Zaid is thirty; two years older than me, and all but two of the last twenty-two have been at war. Children play football on the rooves of bomb shelters, raised above the ground because it's impossible to build them fully underground when the water table is so high. Walking between them, you have to duck the balls, usually followed by a child, as they fly over the edge.

Then over breakfast a Frenchman was talking about the likelihood of France using its veto. France has said it will only veto if another country does as well. Less than 1% of its trade is with Iraq; perhaps 20% is with the U.S. Likewise Russia and China need U.S. trade more than Iraqi. Turkey has caved in to U.S. pressure.

Sorry kids. Your lives are less important than trade with the U.S.. Yeah, I know the U.S. and U.K. are going to do what they want regardless of international opinion, law and process, but that's not a reason for the rest of the world to acquiesce.

So now I'm not scared. Now I'm furious. I'm raging. I'm going to stay here and watch it all happen and I won't turn my head away no matter how hard it is to bear, and afterwards I'm going to come back and tell the warmongers in the government and the corporations about the sparkling eyes and the bubbling laughter of every single person they kill here. I'm going to write down their crimes, one by one, and name their victims, and I'm not going to stop until there's justice in the world.

Jo Wilding, March 6th. Please continue for March 7th...