I stood staring; I knew there were people that lived like this. But I never knew how close they were to my shitty little flat. A quick tube ride from Whitechapel and I was in Hampstead.
It was obvious that anyone living in any of these houses was a wanker and deserved a kick’ in. But one stands out a little bit more than the others. I’d seen pictures of the house in The Times before. Except now it had a large banner on the roof of the Libyan dictator’s face with a massive red cross through it. This was the house of Saif al-Islam Gaddafi, the second son of the Libyan dictator.
I moved in through a window on the ground floor where a couple of heavy’s were keeping watch on who entered, not letting any journalists in an keeping an eye out for the Gaddafi supports that had been spotted outside earlier.
There was a large meeting going on, the main point being discussed seemed to be about how to have a meeting….I listened for five minutes to a group of hippies talking about what hand singles to use as a group of young Libyans and a various anarchist trouble makers looked at them in confusion.
Fuck this, I walked off an was given a tour of the house, saw the eight bedrooms, swimming pool, Jacuzzi and a cinema room. Nice.
When I got back the group was still talking about hand signals, but finished off an started to have an even longer discussion about the role of the house, whether beer should be banned, how many people should be allowed in. All necessary questions, but not being involved with the collective I felt more comfortable strolling off.
I went had a chat with a few people in the cinema room, they had the right idea, drinking, dancing and having a bit of a cultural exchange, a few of the Libyans singing songs and the English squatters returning with songs about Harry Roberts. Brilliant.
I watched a media frenzy outside as various people tried to get into the building, and a spokesperson repeated the press release from the collective ‘topple the tyrants’
After a few hours I headed out the window and walked off down the street. As I left I looked at these rich fuckers houses again. I couldn’t help but wonder about the people in these mansions. If I knew someone in my tower block was in the NF or BNP, I’d start hassling them, make their lives uncomfortable. But these rich shits seemed more than happy to settle next to a dictator.
One even told the Daily Mail “I had spoken to one of the security guards who was British and he explained who they were. It didn’t bother me, all manner of people live here”
When things kick off after a year of further cuts, when there’s urban rioting. I’ll head back to this street, with an axe an petrol bombs. See you soon Hampstead Gardens.
For more info http://www.indymedia.org.uk/en/2011/03/475379.html
Great work topple the tyrants