Activism can be a scary thing. Powerful, awesome, and dangerous. Not so much from the risk of being swept away with the crowd than of feeling lost in it. Marching in the street amongst three hundred, four hundred, five hundred other members of a united community for a single cause, it's so easy to feel right. With no bird's eye view of the chanting procession before and behind me, I trust the media to confirm how many we were, to reassure me that there's safety in numbers.

Indeed united we stand for the cause itself, which I demonstratively believe in, and was even happier to be given the opportunity to defend on an individual scale, however modest my contribution as the fly-posting herald of the march to follow. Armed with a heavy roll of tape as my weapon and a stack of "Foot and MAFF" posters as gunfire, on a mission to propagate the viral campaign, I took inspiration from Susanna's guerrilla warfare and shamelessly plastered every smooth vertical surface between Chinatown and Whitehall.

My first militant encounter was with an American tourist in Trafalgar Square who asked me what was printed in Chinese on the poster. I told her about the march to MAFF, she was from Ohio. I explained about the Ministry for Agriculture, yes, she had actually heard about the Chinese restaurant incident in Ohio. I told her it was a false accusation, which would be publicly denounced today, well, she had planned to avoid eating in Chinese restaurants with her husband during their holiday in Britain, but now that she knows the claim was unfounded she'll go and tell the rest of her tour group that it's ok to eat Chinese food.

My last militant encounter was with an American tourist on Charing Cross Road who asked me what the posters were for. Did I have a flyer? No, but you'll find plenty in Chinatown. She wanted to write about it for the local "Fresno Weekly", In California? yes, maybe talk to someone about it, I gave her a poster with the url, they should be making their way down right now, good, so she'll stay here and wait for the march.

Meanwhile I was also approached by an Englishman in traditional uniform who asked what this was about, and you're going down Whitehall? and wished me luck, by a non-English woman who asked if she could have one? Here you go, not to mention the driver of a City of Westminster car who rhetorically asked who's going to take them down afterwards? to which I dutifully replied we'll take them afterwards, and finally by a group of young lads: "Hey, Japanese! Konnitchiwa!" There you go.