On the streets of London for a forlorn rejection of Brexit

Leave means Grieve. Others may have thought of my slogan first but I didn't see it on any of the placards held by marchers on the great anti-Brexit rally in central London.

I have witnessed scores of marches and rallies in my career as a journalist. I have been insulted, threatened and jostled, endured the effects of police tear-gassing, feared for my personal safety and, looking at the marchers and their varied causes, felt emotions ranging from sympathy to disgust.

Yesterday, for the first time in three score and 10 years of life, I attended a march as a marcher. My wife, French, joined her first since the Paris spring of 1968 and even that was in a provincial town, Le Mans, not at the Bastille or Place de la Republique in the capital.

This one mattered to both of us ... the great uprising against the looming catastrophe of withdrawal from the EU.