Yesterday morning we rang out the names of the dead on the barriers in front of Downing Street.

The police around us, the Prime Minister's office in front of us, a friend of ours being harassed and searched across the road for filming us, under the threat of arrest, we read out the names of Iraqi civilians and of British soldiers.

Somehow, reading each name felt more painful than it had in Brighton or in Northwood. Somehow, the ceremony of remembrance had become more moving in these strange circumstances.