She is working in the living room with one eye on the television; a group of people bearing placards about benefit cuts and collapsing social care have walked into the foyer of a dark-fronted building and glued themselves to the carpet. The image on the screen is momentarily chaos—arms aloft, a lunatic swing of the camera—and then abruptly switches to a man in a tremendous yellow raincoat who complains to an unseen reporter that if they really wanted to get their point across they could think about being less of a pain. What does this achieve, other than pissing everybody off and getting shit
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