I've had Sunday dinner with Peter's mother's ex lodgers family. It was really nice, I had the traditional Hungarian fish soup and then more fish for the main course. Peter was bitched at for not liking aquatic meat; I think this is justified since it was really tasty. The meal lasted about 3 hours which is much longer than your normal English Sunday dinner. After that we went out and put English teaching posters all over the ELTE student district.

The decision to have an early night was made since we had to be up at 7:30 to get to the parliament in time for the start of the 1956 events. Right from the off we were met with police force pushing back politically active crowds. Chants of AVH were bellowed at the authorities. We were moved back away from Parliament, and ran towards the chain bridge. Here we saw the first signs of the far-right Hungarian 'political' groups. They want to see the nation’s boarders stretched into Transylvania and other areas. The slogan used by these members is "Super Size Me".

Skin-heads were dotted amongst the crowd trying to perpetuate the violence and stretch the tension. And it doesn't take much for it to snap. Especially in Hungary, as we found later that evening.

A large crowd moved towards Corvin cinema. Anti government chants were called out in the wide streets of inner-Budapest. We marched down the middle of the road while cars were spinning round, then racing back into the opposite direction. I was at the front of all this snapping away at the mob behind. We jumped up onto telephone boxes and anything else that gave a good vantage point. The cinema is of symbolic importance, lots of people were killed there in '56.

The protesting really only got serious when we went back into the breach, after going home for some much needed food. We'd met with Peter's friend Gáspár earlier and he'd warned us that the police will use violence indiscriminately. We needed to be really careful.

We first went to Deák Ferenc tér, where the protestors had commandeered the soviet ear tank:

It was desolate except for the police blockades, piles of stones, rubber bullets and tear gas shells. We decided to try and find a way to Astoria whilst avoiding of the police lines; as we got closer the tear gas in the air started to stab Peter’s eyes. Mine were alright, but once we got onto the main street my eyes started to sting (though not enough to stop us sprinting into more photographic opportunities). We decided that we should get to Ferenciek tere; when we arrive the crowd was moving down the road towards the bridge. They were backing away from the riot police, who were assembled like an army. Dotted amongst them were men with green bullet-proof vests. We were told that they'd already killed 3 protestors that day using rubber bullets (which later turned out to be false, there were no deaths).

A stale mate was reached, so the next port of call was the parliament building. We went along the right bank of the Danube towards freedom square. The heavy police presence had worked - the area was deserted. Thus, we got the metro back to Ferenciek tere. This was quite worrying, we overheard a man say that the police had shot tear gas into a subway. It goes without say that this was the subway station we were getting off at:

The gas rolled down the escalator as we ascend into the violent streets above. This was causing everyone to leave the station with red, tearful eyes. We didn't know that on ground level the situation we had left had reached a new level of danger. The protesters had ripped down the scaffolding and grabbed building materials. Within 30minutes they'd erected a crude but sinister looking barricade.

We met some American and/or Canadian guys and also a crazy German medic student called "Len" who, whenever the police shot tear gas at us, would shout at people not to run. In his bag he showed us a tear gas canister he’d grabbed and various plastic bullets:

He was drunk. And walking around listening to music and laughing at the situation. Brilliantly, he was able to speak perfect English. He called me "Lord Extra". This was some sort of German 'joke' which I didn't understand. Typically, I was asked about how to drink tea correctly and why we "force" people to sit down and have a cup of tea at 5 o'clock. I didn't know that we did, but fine. Peter loves him. He has got his number and keeps threatening to text him. One of the last things I remember him saying was "I would very much like to have a cup of English tea with you. Please can I have your number" - Peter gave him the Hungarian mobile number, and I should mention that this German was a lucky German: He'd danced with the wife of Ali-G. I think one of his relations is married to a member of the Sacha Baron Cohen dynasty.

Later on, as all Americans do those amongst us did utter them well-trodden words: "it's not the LA riots". I think this is law for yanks: any public disturbance must, at some point, be compared to the riots in Los Angeles.

I was just explaining to the Americans that they'd never dare to do anything with the world watching, then the police charged at us whilst water cannons and tear gas was launched into our direction. I ran to the left down to Váci Utca with Peter. This was a mistake as the police came running after us and started to beat down the protesters. I put up my hands and had my camera on display. This stopped them attacking me, but in front people I'd been chatting with minutes earlier were beaten to the floor. At this point I lost Peter, he ran towards the Danube, whereas I went back in the direction the police were coming from. I saw more photographers and told them to get out of there before the police came back. Peter rang me and all I heard was "I'm ok" then my phone stopped working. I hate Orange!

I walked back to Deák Ferenc Tér with some member of the anti-communist league. They spoke perfect English, and were asking me if anything like the brutality of the police would happen in England. I said it would be highly unlikely and nothing compared to what I'd seen that night. One man said "fucking communist pigs ey?" which serves to illustrates the misunderstanding and uncontrolled propaganda which is running rampant amongst the far right groups of Hungary. I walked towards Arany János metro station and, using my crappy Hungarian I asked which metro station had no police. Most people I asked didn't know, and the protesters I was walking with didn't seem to know either. We got to the station but what we'd all forgotten due to the heat of the moment was that metro would not be running at 2am.

I started walking back towards Deák Ferenc Tér when I lost the English speaking anti-communist members. I walked past the basilica and saw the police, one of them shouted to see my camera. I said I was English and my camera was broken. I got out of their sight and removed the memory card, put it in my shoe and placed an empty CF card back into the camera. This way if they smashed the camera they'd not smash my images.

I asked some more protesters for directions and walked up towards Westend shopping centre. I stopped in at an open Internet cafe and tried to buy a phone card. Failed at it. So I changed a note into coins. When I tried to call Peter the line would not connect. Today we've realised it was due to the police, they may well have shut down the mobile network to stop anymore protests organising a new stand-off.

I was dying of thirst, when I came to an open pub I went in and had an ice-tea and some crisps. I sat down and started to worry about Peter. My plan of action was to get back to the flat and use Skype to call him. I hoped he'd be trying to get home as well.

I stole some police tape on the way back - I needed more souvenirs! I was told to go around a long way round to get back home. This was what the authorities were shouting at me, but then when I explained I was English and was trying to get to Angyalföld and they just waved me past.
I saw one of the protest leaders on the way back - I said good evening and told him he'd been on the BBC.

It took me about an hour and a bit to walk back from Westend. I got to the flat and saw the light was on. I presumed that Peter had left it on to deter burglars. But thankfully I'd saved myself £5 to use Skype out due to Peter making an appearance in the little window in the flat door.

PETER'S STORY AFTER WE WERE SEPARATED

At about 1:30am, just after we had all had ran from the police, I was chatting with a slightly crazy German guy called Len. We were just exchanging numbers so that he could come to our flat at some point for "a proper cup of English tea", as he put it, when the police appeared from all the surrounding streets with their shields, bats and cans of mace. I thought they would just target the rioters, but when they started beating random people to the floor (including Len), I knew it was time to run like hell. This was probably the first time that I genuinely felt scared for my wellbeing. So, naturally, I ran as fast as my tired legs could take me (having already been standing for 18 hours).

I soon hit a clump of rioters on the riverbank, some of which were running around, shouting, crying from the tear gas and bleeding all over the place. I called Philip and asked him if he was OK, to which he replied "Yes I'm OK", then the line was cut off and I just got forwarded to his voice mail when I tried to call again. My options were now:

North - Police blockades around the parliament

East - The police who had just tried to beat me

South - The main riot

West - The Danube

Just like in an old text adventure, all directions lead to peril. In the end I headed North, as that was homeward, and I quickly picked up the pace when I heard the police throw tear gas into the crowd I had just left. I got a call from Len who shouted in an all-too-jolly tone “Hey, Peter! I’ve just been beaten up by the police!”. I asked him if he was with Philip, but he wasn’t. He later called again and said “Just say you’re English and they’ll leave you alone,” which, in hindsight, is precisely what I should have done, but in that mindset I just wanted to avoid them as best as possible. The streets were completely desolate, and every exit was blocked by rows of police. Thankfully, I bumped into someone who might have been able to help me. His name was Gergő, he was about my age but quite a bit taller. He was badly bleeding from his mouth, two of his teeth had been smashed and he had streaks of blood across his face and clothes. No less than eight policemen had battered him to the ground, then kicked him repeatedly. He couldn't get home for all the police presence, so I agreed to let him stay the night back at the flat.

After roaming the streets for some time, it became clear that the police were only letting cars out, but no people. Even then, quite a lot of cars were being turned back. We tried to flag down a few cars, but most just drove on. Finally, one stopped and agreed to drive us home. We were turned back quite a few times, but eventually we were allowed through one of the barricades. It was all going smoothly until our driver drove us straight into Deák Ferenc Tér where we again got stuck behind barricades. We spent a good half an hour in the car, the police knocking on the windows and asking questions, and Gergő discussing theology with the driver. I had thought for a minute that Gergő was going to use me for a sex game and burn me in the bath (as Robert Webb once said), but his religious views cleared all such thoughts.

We did, finally, get home at about 3am, and having called Philip every few minutes for the past hour to no avail, I decided to call home for some advice. Basically, either Philip was in a prison cell somewhere (where they can’t keep him for more than 12 hours), or he’s in hospital somewhere. My mum said that if Philip didn’t show up within 12 hours, we’d call our solicitor in Budapest and she’d sort things out. Gergő had a shower to clean away all his blood, and who should walk through the door but Philip! Yay! This meant I didn’t have to call his parents and explain that I had lost him!

We rejoiced and drank tea. Actually, we didn’t, but we really should have. Gergő couldn’t eat anything due to his broken teeth, so tea would have been perfect. Then we all went to bed. And don’t worry, Plews, I didn’t cheat on you - Gergő slept on the couch.

So that was one eventful day. Peter made about five minutes of video recordings too, which you can watch here:

We took over a thousand photos in those 18 hours, but Peter, the official photo editor, has picked out 114 of the best, which you can view by clicking here.

- Philip + Peter