On the March: Belfast, Saturday 4.45am David O'Hare is struggling to seem wide awake as he chirpily ticks off the names of anti-poverty campaigners travelling on the Trócaire bus from Belfast to Edinburgh.
"It feels like I should be coming out of a nightclub at this hour of the morning," he says, with tired eyes. "I barely got any sleep - but, this is what it's all about. Right?" There are murmurs of good-natured agreement from people still wiping sleep from their eyes, as an early-morning street cleaning machine roars past.
Larne-Troon car ferry, 7.10am The Make Poverty History campaigners, with their white T-shirts, wristbands and headgear, stand out easily from the truck drivers and day-trippers on the ferry.
A group of mostly middle-aged protesters from the Northern Ireland Public Service Alliance are eating some limp rashers and overcooked sausages and joking about who'll get stopped by the police first when they arrive.
"It's going to be a fantastic day. It's a chance to influence the G8 leaders. The protesters, the noise, the dignity and the solidarity we show with people in the developing world will be really strong," says Tony McMullen (48). "Although we will miss Pink Floyd and The Who," jokes Billy Lynn (52). "I could take or leave the rest."
Towards the rear of the ferry Sam Stanfield (23) and Kierinda Quail (24) are sitting quietly catching some broken sleep. "We're born-again Christians," explains Kierinda. "We believe that our God is a God of love and of justice. And we believe He commands us to speak up for those who are treated unfairly. It's not fair that because you are born in a country, that you shouldn't have the same chances as us."
Sam adds: "This isn't a big sacrifice. You get up early to go on holidays. This might not make a huge difference but at least we're trying."
Edinburgh, 11.10am
Some banks and global chain stores have boarded up their windows. Other shops have prominent posters advocating Fair Trade products, as if to ward off potential looters.
In contrast, the mood at the meeting point in The Meadows for the biggest political demonstration in Scottish history is mellow.
It feels like one massive hippyish English country fete. In one corner is a Fair Trade stall, where people are queuing up for free samples of food. In another is a football competition where kids have three goes to strike a ball past George Bush, who is standing in the way of trade and climate change reform.
All human life seems to be here. Besides the major NGOs and charities, there's a sole representative from the International Bolshevik Tendency, a parish grouping from St John's Church in southern England, red-shirted members of the Socialist Party and - most bizarrely - a bunch of clowns dressed in combat fatigues called the Clandestine Insurgent Rebel Clown Army.
The Meadows, Edinburgh, 1.15pm
The march is due to set off in three stages, at noon, 1pm and 2 pm. The first wave is delayed as thousands continue to swarm into the parkland which is teeming with people, banners and mascots. There is an expectant and excited atmosphere among the hugely disparate crowd, who have travelled from all over Europe.
The several hundred-strong Irish contingent, from NGOs such as Trócaire, Oxfam, Suas, the Irish Anti-War Movement, is waiting patiently to move.
Among them is Elwin Wald, a "pen-pusher" in the civil service from Ballyclare, who is being wrapped with a chain - "a chain of debt" - by his 15-year-old daughter Kathryn.
He said: "We're Christians. We're of the view that people who have, should be willing to give to people who have not."
As 3pm approaches, the MC at one of stages in The Meadows, Nina Wadia, prepares the crowd for the minute's silence to mark the 30,000 children who die every day from poverty-related causes. The samba drums fall silent, the chanting stops and the music ends abruptly. It's a moving, hair-tingling moment. Only the quiet drone of a police helicopter in the distance breaks the silence.
The Meadows, 4.05pm
Hours after taking their place in the vast queue to march, the Irish contingent have only moved a few metres. The organisers had estimated 100,000 people earlier in the day. Then 150,000. Now the latest estimate is over 200,000 people.
The tannoy system pleads: "We know some of you have been waiting hours to march. Please be patient."
Pam Mills (69), Bristol, wearing sensible shoes, is ecstatic at the numbers who have turned out.
"Look at the numbers!" she says. "When I was 18 or 19, we [ the Mothers' Union] were a small group. I remember playing dominoes on the street, stopping traffic, to make a point about poverty. This is real progress."
The bus back to Belfast is leaving shortly, so some peel away reluctantly. Elwin Wald is removing his chain of debt and preparing to leave.
"Even if we didn't get out to march, it's just as beneficial being here," he says. "If the G8 get the message that people want change, it's worth it." He makes his way back to the bus, tired but elated, holding hands with his two daughters.
