I’m taking Mona for her usual Saturday run round the dog park at Glasgow Green, but something’s wrong. The first sign is the group of police officers at the end of the suspension bridge. The second sign is the rumble from overhead and there it is: a helicopter low over the trees, keeping watch. And the third sign is the man who approaches me and tells me it’s all kicking off and I should stay away. The sun is shining, the air is clear, but it’s a dark day.

I get as close as I can to see what’s happening. By the Nelson monument, there’s a line of police vans and beyond them a circle of officers and within the circle a small group of men, some masked, all in black, limbs fidgeting, ready to swing, to lash out. Further down, there’s a group of protesters on one side of the fence throwing glass and wood and other missiles. One of the first things that occurs to me is how few of them there are: a minority of a minority of a minority.

On the other side of the fence are the counter-protesters, another small group led by a woman shouting into a megaphone, the same phrase on repeat: stop the fascists now! Her fellow protesters are holding home-made placards (this is now the destiny of all cardboard boxes). One says: “the only dangerous minority is the rich”. Another: “It’s OK to punch Nazis.” And another, complete with picture of a clenched fist: “Smash fascism and racism (by any means necessary)”. As usual, the implication of violence, no matter how progressive it’s meant to be, makes my stomach lurch. It was the same at London Pride this year: “90% of pigs are gassed to death, but Terfs still exist?” “Kill JK Rowling”. “Boycot Harry Potter” (violent threats and poor spelling, always close relatives).

The chants and slogans of the anti-migrant protesters on Glasgow Green are darker still. One man, eyes........

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