Teo Cheng Wee marches and stops traffic with 1,000 students in Bangkok.

THERE I was, in Bangkok's Government House, soaked to the skin trying to prop up the flimsy tarpaulin that was sheltering a few locals and myself.

As the rain lashed down on another wet day in the city, protesters from the anti-government People's Alliance for Democracy (PAD) were huddled together under makeshift shelters that provided little cover from the sweeping storm.

On the stage, the usually boisterous speakers were quiet for once. In its place is a constant drumming, an attempt to keep spirits up in the gloomy weather, as the crowd claps softly to its rhythm.

As I feel my feet swimming in my shoes, I was thinking: surely the student protest that was being planned today is not going ahead.

It's not just the elements that are making things difficult. Two students were shot by an anonymous gunman just two days before, when about 100 of them were marching to Prime Minister Samak Sundaravej's residence to call for his resignation.

Although they survived the attack, the others must feel some apprehension, I thought.

Well, apparently not.

As 7pm approached, the rain started dying down and I made my way to the Makkhawan Rangsan bridge just outside the Government House, where the march was supposed to begin.

There were already more than 1,000 students gathered there. Hailing from 80 educational institutes, many of them were carrying "Young PAD" signs. Some were dressed in uniform, others in civilian clothes, but all were enthusiastic in their chanting.

An emcee on the stage then started counting back from 10 before flagging them off.

Although their message was serious, the march simply looked like a gigantic class outing. Led by a lorry commandeered by student leaders and blasting pop music, the students sang, skipped, giggled, clapped, and cheered as they strolled through Bangkok's busy roads.

They didn't stop for traffic - traffic stopped for them, as cars were brought to a standstill along Bangkok's already busy roads.

But the drivers didn't seem to mind. There was no honking, no impatience. Instead, some drivers wound down their windows and clapped along with them.

Even the police seemed to take it in the right spirit. As the students walked past the police barricades outside the Government House, some of them whipped out their cameras to capture the sight. I caught a few of them smiling.

Halfway through our march, I wondered how long or far they would go. The students had refused to divulge their destination before the march, citing worries that other parties might use the information to disrupt their protest.

But half an hour after we started, I realised where the end-point was. It was, aptly enough, the Democracy Monument - a giant representation of the Thai constitution surrounded by four 24m-high, wing-like structures.

Nevermind that it was located near the city's famous Grand Palace and smack right in the middle of arguably the city's most busy round-about - for half an hour cars were turned back as the students thronged the monument, cheering and taking photos.

Exhausted and satisfied at the end of their march, the students then finally turned around and marched back to the Government House. And as if the Red Sea were unparted, the cars immediately flowed back onto the empty roads were the students once were.

As I turned around to make the 1km trek back to our starting point, I felt the first raindrops pattering on my head. The raindrops got fatter and I was soon drenched again.

It looks like another long night ahead for the protesters, but I don't think it matters to the kids.

After all, they've already shown that a little bit of rain isn't going to stop their cause.