When I was dragged out from under the wheels of the Prime Minister's car, my clothes and hands were spotless. Some poor sod must shine that Jaguar inside and out

The underside of the Prime Minister's limousine is polished to perfection. I know because when I was dragged out from under the wheels of his car, my hands and clothes were spotless. Some poor sod is apparently paid to put a brilliant shine both on and under the PM's Jaguar.

My unauthorised chassis inspection happened on 12 March on Piccadilly. As Tony Blair's motorcade neared the Royal Academy for a meeting with the German chancellor, Gerhard Schroder, I ran in front of his car, forcing it to halt. Eyeballing Blair in the back seat, I unfurled a banner: "Arm the Kurds! Topple Saddam". He was not amused. My protest was against Britain going to war without any parliamentary or public debate on the alternative option of arming the Kurds and other Iraqi opposition forces. Instead of the US and UK invading Iraq like 19th-century imperialists, we should give the Iraqis the weapons they need to demolish the dictatorship. The west sold Saddam the weapons he uses to murder and maim; we should now arm his victims so they can fight back.

My human rights campaigning is unpaid. Perhaps I could get a part-time job advising the Prime Minister on security. His own advisers are evidently not up to the job. I slipped through their anti-terrorist lock-down, outwitting the Special Branch and the PM's Protection Squad.

Astonishingly, the forces of law and order seemed more concerned that the front number plate on the PM's limo was damaged (not by my actions) and hanging by a single screw. This resulted in our illustrious leader enduring the humiliation of arriving to meet Schroder with a drooping number plate. My concern, in contrast, is that I exposed a serious gap in the PM's security. Even though his limousine is armour-plated, it has several close-range vulnerabilities that an assassin could exploit. I got within eight feet of the PM and had 30 seconds to do what I liked before his security minders got out of their car and tackled me. If I had been a terrorist, there might have been a state funeral this week. Fortunately, I remain committed to the Gandhian principle of non-violence. Should the Special Branch seek my advice on improving the PM's security, I will gladly oblige in exchange for a modest donation to my Peter Tatchell Human Rights Fund.

We are, it seems, going to war because of the weather. Military meteorologists have more influence than the UN Security Council. The weapons inspectors cannot be given more time because it will soon be too hot to fight a war in Iraq, according to the Pentagon's weather people. If the US doesn't invade now, it will have to postpone military action until the autumn. Too hot to fight a war? US soldiers are wimps. They can't fight Saddam in a couple of months' time because they'll get too sweaty. Please! The Rats of Tobruk made no such excuses. They defeated the Nazis in 45-degree heat with none of the mod cons lavished on today's pampered GIs.

In between protests, I squeeze an appointment at King's College Dental Institute. Ouch! After 20 years of being beaten up by homophobic yobs and neo-Nazi gangs, nearly all my teeth are chipped or cracked. It's time to get them fixed. The dentist says I have a small mouth. That's not what most people say.

All the pundits predict a swift and easy victory. They may be right, but I doubt it. Saddam has learnt lessons from the first Gulf war. Avoiding battles in the open desert, where his forces are vulnerable to superior allied firepower, he will concentrate his troops in densely populated cities, using the population as human shields. Many of his 50,000-strong Republican Guard will discard their uniforms and go underground, fighting a guerrilla-style war with no big military hardware and no set-piece battles. Defeating this shadowy enemy in unfamiliar terrain will prove difficult.

What do I know about military matters? Not much. But in 1985 I wrote a book on military history and theory, Democratic Defence, which was commended by senior officers at Sandhurst and Camberley. I also occasionally lectured there during the 1980s. Indeed, I was offered a place at Sandhurst. When I turned it down, because of my objection to the war in Ireland, the commanding officer of the Royal Artillery urged me to reconsider. He suggested, somewhat improbably, that I was potential General Staff material.

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