The door to parliament under seige.
A lady chained to railings... but had neglected to bring a chain.
Phwoarr!... I do beg your pardon.
The gathering of evidence against wrongdoers.
Incitement to commit further civil disobedience.
Constables observing miscreants in a local hostelry afterwards.
The casual observer might assume that the assemblage consisted of the usual raucous suffragette movement but in fact those present were protesting about changing climate and a request to cease burning new coal. Since my gardener has been tediously wearing me down with his continual complaints about the inclement weather this year, I shall instruct my housekeeper Mrs Bridges to burn only logs on the parlour fire henceforth.
Some further sources of enlightenment by means of Sir Tim Berners-Lee's splendid invention.
I was also carrying some cinematic apparatus and will in due course publish some moving pictures of the manifestation once my assistant has hand tinted all the frames.
I myself was sitting in the parlour viewing the said disturbance on the televisual machine. A fellow reported from inside the palace, hmmm, a Mr Lansdale of the BBC I propose, and in a voice that appeared to be quite out of breath (most unseemly I might add for a gentleman of the fourth estate) conveyed to me, the viewer, that the gentlemen and ladies within were much taken aback by the emanations taking place from without. And, further, I venture, were quite grateful to the assembled police authorities for preventing our great democracry from being overthrown.
A short time later, the reporting serveants on the televisual machine concluded that they had not a clue from where these hooligans had appeared.
I immediately summoned my own Mrs Bridges to ready my drawing quarters in order that I may dash off a letter to the Times, for this type of thing quite puts one off ones supper.