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One year on

It’s just one of those days when you remember where you were when you heard the news.

I was at work. It was past 10.30 or so when my employer called up frantically. He was in London that morning (very rare) for a meeting with a top NHS official. He called to say that something had happened and he was having difficulty getting to the hospital where the appointment was and would we call them and let them know he was delayed.

We checked the internet and sketchy news about an explosion/short circuit was coming in. That explained the problems on the tube, we thought.

Ofcourse, as the day unfolded we knew just how wrong the early assumptions were.

Mr R found out when my sister sent him a text to find out if we were okay. That must have come as a surprise to him.

The rest of the day went by in a blur trying to contact friends in London to see if they were okay.

A year on, I’m watching the services on telly to commemorate the horror of that day.

Sir Ian Blair says that he ‘knows’ that there will be more attacks. It was just a question of whether we will be able to stop them.

The chief honcho of the Tube, when asked what was being done to prevent a repeat, said that the most powerful man in the world is in Iraq and even he can’t predict when the next suicide bomber would come; the Metro is just a tube station.

True.

——————————————————————-
THAT ASIDE
Are we going to have to go through suspicious looks for the next few weeks every time we go into London? Must remember to carry a handbag that doesn’t look like a rucksack. From last years experience I know that people stay away from you on tubes, buses and give you a second glance if you are carrying a backpack (not even a rucksack).

With thousands of brown tourists on London’s street, that’s quite a few suspicious looks thrown around.

You feel like turning around and saying to these frightened faces “Not everybody is a terrorist, mate!”

England is an island in more ways than one. The West needs to wake up and acknowledge that there is a world out there beyond their corner of the planet.

I’m going to scream if I’m asked, one more time, the question ‘How come you speak such good English?’

Maybe if the English had stayed at home instead of going around the world ‘conquering’ other people, we would have had to bother learning the language and ending up better than the natives at it.

Rant. Rave.Fume. Fret.

On a day of mourning, there’s more grief and upset in the air than is visible.

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