We could all stock up on cup noodles and corned beef and join Russell Brand’s revolution... if it wasn’t for the man himself

Seasoned comrades! Million Mask marchers. After some petty bourgouise quacking on my part, I’m now fully signed up to fight in Russell Brand’s revolutionary army. Yes, for weeks now I have derided him as a Wolfy-from-Citizen-Smith-in-yoga-pantaloons character calling for the destruction of British democracy and establishment as we know it – while selling 10 books a minute through tax-slitherers Amazon and community enemy Tesco, living on his Sky Atlantic royalties and kicking about with Jemima Khan. But I was blind and now I see.

The revolution is growing apace. Voting IS indeed bad. What has voting ever done for anyone? Nothing. (OK, it’s one of the greatest things that happened to modern women, but I shall eschew this fact for the cause). What do we want? Something about not fracking, not tolerating corruption, freedom of speech and, um, other stuff. When do we want it? Now.

My comrades took to London streets this week anonymously in masks (not Brand, he was wholly viewable). A bin was kicked over. A fire-breather appeared and it wasn’t even Glastonbury. And then Russell treated us to some more of his revolutionary reasoning via Twitter and another column: “My friend went to a posh ‘do’ in the country where David Cameron, a man whose face resembles a little painted egg, was in attendance,” he wrote. “Also present were members of the opposition and former prime minister Tony Blair. Whatever party they claim to represent in the day, at night they show their true colours and all go to the same party.”

This is some pretty profound talk. Obviously the old me would point Brand and the rest of you towards a recent piece he wrote about attending the GQ awards piece – which he hated as he hates awards ceremonies, didn’t want to go to as he doesn’t drink, thought the sponsor had Nazi connections and besides the room was full of Tory idiots (He was romancing the sister of Zac Goldsmith, Conservative MP for Richmond, at the time).

But Brand went anyway, because it was good for his career (not for his future profit, I hope, which is a filthy word). Interestingly, at this point Brand seemed fully cognisant that regardless of whether one agrees with people or not in the world of media/politics “at night we all go to the same parties”. And in fact it is utterly disingenuous of Brand to seem shocked at this “posh do” his friend told him about where people drink in the same room as people they don’t like.

But that’s pre-Brandism me. Instead I’m putting in an Ocado delivery for cup noodles and corned beef and waiting for Russell’s army to rise up, converge upon Westminster, punch Ed Miliband in the face, and turn the House of Commons into an Astanga studio. Rest assured during the most frightening nights of revolutionary action, I’ll be on Tweetdeck – 10 streams flickering at once – writing some pretty bloody pithy tweets supporting him.

Obviously, I’d go out and run amok myself – following Russell’s instructions to be angry, anarchic, non-democractic and to rebel against the small number of people who have wealth – but the problem is, I distinctly remember the nights in August 2011 when this last occurred and the police lost control it was bloody terrifying. Maybe the people of Hackney and Croydon et al were “the wrong type” of revolutionaries? Maybe Russell’s revolution will be different. Maybe this time it will feature a lovely big debating circle where wealth is redistributed via use of a talking stick, and the current monarchy and political establishment are rounded up, taken around the back of Westminster, then waved off gently to Butlins to think over their wrongdoings. Me, I won’t be taking any chances.

And when the goals are achieved, (what were the goals again? I can’t remember… but then how can I be expected to remember? My brain is blitzed by too much partying in the Nineties, which is, I have realised now via Russell, not MY fault but the current paradigm’s fault stemming from the kind of social conditions exacerbated by a system which led to my partying). Well when these goals are achieved, it will be joyous and triumphant. I just hope I can take this beret off soon as it’s getting rather itchy.

More from Grace Dent here: http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/comment/jennifer-aniston-cut-her-hair-what-on-earth-could-this-mean-8925199.html