Funiculosus (my Rope Master and Puppy Daddy) and I made another foodie trip to London. This time we were going to the Japan Centre and the great looking food there. He’d not eaten there before, so this was a shared adventure.

The night before, he was a little nervy because there was word of a far right march and a free Palestine march. The far right march was the one we were worried about.

Since we’d already paid for our train tickets, we decided to go anyway.

It wasn’t until I got to Waterloo that I became aware of the rough looking people at the station – some of whom had England flags.

Funiculosus couldn’t wait to get away from the station – there were St George flags – and they have never meant anything good to me. When I was a child there were regular riots by “England” football fans. They always had the flag … and they filled me with fear then … and these people waving that same flag filled me with fear now.

As a queer person, these people were intimidating because they looked like the kind of people who have been homophobic in the past. Racists are often homophobic to some degree, however I realised that I had a degree of privilege here: I am white and they were gathering explicitly to threaten those who do not look “British”. Funiculosus was in considerably more peril than I was.

I noticed a woman in a group of these people holding a can of lager. It was barely 11am. This was likely to get messy later.

I think that many of these right wing followers may have been football hooligans in their younger years – they were the right age for it. Their racism was forced underground for decades … until recent years.

Both us and the flag-shaggers passed under the eyes of the bust of Nelson Mandela by the National Theatre. I don’t think they looked at that ancient, kindly, and wise face.

We had breakfast and did a little shopping, but the city was quiet and subdued.

There were people there who seemed to resent the city – the city of a thousand cultures – they were marching through.

London’s variety is what makes me feel safe – both as a gay guy and now as a eunuch, whereas homogeneity feels threatening.

We ate our Japanese food, and decided to leave the city.

We had to cross the line of the march to get back to the station. That felt uncomfortable to say the least, but there didn’t seem to be that many people walking – it didn’t feel like a march for making change of any kind, more like the straggling end of a drinking binge.

However, there were the flags – including a couple of my beloved union jacks being co-opted into the march. There were a couple of people carrying crosses, which I really couldn’t understand. Wasn’t Jesus a Jew from the Roman province of Judea/Palestine? Who preached being nice to people? Perhaps they’ve only looked at the pictures and neglected to read the words?

Shortly before we got to the line of the march, we passed a statue to Edith Cavell, a nurse in the first world war. Coincidentally, she looks south towards the march. The words on her plinth read:

Patriotism is not enough

I must have no hatred or bitterness for anyone

Reading that at the end of the day, from the safety of my home, I take it that it applies not just to those fearful right wingers – but to myself also.

At Waterloo station I noticed the Windrush statues. The wealth of this nation is in its infinite variety.

I was glad to leave the city.