Blackpool, Christmas Day. Low season, high winds. The sky swaddled with cloud. The sea restless and threatening. The English seaside resort in winter: shuttered, forlorn, dormant.
Harry, aka Echan O’Fechan, has come down from Edinburgh and booked into the Imperial Hotel on Russell Square. Across the road from the hotel, by one the of the gates of the square’s gardens, he has set up a one-man protest camp.