Anarchy in the City

I used to work on the LIFFE floor, broking the FTSE future among other things, though a mate of mine used to say I was breaking it. It made her laugh. Probably the strangest memory I’ve got of those times was not long before it all finished and we went to screens.

The May Day riots, they used to call them, though they didn’t happen on May Day exactly. There wouldn’t have been any point because, on May Day, we were all sitting at home with our families or (more like me and my lot) recovering from a huge night and possibly morning out. Partying on a Sunday always feels better; like a bonus. Like you’re getting away with something.

But I digress and I’ll get back to what I was writing about; the riots. First we knew about it was the papers, saying a bunch of organised anarchists were targeting the City that day. You’ve got to laugh at that. You what kind of anarchists? Organised ones? Jase and me met for breakfast that morning. He spat coffee everywhere he laughed so hard when he read this headline, and showed me. It was a Friday, dress down day, and we both wondered how easy it’d be to tell the terrorists from the City traders given that.

Then Jase headed to Camomile Court where his screen trading desk was, and I went off up towards Cannon Bridge. It was early, but I could tell even then that something was going to happen. There was a feeling in the air, which sounds stupid and vague, but it was the kind of feeling you get before it kicks off anywhere, the kind that makes you feel sick and want to get out of there. The kind of feeling you get on the floor just before a crash comes.

I’d moved company not long before, and was working for a small French brokers. I didn’t like my new boss nearly as much as I’d liked my old one but, there you go, I’d fucked that up and there’s not much more I can say about it. His name was Philippe, and there was nothing wrong with him, he was just a bit dull. He was animated this morning though. Lots of oh la las and Gallic shrugs.

It was quiet that day. Fridays often were, specially with a holiday coming up. The anarchists livened it up a bit, though. I went out mid-afternoon for a coffee, and people were dancing in the street. It was sunny, and there was a lot of music and smiling; it looked like my kind of scene and I was tempted to join them instead of going back to work.

When I came back in, so Philippe sent me up to the office to do some admin. No wonder I didn’t like him. Our office was above the floor, quite high in the building, and I watched the protestors having the time of their lives outside. Things started to get interesting. Two hippy types broke the fire hydrant in the street, then took their clothes off and were dancing around in the fountain it made. By now, colleagues of mine were coming into the offices around me to get a look. Some were leaning out of windows.

I was leaning out too, and I could see something that made me breathe faster. At the end of Cannon Bridge, a good way from where the naked couple were dancing, four or five police vans arrived. The vans just sat there, at the end of the street, looking menacing. A precaution, I assumed.

I turned back to the fun down my end of the street. Nick (I used to work with him at UBF and we called him Leeson but he wasn’t the infamous rogue trader, a much less well-known one) had photocopied some twenty pound notes and was throwing them out of the window. Some people below threw obscenities in our direction and they got them right back. I noticed a few people throwing bottles, and someone shouted that they were trying to get into our building, but I couldn't see that.

When I turned back towards the other end of the street, police in riot gear were emerging from the vans like ants, and heading up the road towards the crowd of hippies…

TO BE CONTINUED...