Igor Clark

A bright, crisp, late March morning. Slinking my way work-ward through Liverpool Street railway station, my attention was snared by an amorphous yet authoritative yellowy blob. My mind cast back by this shade and style of stance to a May Day gathering in exactly the same location some years previously, which culminated in some plastic punks indulging in wannabe anarchy and eventually engaging in largely police-led "incidents" down by the river, I ducked behind a column, the better-guarded to draw my photographic weapon, point, and shoot. I took down seven of them with one shot and escaped, unscathed.