Bristol, 8 August 2026: Protest Fetishists and the Fugees.
A city brought to a standstill by people who wouldn't know a fascist from a fortnight.
Well, what a weekend that was, people.
There I was on an otherwise quiet Saturday in Bristol, minding my own business, drinking a lovely hot chocolate at a cafe table, when in the distance I heard “stand against racing.”
I thought, okay — as it was coming from the general direction of the nearest BetFred branch, that made sense. Who wants to be driving around at two hundred miles an hour in this weather, let alone being a horse. But okay.
Then, as they got closer still, I heard words something like “we support the Fugees.” Now, I remember the Fugees as an R&B, New York-based — they call them a rap group. Could just as easily been a crap group, for all I know. And, apparently, I know nothing. Don’t forget. Anyway.
I was fully expecting, as they got closer, to hear them singing... Killing Me Softly, which, of course, the Fugees are historically famous for.
Not to be confused with the Bee Gees, for entirely different reasons. Mind. No Saturday nights involved either — just what transpired to be a Saturday afternoon fever, live in the middle of Broadmead, Bristol.
Mussolini Wouldn’t Get a Second Look.
Then, as they got closer still, I could see posters that said things like “antifascist” — whatever that is, in this day and age, because “fascist” seems to be a generic term handed out, sprinkled like confetti at a wedding, that can mean anything to anyone on any given day of the week.
Mussolini himself could rise fresh out of the grave, stand in front of them in full uniform, and they still wouldn’t have a clue.
To be fair, put a genuine antifascist in front of the other lot and I doubt they’d fare any better. Ask either side to name one, and watch the silence do the talking.
You know, all these people looked like protest fetishists, who wake up in the morning with the only difficult decision of the day being whether the ring goes in the nose or in the ear, depending on the occasion. The kind of ring they used to take a pig to market with, once upon a time. Vegan ring nowadays, of course. Dahling.
The kind of people who look as if they keep Oxfam shops in profit. Not that I’d ever cast aspersions. You understand. Just saying.
Checking My Phone.
Next, two things really caught my eye: a police van with “Met Police” on the side, and another van with “City of London Police” behind it. For a moment I had to check my phone just to make sure I hadn’t nodded off and woken up somewhere else entirely — Bristol, or Trafalgar Square, or possibly the Old Bailey.
Turned out it was Bristol. It was just the protesters who seemed less sure where they were.
Except, of course, the police vans were actually going the right way up a one-way street — as opposed to the bunch of protesters, who were doing exactly the opposite. Which kind of makes sense for them, really, what with them not knowing back from front, seemingly. Nor, evidently, which way is up a one-way street.
An Adult Cosplay Party.
As it turns out, it was just another happy Saturday in Bristol. While most people were out enjoying Castle Park and making the most of the weather, the protests were out in full, of course — and not just one side. There were two.
On one side, the antifascists. Presumably, on the other, the Oswald Mosley type — black shirts and adornments. I can only assume; I wasn’t there, but that’s how it feels. Think of it as a sort of adult cosplay party, with added social upheaval. However. That’s how it comes across on the Bristol Live site, anyway. My interpretation, for purely comedic purposes. Not theirs. By the way.
For now, a few thoughts on the police. They came in from far and wide, ten forces’ worth by the force’s own account. The only thing we were short of was the Police Service of Northern Ireland, who seem very experienced with disorder and riots, and whose expertise might have come in handy.
Somewhere, one imagines, there’s a brochure for working weekends away, subheaded “overtime available.” Not Manchester. Not Birmingham. Not Leeds. Not even Timbuktu.
This particular weekend, the destination of choice was Bristol — complete with a hotel room going spare, the Mercure’s usual asylum-seeker residents having been moved elsewhere in the interim. All the makings of a proper break, minus the sea view.
A Long Walk Off a Short Pier.
Given it was the finest of the summer, probably the best thing the police could have done was marshal the protesters from both sides down to the harbourside for a long walk off a short pier, and let them all jump in the river. You know — just to cool the situation off a little. Just like they did with Colston. Or his statue, anyway. You remember. Don’t you?
Having done that, of course, it wouldn’t have created quite so much of a problem with the city’s traffic situation, which was turned into absolute chaos.
What follows on the buses and the ambulance is what I saw and was told on the day, from a cafe table — not a verified official record.
There were buses dropping people off at points they should never have been dropped off at.
Buses taking entirely different routes to wherever they were going, nothing like the normal route.
And the delays — I had the pleasure of sitting outside the cafe, looking across the road at the bus information panel, which simply said delay, delay, delay. This service in five minutes, and then delay again.
Because, well, if these people can cause that much inconvenience to everyone else while they’re having their little crying session, then who really cares?
Somewhere in that gridlock, an ambulance was trying to get through. It took the best part of thirty-five to forty minutes to reach whoever it was waiting for it.
Had they not, the protesters would not have cared. They’d still all have gone home fully self-satisfied.
Two Brigades.
While all of this chaos was happening, on one side you had the eco-friendly, possibly cotton towelling-nappy-wearing adults.
Eco-friendly, of course.
Recyclable, biodegradable, fully sustainable, carefully sourced, organic, fair trade, tractor branded, bamboo packaged, and delivered from Amazon by gig economy workers.
Yes. Them.
Conversely.
On the other side, you had the Pampers nappy Brigade..
Disposable, of course.
Landfill-bound, plastic-lined, bleach-whitened, supermarket own-brand, bulk-bought in a value pack, and picked up in a five-minute dash from the nearest Tesco Express.
Which, I’m guessing, of course, they probably all needed on the way, seeing as there was really nowhere to stop off and, well, relieve themselves.
Now that the public lavatories are a thing of the past.
Oh, and silly me. How could I possibly forget — all the people who’d come, possibly for miles, just to be arrested. And, without question, what all tourist protesters do: familiarise themselves with the police lockup facilities, both in North Bristol and in Keynsham.
Not quite a stick of rock or a “my parents went to Bristol and all I got was this lousy T-shirt” — more a caution and a night on a custody mattress. Still a souvenir, of sorts.
The Ten, For the Record. Your Honour.
Woman arrested on suspicion of assault by beating.
Man arrested for concealing identity (Section 157).
Man arrested for concealing identity (Section 157).
Man arrested for concealing identity (Section 157).
Man arrested for assault by beating and assaulting an emergency worker.
Man arrested for failing to provide details (Section 50, Police Reform Act 2002) and concealing identity (Section 157).
Woman arrested for concealing identity and threatening or abusive words (Section 4, Public Order Act).
Man arrested for concealing identity, obstructing the highway, and assaulting an emergency worker.
Person arrested for causing harassment, alarm or distress (Section 4B, Public Order Act).
Person arrested for threatening or abusive behaviour, disorderly conduct (Section 5, Public Order Act).
Six of the ten. Over half the day’s arrests, for nothing more than a piece of cloth over a face.
So, after that list: we have those, of course, concealing their identity like they thought it was a cosplay day out. Then we have those who clearly didn’t know their identity at all — the sort of people who’d stare into a mirror and ask who’s staring back.
And then there’s the others, who were just there for a good time involving fists and elbows and any other parts of the anatomy that became available in the moment.
I can hear that running theme tune now. I Fought the Law. Remember that one? Oh, and guess what? The law won. Again. Rematch potential? Place your bets!
The Official Version.
Well. Silver Commander (not quite taking the Police, Olympic gold medal. Yet) Supt Karen Corrigan called it “pockets of disorder, especially at the Cenotaph” — which is one way of putting it. There’s a particular gift some people have for describing a punch-up in the same tone they’d use for a delayed train. Corrigan has it.
Her Bronze Commanders, meanwhile, went round with loud hailers asking people ever so nicely to remove their face coverings before anyone got arrested — presumably for fear the world might discover just how beautiful they really were underneath. Which is a bit like knocking politely before you break down someone’s door — technically correct, and nobody’s fooled.
Now. It feels kind of important to someone out there, that I mention the legal instruments that hung over the whole business.
A Section 35 dispersal zone, eight in the morning until eight at night, for anyone likely to cause harassment, alarm or distress — which, on Saturday’s evidence, was most of the protesters. And Section 157 of the Crime and Policing Act 2026, the new face-covering law, wheeled out for its first proper run on a Bristol street, like a new bus nobody’s quite sure will make it up the hill.
Ten forces sent officers. Three hundred of them, all told, for roughly 450 members of the public who’d turned up specifically to disagree with one another.
Do the sums however you like — the police outnumbered the argument.
By the end of it, ten arrests, eight varieties of poor decision-making, and one very expensive Saturday for the taxpayer. The mask stayed on for some of them right up until it came off in custody. Progress, of a sort.
And, no doubt, you’ll be just as excited as me to learn what charges have been brought against the face masks. You know. Like. Assisting an offender. Perhaps. Or, simply, something like, harbouring a criminal. Time will tell.
The Three Questions.
Standby for next week’s event, which will possibly, possibly be a return to Broadmead — this time over Palestine. That’s generally how the protest calendar tends to run in this city. Funny how the numbers always seem to swell when the sun’s out, though. Rain’s the one crowd control measure nobody’s had to arrest anyone for yet.
Is it practical to police 450 people split down the middle with a zone system and a brand-new law? Saturday says yes — the zone held, the arrests were proportionate to the numbers, and the operation stood down without escalation.
Is it logical that six of ten arrests were for a face-covering law barely weeks old? Given the warnings went out first, on loud hailers, before anyone was arrested — yes. The choice to comply was there and mostly wasn’t taken.
What’s the likely outcome? Section 157 has had its first real outing on a Bristol street. It won’t be its last.
Well, what a weekend that was, people. Same time next Saturday, weather permitting.
Sources: Avon and Somerset Police — Multiple arrests made following a protest in Bristol · ITV News West Country — Ten arrested after anti-immigration and counter protests in Bristol as 300 police officers deployed
© 2026 John Langley aka www.thealmightygob.com All rights reserved. Possibly some lefts too. Just don’t quote me on that. I could be wrong.