Part of the Trident: we don't buy it tour blog 
With thanks to Wave Maker for the image
The thing nobody tells you about being arrested is just how boring it is. Not just need-a-good-book boring; after the adrenaline rollercoaster of a 14-hour blockade, the protracted thumb-twiddling of detention is mind-achingly, eye-bleedingly, soul-crushingly boring.
Friday was adrenaline-fuelled, from the moment our eyes snapped open early that morning. The inflatable boats are in the water! Whoosh (that’s the sound adrenaline makes…) Police! Whoosh. Boat chases! Canoes! Arrests! Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
There was a brief respite in the afternoon, when, somehow, sitting on an ice-breaker blockading a nuclear submarine started to seem like the most natural thing in the world to be doing, and it felt like we’d been doing it forever. I took a quick walk around the ship, and day to day life was in full swing. Patricio, our cook, was kneading dough. A deckhand was sorting out his laundry. Somebody was mopping a toilet…
Then the police tugs started moving, the police started boarding, the bridge was broken into: whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
The arrest itself was something of an anti-climax. I’ve only been arrested once before, and I like new experiences; being arrested should be interesting - maybe even scary, or exciting. It’s really not. It’s a marathon of waiting, occasionally relieved by a bout of form-filling or DNA-giving. Mostly just waiting.
As there were 28 of us, we were taken to several different police stations. Portia, a volunteer on the ship, and I were driven through the rainy night to Glasgow, where we were each shown into our own cell late on Friday evening. First impressions were good; the cell was bigger than the ship’s cabins, and we had one to ourselves! But after a sleepless night under the relentless beam of a huge fluorescent light, time started to drag a little.
At lunch time on Saturday, I discovered the joys of "pea basketball" (lunch came with peas, and the toilet bowl made a fine hoop). By mid-afternoon, I’d perfected the art of head stands. In the evening, I sat listening to the sounds of a Glasgow nick on a Saturday night and thought about the rest of the crew; for some of them, this is the only bit of the UK they’ve ever experienced.
Long hours into Sunday, I calculated it must be nearly dusk. I asked the police for the time. It was still 11am. I read the newspaper again (even the fashion and sports sections), and decided to write a book about dieting, the Greenpeace way (the combination of sea sickness, activities and prison food works a treat…).
It was the powdered tea that broke me in the end. First, there was the soul-destroying loss of hope that comes with discovering that someone has invented a thing like powdered tea (tea comes in bags – how much more convenient does it need to be?). Then there’s the actual taste of it... For two days, I accepted every cup of tea I was offered (two or three cups a day). It was undrinkable, but it was an extra entity in the cell. In an environment where you can’t flush your own toilet or switch off your own light, the sense of keeping some control becomes important. Powdered tea took on a towering significance. I could decide whether or not to drink the stuff, whether to pour it down the toilet and use the polystyrene cup as an advanced pea basketball hoop, whether to just look at the reflections in it, whether to watch it grow cold. For the first two days I didn’t drink it. But, on the third day, to my shame, I was gulping it down – gratefully. They broke me with tea.
I also spent a fair bit of time thinking about the blockade. I may be whinging about being detained but I don’t really mean it; this was an event that really struck home for me and, I think, everyone else involved. It goes right to the heart of what Greenpeace is, and the history; a few individuals getting into boats and going out to protest against nuclear weapons. Since Greenpeace was founded, the world has seen the introduction of the nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty. Now it’s this government, in our time, that’s jeopardising these hard-won moves towards a more peaceful world, and I feel utterly compelled to be a part of the chorus of voices loudly saying "no".
On Monday, at around lunch time, we were released - thanks to the amazing 24-hours a day work of our lawyers and legal support team. The Captain went to court, the rest of us were driven from various police stations to a pub, to eat, drink and wait for him.
Portia and I were the first to arrive, and we were greeted with hugs and drinks by the wonderful group of MSPs and activists we’ve been getting to know since we came up to Scotland: Rosie Kane, Frances Curren, Angie Zelter, Jane Tallents and others from Faslane 365, most of whom have spent far longer in cells over many more years, protesting against the UK’s nuclear weapons system.
More people arrived, with pale faces and slightly shaky smiles, which quickly turned into hugs and grins. Considering we’d all just spent three days in a cell, there was a surprising amount of news to catch up on. Like the fact that three of us had simultaneously, independently invented pea basketball. Several had learned how to do headstands. Oh, and one person (I don’t want to name him in case his nearest and dearest don’t know yet) got engaged! A policeman came into his cell on Saturday to tell him that his girlfriend had called and asked him to marry her. Finally, Waldemar arrived, still wearing his captain’s uniform and his big grin.
Now, everybody’s out and we’re rearing to carry on with the Trident tour. There’s just one catch; the Arctic Sunrise hasn’t been given back to us. There’s no legal or logistical reason for the MoD to be keeping it, and we still don’t know when we’ll get it back but, as soon as we do, we’ll be carrying on to London as planned.
I also want to say thanks for the comments on the blogs of the past few days – we haven’t had time to answer them, but I’ve been reading them out to some of the crew and they are hugely appreciated by everyone. I’ll let you know when there’s word on the ship. In the meantime, if you haven’t already, please take a moment to write to your MP and ask them to vote against Trident renewal in March. Thank you!
