9/11 conspiracy theorists outside BBC television centre. Photograph: Charlie Skelton/Charlie Skelton
Eight years ago today, the world fell over on my TV screen while I vomited dodgy prawns into a washing up bowl. Shivering and baffled, I lay on the living room carpet, picking shreds of bok choy from my poisoned teeth, as the four busy horsemen of the apocalypse rode their jets into skyscrapers and put everything we knew about everything to the torch.
No wonder some people saw Satan's face in the dust – 11 September was a day for the demons, a jubilee of mayhem. The devil's own harvest festival.
Eight years later and though the shivering has stopped, that sense of bewilderment and awe remains. The dust from that day is still in people's lungs, our world is madder than ever, and I'll never eat shrimp chow mein again. Damn you, al-Qaeda! You took away my freedom to eat Chinese food! I hate your hatred of my freedom!
I'll say this about 9/11: it was absolutely bonkers. It was double-plus bonkers with a cherry on top. And I find it bonkers squared that anyone can look back on that godforsaken day and think that they know exactly what happened. As if a giant CASE CLOSED has been stamped across the skyline of New York. As if 9/11 is a question that's been answered, a theorem that's been solved. Clearly, to the satisfaction of many, it has – but to the people standing outside the BBC today, the mystery and outrage not only haven't gone away, they're deeper and stronger than ever.
It's a lovely day for a spot of protesting. The sun is out, the placards are freshly sprayed, and the police are being friendly. "You can do what you want," smiles the sergeant, "just don't run inside the building." Gareth assures me that running inside the building isn't part of the plan. The plan today is to hand out fliers and DVDs, holler facts at the BBC front entrance, and tell as many people as possible about nano-thermite.
I don't know what nano-thermite is. Turns out it's a high-tech incendiary compound that the US Department of Defence is fond of using to incendiarise things. It's a substance that a Professor from the University of Copenhagen has found in the rubble of Ground Zero. Gareth is excited about the nano-thermite. "The paper was peer reviewed," he grins. "I've got a copy if you want one." I take one for the Tube. If it's a choice between London Lite and the Open Chemical Physics Journal, I know which one I'd rather spend rush hour with.
Gareth Newnham is from London Truth Action. He's hoping for a decent turn out today – around 150 people are expected; already there's 60 or so truthers here, and a cheery informational vibe. There's a slim, half-uttered hope that the BBC might even do a story about the "new evidence". They won't, of course. Everyone knows that.
Still, Gareth is a beacon of optimism. "A lot of younger people are questioning the official story, particularly those who were in the age range of 18-25 when the attack happened." A sad bit of maths takes place in my head; I'm one of the older guard. "Something has changed over the last couple of years. Fewer people think we're crazy, the initial shock of the information is starting to wear off."
And certainly the protest here feels resolutely sane. No one here has a tinfoil hat. Gareth's had a haircut and everything. The girl in the pants is about as kooky as it gets. The free DVDs are proving a hit with BBC workers, spirits are running high and the leaflets are running low. I offer to go and print some more.
"Go back to sleep!" booms the tall man with the loudspeaker, as I head off to the print shop. "Your government is in control! Believe everything that you're told! Don't ask questions!" A taxi driver honks his support. Either that or he's honking at the girl who's wearing frilly knickers over the top of her jeans. It's hard to tell just from the honk.
The massive banner opposite the lobby says INVESTIGATE 9/11, which I realise isn't an imperative at all. It's a question. Everyone here is a question. Gareth is a question. Nano-thermite is a question. Truth is a question. 9/11 is a question.
But here's something I really don't understand: when did it become uncool to ask questions? When did questioners become imbeciles? Who gets to hand out the tinfoil hats? When did it become cool to believe what we're told? In the words of Mr Hicks, did I miss a meeting? When did so many of the cynics and sceptics, so many of the sharpest brains I know (hello Charlie Brooker!) think that the cool thing to do is mock the questioners, and defend the party line. How stratospherically uncool is that? You want to know who's cool? Gareth is cool, Mohsin in the pink shirt is cool, the girl in the pink pants is cool. Charlie Sheen is cool, Julianne Moore is cool, Dario Fo is cool. And today, perhaps for the first time in my life, I'm cool too.
Charlie Skelton is a writer and actor
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