At approximately 5.30pm, that high on life bunch of reprobates otherwise known as Rhythms of resistance samba band joined their friends and partners in naughtiness at the sweatshop tour of shame on Oxford Street, one of the many events called for international Women’s day. First port of call was the Gap, near Bond street tube station. A huge glass and chrome monstrosity, the blandly pretty flagship store fronts a world of true ugliness and suffering – the world of the sweatshop.

As we began to play, I wondered a bit if our deafening row might be cramping the style of the guy’s n gals on the information stand. However this resolved nicely into a bit of a tune here, a bit of a chant there, some megaphone led rants ‘n’ chants and general cacophony, which drew a neat little crowd, and persuaded many of the stores shoppers to decide to leave without that vital colour co-ordinated purchase. I saw two young boys wearing Gap hoodies having a serious butchers at the information stall. Leaflets were being snapped up like hotcakes.

After a particularly passionate round of chanting, security decided it would be safest to close the main entrance, and lined up behind their glass barricade. Oops! This only inspired the crowd to become more assertive, and the push to get into the shop began. There were two sets of doors, and while the majority of the band and protestors got unsuccessfully wedged behind one, about half a dozen cheeky monkeys managed to get inside the rapidly emptying store. I have to say that the walls of the shop made an excellent amplifier, and it was great fun to run about inside, raising an unholy din! Security were so stretched keeping everyone else out that we could have done anything we liked, but the situation was so comical that no further action was necessary, and the assortment of punx, banner wavers, sambistas, glammed up goths and bobble hatted anarchos eventually left the building (which had been completely emptied and closed down) satisfied with a job well done.

After a wee bit more security guard baiting, it was noted that we now had a sizeable and appreciative crowd on our side, and in the gathering dusk we set off down Oxford Street towards the Disney store. As those purveyors of offensive reactionary cuteness (brought to you by their underpaid semi – slave workforce) were closed we couldn’t do a repeat performance here, but a large cardboard character from their latest film was knocked to the ground with a cheer and a shout of ‘two nil!’

Moving on towards Niketown on Oxford circus, we were now being followed by the police, who presumably had not deemed us worthy of attention until that point (there may have been fuzz about before this point, but as I have to concentrate on playing I admit I ain’t the most accurate observer). We arrive at the unpleasantly congested entrance to the store, and in the general melee it is beyond us to close the place down - a shame as Niketown is such a delicious big juicy target. Several brave souls attempt to gain entry but are vigorously repulsed by the police and security. I saw several people on the ground struggling at one point; the main body of the protest was surrounded by impassive bystanders who made it difficult to manoeuvre. We stood our ground however, and gave them some full on righteous earth shakin’ pieces of our mind. Hopefully we gave our captive audience something to think about, and a spectacle to rival that of the fetishised products within.

As an interesting after demo incident, the police followed a bunch of demonstrators to the nearest pub, where they tried to convince the bouncers that we were not the sort of people that should be allowed drinking space. The bouncers, obviously bemused at being told their job, and faced with such a charming bunch of potential customers, conferred with their manager, who decided we were harmless and let us in.