Operation Glencoe - Without Feud or Favour...

E said she might but didn't. Papa, in fear for her safety, sternly rebuked her for the very thought of it, though admitted being tempted himself. H, sensible as ever, said that neither would so what did it matter anyway?

The, at times, lively debate chez Rectory Nostrum was over who fancied beaning up to Town in order to make one's presence felt at the G20 beanfest just passed.

To call E an 'eco-warrior' would be to fly in the face of the evidence of the endless shopping for flim-flam - as I alone would see it - not to mention all-round consumerist frenzy. To call though me an old-school protester would be entirely accurate, with perhaps reasonable emphasis on ancient rather than recent history.

Indeed, the last time one can recall actually taking to the streets to raise a voice in protest would have been the early Eighties, when we to host Cruise missiles on our shores. Didn't much care for the notion then and no more for it now. Not that it made a ha'peth of difference to the outcome, nor indeed did one presume it would. There was though a stand to be taken, so one was. And Felicity Kendal was there, which made the entire day-trip thoroughly pleasurable of course.

One, in this, quite discounts turning out in the necessary attempt to remind Blair, T. that he was really quite nuts in wishing to invade Iraq. Not a 'protest' as such, for to protest one really has to be in a minority. This was more by a way of reminding him that we, the electorate, had a view he best not ignore.

We were - we fondly imagined - just politely tipping him the nod, for he seemed to have missed it somehow, that: 'It is a bad thing to do. It won't do any good. We will hate you for doing it.' No more really than pointing out to a fellow that his flies are undone. Awkward moment but soon resolved. "Gosh yes, thank you for telling me." That sort of thing.

But by then, sadly, he was way beyond our ken, only listening to 'inner voices' and 'the verdict of history', neither of which should be taken as compelling signs of sanity in a political leader. "I only know what I believe," we were told. Oh dear. Quite, quite barking.

From thence on one has largely confined any protesting to the occasional threatened walk-out from some interminable and desperately dull ecumenical gatherings, more in hope of terminating the session than in expectation of anyone making any sense. "What do we want?" "Our tea!" "When do we want it?" "Now!" Bishops can quail at such onslaughts.

But to Town for the G20, it was indeed a temptation. Not that 'eating a banker' would be E's thing at all, she being a vegetarian of pretty strict observance. Nor indeed would I have particularly desired to do battle with Bobbies for the sake of shouting at a closed door or two.

It was though those very Bobbies who nearly made me go, for on checking details of who was intending to do what, when and how, it came strongly to one's notice that the Police were calling their side of things 'Operation Glencoe'!

If you are not entirely versed in late seventeenth century Scottish affairs, you are not perhaps to be blamed. But you must know of the infamous Glencoe Massacre of 1692, certainly in the top three of all-time brutal acts of treachery and savagery by this country's Government against its own people.

The battle order of the day gives something of the flavour of the thing:

"You are hereby ordered to fall upon the rebels, the McDonalds of Glenco, and put all to the sword under seventy. You are to have a special care that the old Fox and his sons doe upon no account escape your hands, you are to secure all the avenues that no man escape...This is by the Kings speciall command, for the good & safty of the Country, that these miscreants be cutt off root and branch. See that this be putt in execution without feud or favour..."

We did indeed hear that the Met were 'up for it and up to it', not a boast one particularly wishes one's police 'service' saying in advance of the exercise of an essential civil liberty in this land. To call, then, the whole thing in honour of the foul stench of executed death that lives to this day in the very stones of Glencoe was at best crass in the extreme.

H, as ever, was right. One did not in the end go to find out first-hand how Glencoe would be re-enacted. It could have been a lot worse on either side it seems.

One though is still waiting for an answer from the Met. A question has been asked of it and it is apparently - though one had not presumed it to be - a 'Freedom of Information request.' Does that mean one will or one won't be told?