I have no idea why I decided to do it at that particular time. I suppose apathy and boredom were the catalyst. Was there any point to it? Well yes there was, for me anyway. It gave me a sense of personal satisfaction. Just the knowing I was doing something for me, for everyone, was enough. What about the ramifications, what do I think of that? I had no idea quite what I had begun but I would do it again in a heartbeat. These things need to be aired and this was the only way I could think of at the time. It wasn’t really planned, more of a spur of the moment thing, but it made me feel good.  Do I make any apology for my actions? Hell no. It had to be done. It was all I could think of at the time. 

Let me explain myself. I was born into a normal middle class family. Both parents worked and had good jobs. My father was a bank manager and my mother an accountant. I must have inherited their love for numbers. I also had a younger sister who wanted to be an actor, and a pet Labrador, Mr. Snickers.  Our house was a nice suburban detached and we were reasonably well off. I was privately educated and went to university. Not Oxford or Cambridge, but a decent enough one. I studied maths, of course, and came away with a decent 2:1.

From there is where, I think, the trouble began. Looking back at history anyone with a degree education was almost guaranteed a decent start on the jobs ladder and early promotions. Sadly, those times were no more. Everyone, it seemed, was a graduate and work at any significant level was scarce. I slid disgracefully into teaching. I have no dislike of teachers, don’t get me wrong. They do a thankless task, it’s just not what I ever envisaged doing myself. It was not my chosen profession by a long way.  I saw myself as a fat cat merchant banker with a Porsche and a Rolex, house in Malibu that I had worked hard for. The school I started in was an academy, sounds posh, eh?  Well it wasn’t. It’s actually just a fudge to try and keep some form of segregation, a bit similar to the old grammar schools but where the money comes from central government as opposed to the LEA.

Having worked at the same job, same school for five years with no sign of promotion I was frankly pissed off. The system was also failing the kids. Sure I could teach and I was good at it. We were spending far too much time on rubbish. Statistics, no not teaching them – preparing them. Forms and reports for the Local Education Authority and the dreaded Ofsted inspection. Ofsted is a government quango designed to deflect teaching and schools from central government, putting money in another pot and paying others with no experience to spy on us and tell us we were not doing enough. With all these different pots of money and different bodies with an input into what we did and how we run, it’s easy to see how it sucked in money and spat out little at the other end.  The wages were poor too – for my qualification. But still, every month, I paid my dues and taxes for the good of the country. I had no spare money to save for a deposit for a house or even to buy a decent car. I was nearly 30 and still living at home! 

We had just broken up for the six weeks summer holiday and apart from a bit of preparation for the autumn term I was at a loose end. I wasn’t going on holiday, I couldn’t afford one. So one day I decided to do it. My own thing, no prompting, no real purpose other than because I could.

Last night’s dinner was a tomato based pasta dish. This was how I discovered the tool of my new trade. I went to the recycle bin and pulled out the can. It had been washed out as was required for recycling. Chopped tomato with a hint of basil. I placed it into my man bag and off I set. I pulled the front door shut and went to catch the tube. When I arrived at Westminster station I alighted and took the escalator to street level. I walked over the road to where Westminster bridge met the corner of the Houses of Parliament. I squatted down and placed the can on the pavement. Standing with my back to the bridge I looked around. It was quite busy for a Monday with tourists now allowed back and the sun was shining. It was a lovely day for it, I determined. Indeed there was no finer day to begin.

I planned my route, follow the road to the left along the Houses of Parliament and then across the road and down to Westminster Abbey. From there around the back of Parliament Square to the Westminster Arms pub and then back up to the tube station, over the road and we are back to the start. Essentially it’s a lap of Parliament Square. Each road I had to cross had a pedestrian crossing so that was excellent, no need to dodge between cars and vans.

Well, no time like the present. I raised my right leg behind me and let it swing forward. Kick. The can rattled and bounced along the pavement. That first strike went for about three meters, not bad. I walked casually up to it and kicked it again. It actually felt quite good to kick and walk. I was sure to get my steps in as well, another bonus. I was counting too. It took no fewer than thirty eight kicks to get to the pedestrian crossing for Westminster Abbey. En-route I passed several entrances to the Palace of Westminster (to give it its full title), each one with two policemen armed to the teeth with machine gun, pistol and taser, all on display over their Kevlar stab vests.

The lights were green for traffic at the crossing so ‘can’ and I waited for the lights to change. Kick, here we go, over the road, three kicks and towards Westminster Abbey. This was a far busier pavement, the tourists and clergy were in larger numbers than the first leg. This meant I had to be more careful and rather than kicks it was more of a footballer’s dribble. After all I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. This was my personal quest.

The back leg was not so bad apart from the smokers outside the pub, even at this time of day ‘The Westminster Arms’ was open and busy. A few eyebrows were raised and I just smiled politely and continued with my journey. I suppose, looking back, why would anyone think this was worthy of a comment. This was London and here you don’t have to go too far to see the weird and wonderful in all their glory. Then the final leg and I was back at my starting point. My first lap was completed in two hundred and seventy-four kicks (including the dribbling). My lap time was thirty-eight minutes. I was pleased.

The second lap went much as the first but I shaved off twenty kicks and two minutes as each kick was a bit more measured.  When lap four began I had my first real interaction. One of the policemen stepped out in front of me as I tried to pass one of the entrances to Parliament.

“Ok, what are you doing? This is the fourth time today. What’s the big idea?”

“I am doing just the same as that lot in there.” I replied nodding my head towards the large building behind him and smiling.

His eyes narrowed as a puzzled look came over his face, but he stepped aside and went to talk with his colleague. I continued. You see, I was not breaking any law. I was not causing a disturbance, holding up the highway, inciting anything. There was nothing the police could do, and I was being perfectly affable. I completed six laps on my first day. My can, who I was now calling Gerald, was somewhat the worse for wear, but was still intact. I went home pleased with my efforts.

That evening I thought about the comment, you know, what the policeman said, “Big idea.”  Let’s see how social media may reacts to this. I set up two accounts: Twitter and Insta – ‘the can kicker’. The sole post that day was a picture of the can of tomatoes. To be fair, I really wasn’t expecting anything to come of it. Social media is such a fickle beast.

The second day was little different to the first with the exception that the policeman recognised me from the day before and would pass the odd comment as I went by. It was also backed with a disbelieving shake of the head. Another six laps and a new record thirty-five minutes. During my route I took several pictures of me and Gerald in a variety of poses. I even got a selfie with the police!

Once home, I set about documenting my day on social media. My twitter had six likes and three followers, ok so I haven’t gone viral but then why should I? It’s a picture of a can of tomatoes and a battered one at that. My Instagram fared better with twenty likes and eight followers for the same picture. All in all I posted five pictures of my day on both media platforms. Then I had another thought. ‘Big idea’, it was haunting me. I took an old white tee-shirt and a thick marker pen. On the front and back I wrote ‘the can kicker’ and insta and twitter underneath.

Wednesday was Prime Minsters questions and it was going to be a tricky day for him. There was a cover up brewing and the opposition and the press had a sniff of a scandal. It made no difference to me as in there it was just part of the game. What I hadn’t banked on though was the press. There were at least four reporters on the grass in Parliament Square broadcasting the developments of the day. I deviated my route and used the inner path. Remember the annoying man who was always shouting during Brexit? Well I was there, behind the cameras, passing backwards and forwards just kicking my can in my tee-shirt. I made sure that my T-shirt  would be visible to the camera’s. I had no idea if I was on the telly but so what if I was.

I got home that night and opened my social media. Twitter was going crazy. Over a thousand new followers. I posted my day’s events. Insta was as bad with nearly twelve hundred likes. Oh the power of the press!! While I sat there in the chair by my desk, posting, the likes and comments were still coming through. I had opened some sort of floodgate. 

The following day I was back, with a new can, Emmett. Emmett was decorated, well I wrapped it in paper and covered that in clear sellotape. On it I had written, simply, NHS. Kick, steps, kick. There was a camera crew in the square, no doubt reporting on the fallout from the continuing scandal that’s was hotting up. I took my chances once more and as the lights went onto the reporter, there I was in the background going to and fro. At some point I picked up Emmett and showed its words towards the camera. It wasn’t in your face, that would be rude. But it was enough to be seen. I was starting to feel a bit like CaptainTom and Marcus Rashford rolled into one.

Once more, social media was alive with it. No sooner had I posted than the likes were flooding in. I think I was now beginning to go viral! I now had five thousand followers on each platform and it’s was growing by the minute. Someone had even taken a clip from the TV and sent it to me.

Friday was a quiet day. It was cloudy and most everyone was thinking about the weekend. Emmett had suffered badly the previous day, maybe it was a poorer quality can. Another tin was found and named ‘Dominic’ was decorated with the works ‘jobs for the boys’. The press were still reporting on the scandal but I paid them no attention. I just continued kicking my can. My police friends commented as I went past, 

“We understand you are a bit of a celebrity these days. How much for an autograph?” As they laughed aloud.

“Nah, just a man and his can, officer. Same as those in there just without the scandal!”

The landlord of the pub came out at lunchtime with a sandwich and a soft drink, no consuming alcohol in public down there. I thanked him kindly and took a selfie with him, my can and my lunch for later. 

It was about half three and I was nearing my last lap, when a stranger came up to me.

“Hey, man with a can, mind if I have a kick?”

“Sorry dude,” I answered, “My cause, my can, but feel free to bring your own.”

The weekend went by in a haze of social media frenzy. There were now over thirty thousand followers and plenty of comments.  I even noticed the pages were beginning to get followers from Europe and the US. It was crazy. All in one week.

Monday morning. Another bright day. I arrived at Westminster bridge and took up my position at the starting line. Dominic was decorated with the words ‘pay don’t dodge your taxes’. On the first leg I noticed a few individuals taking pictures on their phones. I smiled nicely but continued on my way.  As I got to the wide paved area, in front of Westminster Abbey, I was joined by a reporter with a camera crew.

“Any chance of an interview?” Said the reporter, “Its for the BBC.”

‘What, the BBC? Now this is madness. All I am doing is kicking a can round Parliament Square.’

“Why?” I responded as I continued to kick.

“You are a viral phenomenon. We and the public want to know what its all about.”

“Ok, but you better keep up.”

The reporter nodded to the camera man and the lighting guy who both ran in front of me. Camera guy gave a thumbs up to the reporter and this was the interview:

“We are here this bright Monday morning with twitter and insta’s can kicker, a viral sensation. For the past week he has kicked a tin can round Parliament Square every day and posted on social media his daily exploits. Can man, what prompted this?”

“The name’s Brian. It’s the summer and I am fed up with the public paying politicians to do exactly what I am doing. I figured I would do it for free and save the tax payer wads of money.”

”So, errr, Brian, what’s your agenda?”

“I don’t have an agenda. I am just highlighting that we pay politicians to do nothing meaningful except make sure they earn big money and so do their mates, all at the public expense.”

“You have loads of followers on social media. How did that start?”

“Well, that’s down to PC Stuart Jones over on the front gate. Nice bloke too. He asked me “what was the big idea?” And that prompted me to start the social media thing.”

“Are you encouraging people to come out and do the same?”

“Not at all, I am no leader, nor do I want to be. I am just doing my own thing and not causing anyone any disruption in their lives. Mr camera, be careful of that e-scooter behind …..”

It was too late, down they went with a crash. Of course, I stopped and rushed to help.

Later that evening I made the six o’clock news. The full interview was there, including the tumble. The BBC were really nice about the cause and more so that I tried to stop the accident and how I helped the poor cameraman after his collision. 

I suppose what happened next wasn’t really my fault. In fact it went totally the opposite to my intentions. It was the reporter. He said it, not me.

Tuesday morning. When I arrived there were camera crews everywhere. Some joker was walking about with ‘Kick the can’ Tee-shirts he was trying to flog along the square. But it was far worse than that. There were at least twenty others waiting at the end of Westminster Bridge. Each of them had a can, each was decorated in white paper with a phrase written on it and protected with anything from clear sellotape to cling film. They were waiting for me. Now I had virtual followers and real followers.

“Hey Brian, we are waiting for you man.”

“We love what you do.”

“Can we come along as well.”

I replied, “Look guys, this is my time, but I can’t stop you.”

They cheered.  As I set off, I could hear all the cans behind me being kicked along as I went. We had a can caravan going on. It was curious, but I noted that no one in the posse ever tried to overtake me. This was never going to de a race.

At lunchtime I had another interview with the Beeb and also with ITV, both much the same as the day before, but this was my fifteen minutes of fame, even though I never actually wanted it. While that was being done all the other kickers stood calmly in the background. As I was getting ready to start my afternoon session I was joined by an outspoken celebrity from the acting community. She was ready to join in and her can protested the unemployed situation. 

“Can I ride alongside you Brian?”

Well I was dumbstruck, my seventh day out and now a major celebratory wanted to kick with me.

“Sure, but I want a selfie for social media.”

“Perfect, lets go then.”

The afternoon kick was a very pleasant time with a celeb and plenty of cameras. She turned out to be a lovely lady and we spent the whole time talking about everything and anything. Even tourists stopped being touristy and took pictures as we went by. We were more fashionable than Westminster Abbey that afternoon. At the end of the day we even swopped mobile numbers. I couldn’t believe it, I was now friends with celebrities!

I got home and watched the news. We were all over it. There was even an attempt to engage comment from a government minister, but guess what, they kicked that can far away and gave the usual non specific answers. He did allude that this was a passing fad and there was no real fuss. That may have caused the next development, I suppose. My social media was now over one hundred thousand and there was no sign of it slowing up.

Wednesday saw an increase in my can kicking buddies as did Thursday. By Friday we were over one hundred can kickers each with their own message on their can. I was protesting law and order that day, which has a certain irony to it now as I look back. It was quite early on when I was approached by a police inspector.

“Brian, can we have a word please?”

Everyone stopped. Phones came out of pockets and filming started. A press crew ran over as well.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“You can’t do this I am afraid. We need notice as we have to police it to avoid disruption. You should have given us six days notice.”

“But officer, I am not the organiser, there is no organiser. I am a protest of one. I have not inconvenienced a soul on the streets.”

“Come on Brian, this is your movement, now tell everyone to go home, if they don’t we may have to arrest you. The numbers are blocking pavements and the traffic.”

“You don’t understand officer. These people are not exactly with me. I haven’t invited a single one. They can come and go as they please. They have nothing to do with me.”

“Look Brian, I am asking you nicely. I really don’t want to arrest you.”

“Seriously officer there is nothing I can do. But I will try.”  With that I turned to the fellow can kickers and said, “ Hi everyone, you know me but I don’t know you. This fine officer wants everyone that I have invited here or is part of my movement to stop and go home. I am asking anyone who fits that category to please do as the officer says. If you are here off your own back then, obviously, I can’t make you do anything.”

There was a cheer and everyone with a can put their cans on the ground and began to kick. They kicked past me, the police and the film crews. I looked at the officer, “I told you officer, none of them are with me.”

The policeman turned away and walked off, his tail well and truly between his legs.

By this time, I was actually starting to enjoy the attention and the fame. Watching the news and catching up on social media was giving me a real buzz. But it was the weekend papers that were next to join the pit. You can imagine the headlines, mostly tongue in cheek references to the politicians and also plotting the rise of the can kickers. Then something on social media really caught my eye. It was a reply to one of my tweets, and I had missed it. To be fair there were hundreds of messages every day, to do the social media thing justice I would have needed an agent to run it full time. But there it was:

@yorkcanfans “I hope you don’t mind but I am going to do the same in York. Its not just the Westminster lot that are corrupt, but the local councillors as well.”

There was a picture of @yorkcanfans as well, courtesy of the local paper. This was interesting. I looked him up, he had two hundred followers and it seemed they were up for a bit of can kicking too.

As it does, it spread, went very viral and on Monday there were about three hundred at Westminster, some celebrities, sports personalities and other important people with consciences. It was slow going and there was disruption. The pavement was full of can kickers. The police arrived and put up barriers to direct pedestrians and keep us separated. Once more the press wanted to talk to me, but I had no additional information to give them. It seemed they were now trying to run this.

That night’s news we were prime spot. Pictures from the Square, pictures of me, screenshots from social media and pictures from York, Liverpool, Edinburgh, Belfast and Manchester. This had turned into a national pastime in the space of two weeks. There was an interview with the police who, while they couldn’t endorse it, said there was little they could do as this was not an organised group. The Home Secretary was questioned and was highly embarrassed. Plenty of questions about cronyism were skilfully deflected, but of course this was the whole point – avoid, deflect and bury ones head in the sand. They did a great job in proving the whole point.

I had a visitor. My local MP, who just happened to be a Minister too. We went into the dining room.

“Sorry to call unannounced Brian, but I wanted to talk to you off the record with nothing in writing. Is that ok?” I nodded. “Well, you see, it’s like this. We need this to stop. I saw the news it wasn’t good for us. This can thing is now national and the opposition have tabled a rather embarrassing question for the next PM’s question time. If this goes on, well we are not sure what will happen. We are drafting a new law to prevent it as we speak, but its tricky to limit in public with theatres, football and the like. If this continues you may actually bring the government down and that won’t benefit anyone.” 

“No it won’t.” Was all I could muster. 

“A new law will take weeks, even as emergency legislation. But we have a solution. We want you to be an adviser to the government on just this issue. You will have power and control. Oh and a great salary in six figures. If it goes well there could be a peerage in it for you. Just think about it, please.”

Well that was most unexpected in my naivety. I replied, “I appreciate you coming, I get what you are saying and I see your point. I need this offer in writing before I can really consider it fully. It’s a trust thing, I am sure you understand.”

He passed me a letter. Stood up and left. By the door he turned, “Take this seriously Brian.” And he was gone. I sat there for a moment, was this a threat? I opened the note. Not a threat but a vague job offer with a six figure salary, no mention of any conditions. Clever, how could I accept this offer and still kick the can when I was being invited to join the club? The offer was tempting, well the money was, but I had my moral compass. I could not be bought.

By the end of the week not only was this national but protests had started in a number of other European capitals. The French were loving it as were the Germans. Some of the other countries had police out in force and were using water cannon to control the cans and kickers. It was farcical but also hugely important. There was also talk on social media of USA and Canada joining in and all governments globally were starting to take notice. The news was filled with those in support of the ‘movement’ and those rich tax avoiding fat cats who were shouting communism from the rooftops. The US president was apparently overhead commenting that this was either the Russians or more likely the Chinese trying to overthrow capitalism and the west.

At the start of week three I could barely get out of the tube station at Westminster. The square was packed. Stalls had been set up with tee-shirts, food and drink and even some guy offering to print your can for a modest fee. I made my way to the start and placed my can on the pavement. As I stood up PC Stuart Jones was in front of me, “Brian I am really sorry, but you are under arrest for inciting a riot and public order offences, oh and obstructing the highway.”

I was speechless. I picked up my can and followed Stuart to the waiting van. Blue lights and sirens were needed to get passed the crowds who were baying like wolves for blood. I later discovered that police had to surround Parliament for fear of some White House style attack once I was taken into custody. I was eventually charged and kept for court the next day. I had no idea what was going on.

The next morning I appeared before the court and the charges were read out, something to do with protesting without authority and highway obstruction. I pleaded ‘Not Guilty’ and my case was put off for three months for my trial. The court gave me bail, but there were conditions. Firstly I was excluded from Parliament Square and secondly I was not to be found in public with a can advertising any political message! ‘Oh well,’ I thought, ‘It was fun while it lasted.’ But that wasn’t the end of it, not at all.

Over the next three weeks the trouble continued. In fact it grew. It was so large that the army were called in. Emergency legislation was being drafted and the press interest showed no signs of waning. The protests grew in virtually every country in the world. Hong Kong was up there as was Russia – so it wasn’t them who started it then! My time though was certainly over. You see it was time for me to return to school for the start of the new term and the new school year. I await my trial. I have published the letter from the Minister on social media and that prompted a resignation.

So where are we now? What did I achieve?  Well. I am not sure really. As I type I look around and still those cans are being kicked all across the world.