Even though I was born in England, I feel my Asian background made it harder for me to find housing But the people at Crisis were great. They were incredibly helpful and gave me the money and support I needed.”Genevieve Roberts. It began beside the grey block war memorial to the London Borough of Lambeth’s finest, who had given their lives fighting the Kaiser, and it ended up two miles away in a big open space with thousands of new age visionaries, trance-state guitar soloists, pathologically earnest students, the occasional marauding hound off a leash, a fair slice of what used to be called Middle England, and lots – and lots – of cannabis. They could have been revolutionaries talking quietly of freedom.

A longer look, however, exposed the particular variety of freedom on offer today: sick greyish blooms of smoke, and the rich, candy-floss smell of grass. Grey skies, strong wind, rain in the air – another traditional English party had begun.But not everyone there matched the stereotyped image of the modern soft-drug user “I used to live round here until 20 years ago. I heard about the march and came along,” said Charles Kell, 82, a retired electrician from Surrey “It’s really nice that these people have turned out It’s a bit of life. Nowadays, most British people can’t even be bothered to turn out and vote, which is why it’s so good to see these people here It used to be like this round here when I was young People used to talk to each other. Now it’s dead.”Though he wouldn’t admit to having actually smoked the weed himself, Mr Kell is adamant that full legalisation should happen soon. “Legalise it? Yes – but then the Government will probably do that one day. But of course they’d probably tax it, and how many of these people here would like it so much then?”The complexities of future taxation policy didn’t seem to be on the minds of most of the marchers.

Spearheaded by the formidable elite shock troops of the University of East London’s English folk heritage fanatics – resplendent in woodland green and papier-m??ak and vine leaves – the march for dope began to shamble its way in the general direction of Brixton, some two miles away.The inevitable slackening in pace and tendency to slow to a smiling standstill was countered by the pulsating rhythm of the drums of a London samba troupe. Without them, the march would possibly have faltered at the first zebra crossing. Half a mile or so along the Brixton Road the placards started to droop lazily. “Legalise today”, “Get high tonight” and “Which Bush killed – George or ganja?” bobbed in and out of sight.The throng rapidly grew from a few hundred to a respectable 2,000 – speeding up, slowing down, stopping to roll just another one or open another Bacardi Breezer, but always to the beat of downtown Rio.