On Saturday, May 15th, we went for a walk down Regent Street to scream “PEDOS” at the BBC headquarters as part of the “World Wide Rally for Freedom” protest. The hundreds of thousands who've been parading through central London most weekends would much rather be at a pub, a nightclub, a festival, but we can't. It's still illegal. So we scream “PEDOS” at the BBC headquarters instead.

The energy at these protests is increasingly wholesome. The Trafalgar Square gatherings of last summer felt grey, dystopian, and panicked, but the anti-lockdown protests of 2021 look like the Kidzfield at Glastonbury. Arriving with our portable sound system in St. James Park, we found a bewildered group of all ages bonded by a cheeky disdain for Freemasonry, with nothing better to do and no idea what was happening. Nobody had a clue where we'd be going, when we'd be moving, or who would be guiding the crowds. Though figures like David Icke, Piers Corbyn and David Kurten have become national treasures for their continued presence at these protests since day one, they aren't the leaders. There are no leaders. Is this a “Stand Up X” event? A “March For Freedom”? Who knows. Who cares. It's something to do.

There's a palpable yearning in the crowds, not simply for the old normal, but for a lost Britain. People want to feel optimistic for the first time since Nevermind came out in 1991. It hasn't been cool or countercultural to be happy for a very, very long time, and after a year of mandatory doom porn from every newspaper, TV channel, radio station, shop window, and billboard, the people are fed up. They miss having fun.

And that's really the only goal here. Yes, we WANT to tear down the satanic pedo cabal and defeat the New World Order, but it's difficult to know how to start. First things first, get all the people who are sick of this shit in the same place and raise their vibes with music and sage. The scamdemic has brought an enormous influx of hippies back into dissident politics, and all the old clichés about “love conquering hate” seem to genuinely ring true after a year of being taught to fear people's smiles. A girl with a bindi handed me a paper heart, which unfolded to read “Are you a Rainbow Warrior? ‘The Army’ is gathering. Join the Tribe @ fb group 11:11 Wide Awake. Seeing through the illusion. Strength in Numbers ❤” These platitudes have always existed in the healing fields of middle class festivals. It's good to see them being put to use against the forces of darkness for real this time, kinda.

It's been said that if you believe one conspiracy you believe them all—and unlike the rest of society, being a flat-Earther doesn't make you a weirdo here, it makes you a novice. Every faction is represented: anti-vaxxers, 5G skeptics, Hare Krishnas, but the groups who have made the most headway are the ones fighting to protect children. Whilst the initial ire of the protests was faced at Boris Johnson's tyrannical restrictions, the focus has shifted towards those who are buggering Britain's Children. As we headed down Regent Street towards the BBC headquarters, the foul and indecent artwork of pedophile sculptor Eric Gill adorning the front of the building, tens of thousands of “conspiracy theorists” booed in horrified unison at the sight of a naked and abused prepubescent boy, carved into the stone above our heads, sitting in plain sight for almost a hundred years. My friend's 8-year old daughter asked why everyone was booing. I didn't quite know how to answer.

The lockdown has been steadily radicalizing the British public one way or another, and it's beautiful to see. We might be radicals, but we won't ever become extremists. We have a natural revulsion to mob violence, just as we do to fascism and authoritarianism. Last year, the police were able to kettle the crowds in Trafalgar Square, but the numbers now are just too big. Antagonization tactics can't work on crowds of this size, and the people are far too jolly.

There's an increasing sense of familiarity at each of these marches. Faces from YouTube, friends from previous events, familiars from Telegram & TikTok conspiracy videos, and the smattering of lower order celebs receiving a rightful resurgence of popularity for speaking out, such as Danny Rampling and Right Said Fred. All in all, it's the best of Britain, with no plan in place other than to make the best of a Satanic situation.

After three hours we'd walked from St. James Park, past the bobbies in their face nappies lining Downing Street, up Pall Mall after Trafalgar Square, past the British Brainwashing Corporation on Regent Street, and finally ending up in Regent Park having covered half of the Monopoly board. In a state of fuzzy bewilderment, nobody really knew what to do next. The logical choice would be to go to a pub to avoid the rain, but that's not allowed, so we donned our waterproofs, huddled under a gazebo, and danced to keep warm. And I guess that's what we're going to keep doing until the cabal is gone.