than fifty people would turn up, full of enthusiasm. I would marvel at how each week, I would read out a list I'd drawn up of with stuff that was needed, be it black gloss paint or jig saws or climbers or carpenters, and someone would would always raise their hand and provide the resources or skills. I even remember the meetings as fun, as well as being really productive.
Everday I'd cycle up from Brixton, and kind of be a a regular presence, It was great , like having a really ace job, facillitating all this creativity, handing out brushes and paints to volunteers, and getting to pour my own creative energies into giant appliqued flowered festoons of colour.
It was dead exciting.
Alongside the making of these gigantic fabric banners, the wooden women idea was worked out. A team of carpenters and designers worked ingeniously to build the collapsable moblie structures, each had to safely take the weight of the performer and stood on huge castors so that she may be wheeled around. Underneath her billowing skirts could hide anything.The costumes for the performers were lovingly designed and costructed, whilst the massive fabric skirts themselves were sewn and hung over giant crinolines made with liberated cable tubing. They were indeed magnificant.
It was the most wonderful creative experience, shared by a great many. The battlebridge was a hive of activity right up to the day of the street party....
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
So I was trying to think what to write next..
So, encouraged by what could be described as popular demand, I was trying to think what to write next, when I remembered this old scrap of paper, densely scribbled on both sides in a great variety of coloured faulty pens and unsharp pencils, with my first hand experience of the street party on Britains smallest stretch of motorway, the M41.
As I said already, banners were my thing really, and they were my responsibility, my babies if you like, on that fateful day.
So here's what I wrote, and if you feel moved to comment, I'd appreciate it greatly, most especially if it triggers any memories for you.
Peace.
..."Spent the night at Battlebridge. People arrived from all over and folded agitprop, sewed and stuck and finished things off. I sat around taking phonecalls, arranging things with Ruth, Obe and the Newbury posse, who had arrived with harnesses ready to prusik up lamp posts and hang our glorious banners.
Late, I wandered around the centre, everything ready. Waves of hand painted frisbys, laundry bags packed with banners bin liners full of stuff. I took a couple of photos, I knewhey'd be soft, but I so wanted to recall the scene, and then eventually, I got into my sleeping bag..
Early on the 13th, I awoke to sun streaming in through the high windows and Sue busy shuffling around stuffing yet more bin liners and Corrine showing off her just finished wooden woman costume. I made tea, relieved that last nights' stories of advanced paranoia had not materialised.
I began trying to prioritise what stuff should go when and label the banner bags.
As people started to arrive, I sought out trusted souls to escort these bags to the party. I told them to take good care of them, to not appear at Liverpool Street before midday, to keep hidden within the crowd, and to look for me or Ruth once they had got to the party.
We had to be out of the Battlebridge by 10.30, the time went very quickly. I saw Sue in her shepherdess costume, and realised it was time to get dressed. I was very happy to be wearing Christines' pink fluff dress (Christine herself, was going completely naked!) I disguised my hair with a pink ripstop nylon turban. Suddenly it was time.
People were asking me questions, where when etc. etc. I was rushing backwards and forwards, piling armfuls of stuff onto anyone who had free hands. Battlebridge Julie came out to say goodbye and goodluck, then so did the police with their video cameras. We just wafted past them in all our fancy finery.
Kings cross was absolutely packed. Queued for ages for a ticket, linking up with Ruth and Obe and deciding to go for a cup of tea before journeying to Liverpool street. It was boiling hot already.
The journey from Kings cross to Liverpool St, I think it really began to sink in and we looked at each other and smiled. This was it.
Liverpool Street was busy but not packed. I began to mill through the crowd. I asked Sue for a mask and she said she was saving them for RTS people, and I have to admit I didn't feel very RTS at that time, I dont know why.
Then suddenly Billy came up to me and said, 'two minutes'- and we were off. A woman came to ask me if I was a pink ribbon person. I said no, but to follow me. I kept loosing sight of Billy, and then I would recognise another, not knowing whether to stop or go ahead. On the tube it is incredibly hot and airless, eventually we are told to get off the train. Everyone panics when Holland park is closed, but I wasn't expecting to alight there, so remain calm. "I have faith" says Billys' brother, and I agree, "So do I."
The escalator has been switched off and we all traipse up hundreds of stairs. It is difficult. There are many small children and buggys, but everyone helps everyone else, but I guess this must of slowed us down enough to allow all the cops to arrive. They form a wall, blocking off all to the left. And chaos begins.
The crowd starts to move away in the opposite directrion and instinctively, and obviously, I know this is wrong. I run to the front to try and stop the crowd moving. I can hear people saying, "Lets have the party right here" and others running back and forth. Facilitatators moving the crowd one way and then the other.... My phone keeps ringing, and press are demanding to speak to the organisers and wanting to know where I am, and where I'll be in an hours time... It is frantic, and for a while I do loose faith. "It's fucking fucked" I say. I dont want to have the party here. (the road was too small for all the banners)
Soon it becomes apparent that groups are being led through the side streets. John tells me to head left and left again. "Have you got a pink ribbon?" I produce the pink ribbon Billy had given me two days ago, I suppose for such an eventuality, and I lead a crowd left as instructed. I feel absolutely dazed. People keep coming up to me asking what is going on, but I dont know.
Then I recieve a phone call, "The road is taken! The tripods are up!! Its the M41!!!"
I shout out this information and the crowd, by this time several hundred people behind me begin to act as one, moving swiftly through the streets.
As we turn the corner, the water tower is in sight, and I tell everyone to run. Run!
We all surge forward into the road in front of cars. The faster runners break the police lines. As I arrive they seem to have already given up and the crowd steams onto the motorway.
The sound system has people on top of it and is quickly surrounded by the crowd. Amazingly, the police retreat. The giant flaps of the lorry are raised and the repetative beats begin.
We are euphoric. Complete euphoria as we realise our victory. I pull the turban off my hair and let my dreadlocks free, raising my fist to the air.
People known and strange come to hug me. It is truely a perfect moment. It has happened!
Then reality bites, time to start unloading vans. The wooden women arrive over a high wall. One gets broken sadly, but two go up. We have to wheel them along the road towards the sound systems, to move the whole party nearer towards the tripods which are exposed at the far north end. The skirts are immediately filled with men roughly taking charge. The phrase, "there's too much testosterone in those skirts" was used way before any drilling started! The drilling up of the motorway was actually the coolest thing about the whole event if you ask me, we dug up the tarmac (!)
All the while, various RTSers come, and we hug each other in a wonderfully close and open way. we are sucessful and strong and only we can understand how each other feels, elated, but completely seperate from the other party goers. It is strange.
I develop a terrible headache, most unfairly, but such intense emotions; fear, failure, elation have taken their toll, and I walk up and down the road endlessly in a dazed dreamlike state."
As I said already, banners were my thing really, and they were my responsibility, my babies if you like, on that fateful day.
So here's what I wrote, and if you feel moved to comment, I'd appreciate it greatly, most especially if it triggers any memories for you.
Peace.
..."Spent the night at Battlebridge. People arrived from all over and folded agitprop, sewed and stuck and finished things off. I sat around taking phonecalls, arranging things with Ruth, Obe and the Newbury posse, who had arrived with harnesses ready to prusik up lamp posts and hang our glorious banners.
Late, I wandered around the centre, everything ready. Waves of hand painted frisbys, laundry bags packed with banners bin liners full of stuff. I took a couple of photos, I knewhey'd be soft, but I so wanted to recall the scene, and then eventually, I got into my sleeping bag..
Early on the 13th, I awoke to sun streaming in through the high windows and Sue busy shuffling around stuffing yet more bin liners and Corrine showing off her just finished wooden woman costume. I made tea, relieved that last nights' stories of advanced paranoia had not materialised.
I began trying to prioritise what stuff should go when and label the banner bags.
As people started to arrive, I sought out trusted souls to escort these bags to the party. I told them to take good care of them, to not appear at Liverpool Street before midday, to keep hidden within the crowd, and to look for me or Ruth once they had got to the party.
We had to be out of the Battlebridge by 10.30, the time went very quickly. I saw Sue in her shepherdess costume, and realised it was time to get dressed. I was very happy to be wearing Christines' pink fluff dress (Christine herself, was going completely naked!) I disguised my hair with a pink ripstop nylon turban. Suddenly it was time.
People were asking me questions, where when etc. etc. I was rushing backwards and forwards, piling armfuls of stuff onto anyone who had free hands. Battlebridge Julie came out to say goodbye and goodluck, then so did the police with their video cameras. We just wafted past them in all our fancy finery.
Kings cross was absolutely packed. Queued for ages for a ticket, linking up with Ruth and Obe and deciding to go for a cup of tea before journeying to Liverpool street. It was boiling hot already.
The journey from Kings cross to Liverpool St, I think it really began to sink in and we looked at each other and smiled. This was it.
Liverpool Street was busy but not packed. I began to mill through the crowd. I asked Sue for a mask and she said she was saving them for RTS people, and I have to admit I didn't feel very RTS at that time, I dont know why.
Then suddenly Billy came up to me and said, 'two minutes'- and we were off. A woman came to ask me if I was a pink ribbon person. I said no, but to follow me. I kept loosing sight of Billy, and then I would recognise another, not knowing whether to stop or go ahead. On the tube it is incredibly hot and airless, eventually we are told to get off the train. Everyone panics when Holland park is closed, but I wasn't expecting to alight there, so remain calm. "I have faith" says Billys' brother, and I agree, "So do I."
The escalator has been switched off and we all traipse up hundreds of stairs. It is difficult. There are many small children and buggys, but everyone helps everyone else, but I guess this must of slowed us down enough to allow all the cops to arrive. They form a wall, blocking off all to the left. And chaos begins.
The crowd starts to move away in the opposite directrion and instinctively, and obviously, I know this is wrong. I run to the front to try and stop the crowd moving. I can hear people saying, "Lets have the party right here" and others running back and forth. Facilitatators moving the crowd one way and then the other.... My phone keeps ringing, and press are demanding to speak to the organisers and wanting to know where I am, and where I'll be in an hours time... It is frantic, and for a while I do loose faith. "It's fucking fucked" I say. I dont want to have the party here. (the road was too small for all the banners)
Soon it becomes apparent that groups are being led through the side streets. John tells me to head left and left again. "Have you got a pink ribbon?" I produce the pink ribbon Billy had given me two days ago, I suppose for such an eventuality, and I lead a crowd left as instructed. I feel absolutely dazed. People keep coming up to me asking what is going on, but I dont know.
Then I recieve a phone call, "The road is taken! The tripods are up!! Its the M41!!!"
I shout out this information and the crowd, by this time several hundred people behind me begin to act as one, moving swiftly through the streets.
As we turn the corner, the water tower is in sight, and I tell everyone to run. Run!
We all surge forward into the road in front of cars. The faster runners break the police lines. As I arrive they seem to have already given up and the crowd steams onto the motorway.
The sound system has people on top of it and is quickly surrounded by the crowd. Amazingly, the police retreat. The giant flaps of the lorry are raised and the repetative beats begin.
We are euphoric. Complete euphoria as we realise our victory. I pull the turban off my hair and let my dreadlocks free, raising my fist to the air.
People known and strange come to hug me. It is truely a perfect moment. It has happened!
Then reality bites, time to start unloading vans. The wooden women arrive over a high wall. One gets broken sadly, but two go up. We have to wheel them along the road towards the sound systems, to move the whole party nearer towards the tripods which are exposed at the far north end. The skirts are immediately filled with men roughly taking charge. The phrase, "there's too much testosterone in those skirts" was used way before any drilling started! The drilling up of the motorway was actually the coolest thing about the whole event if you ask me, we dug up the tarmac (!)
All the while, various RTSers come, and we hug each other in a wonderfully close and open way. we are sucessful and strong and only we can understand how each other feels, elated, but completely seperate from the other party goers. It is strange.
I develop a terrible headache, most unfairly, but such intense emotions; fear, failure, elation have taken their toll, and I walk up and down the road endlessly in a dazed dreamlike state."
