The idiocy of Jonathan May-Bowles

There will be yet more "security" at the House of Commons.

Yesterday an idiot made it worse for many other people, and without any gain for anyone but "security" officials. The "pie" gesture was not even funny on its own terms; and an attack on any eighty-year old man is that of either an imbecile or a bully. The immediate consequence was that all the public, many of whom had waited up to eight hours, were cleared from the committee room.

But there will perhaps be another longer-lasting effect. Those charged with security at the Houses of Parliament hardly need any more excuse to add to their grand theatre of anti-terrorism. When I first visited the Palace of Westminster in the late 1980s, there was relatively little security, even though there was the clear and present danger of Irish republican attacks. And once you were in, you could walk around reasonably freely.

Now, there is as much ceremony getting into Parliament as when the Queen actually opens it. There are queues, photographs, machine guns, elaborate bag-searches, and very serious faces. The uniformed officials seem to revel in taking even trivial items from frightened visitors and exercising their moment of power. By the time you get through all this you are highly conscious of the power of Parliament's officials, and also the lack of your own.

And thanks to the idiot Jonathan May-Bowles this will undoubtedly get worse. It may well be that the public will be excluded from certain hearings, or partitioned off. Those seeking to legitimately lobby their Members of Parliament will be subjected to more intense searches and, indeed, humiliations by "security" officials.

One has no idea what he was hoping to achieve with his stunt; but we can be fairly certain what "security" officials will try to achieve off the back of it.


Jonathan May-Bowles has now set out his account of the incident here.


David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman. He is the author of the Jack of Kent blog and can be followed on Twitter and on Facebook.

David Allen Green is legal correspondent of the New Statesman and author of the Jack of Kent blog.

His legal journalism has included popularising the Simon Singh libel case and discrediting the Julian Assange myths about his extradition case.  His uncovering of the Nightjack email hack by the Times was described as "masterly analysis" by Lord Justice Leveson.

David is also a solicitor and was successful in the "Twitterjoketrial" appeal at the High Court.

(Nothing on this blog constitutes legal advice.)

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood