This is the Day
As I write the 'extended lunchtime news' relays the first coherent attempt to qualify what occured in London this morning. In the past 4 hours I've been through a range of emotions I couldn't hope to describe here, or now. And yet, for what it's worth, I feel compelled to do so.
Indeed the now feels very shaky at the moment, and the average Londoners connection to reality seems a little tenuous from where I'm sat (in my front room). If I'm honest, and without exageration, I'm in shock. No doubt the media, particularly the BBC reports I saw on the large TV in the clinic, have intensified the prevailing surreality of the situation. That's not a judgement on the coverage, just an aknowledgment of how strange and artificial the situation feels, as reports are still coming in.
It's wierd out there, everything moving out of time, and a lot of people obviously experiencing the day, and coping with it, in very different ways. I can't say now why I was so intent on keeping my hospital appointment, but the situation didn't seem so bad at 9.30. Kentish Town tube was closed, and at the veg stall half-a-dozen people huddled round a radio, the traffic bulletin confirming a train crash near Liverpool Street station, "due to a power surge" they said. All I knew was the Northern line was down, and it wasn't until I got to Mornington Crescent, when the sirens began in earnest, that I figured it was probably more. I watched 2 ambulances scream down Eversholt Street, and had a sudden hankering for a strong coffee. Is this, I thought, the long anticipated, until now insidiously illusive, event?
About a block down an old Irish guy with a hearing aid told me there had been an explosion at Euston - what transpired to be the Tavistock Square bus bombing. G8, I thought, G8, of course. That was reiterated by a french guy on his mobile, and he said there was a bomb at Liverpool Street. When he'd gone the old boy said, "I bet it's the bloody French - pissed off about the Olympics". I have to admit I chuckled with him, but it was a nervous laughter. As I began skirting Euston 3 vans full of police, some in anti-terrorist vests, hurtled past while motorcycle cops blocked the roads south. Looking back, I remember some of the cops being really animated, staring out of the windows, in full anticipation of death and disaster, whatever their destination (probably Edgware Road). A woman in a black coat walking away from Euston was sobbing into her mobile, the proverbial mascara running down ashen cheeks.
At Euston Tower a police Range Rover swung out of traffic to cross the kerbed central reservation and speed down the underpass, against the flow. At the hospital I caught up with the first news reports, the most profound being the video-clip (recorded on mobile) of the first ambulances arriving at UCH, just a few blocks away. I had my appointment, I went and had a blood test, and the 3 nurses there watched the news reports with a distinctly professional interest - they were all on standby to drop what they were doing and recieve casualties, perhaps hundreds, anytime. My personal condition seemed to pale beside the as yet unknown pain and suffering of other people. The nurse taped a swap of cottonwool on my arm, and I thought about the old adage about a band-aid for a gaping wound.
I walked out into the empty street where ambulance men watched the news reports through the pub window, smoking. I stopped to eat, and finally get that coffee. It's a cliché, but it was a fantastic cup of coffee. I spoke to Giles at work, in a daze. I realised I wasn't gonna walk to Knightsbridge, and walked back toward Camden in the rain, unable to determine what the right thing to do was, or rationalise events. I caught the first bus I could get on, a 29, and to cap the mounting sense of anxiety amongst the throng of passengers, the driver had to deal with a spot of road rage on Camden Road. I escaped the bus and got soaked to the skin on the 5 minute walk down my street.
As I close they're showing a photo of people in the tunnels, those dark and dirty tunnels of old, underground London. I can't believe it but after the grey, morose morning the sun has come out... It seems ironic, after all that's happened. But I'm grateful, so very grateful it has.
Indeed the now feels very shaky at the moment, and the average Londoners connection to reality seems a little tenuous from where I'm sat (in my front room). If I'm honest, and without exageration, I'm in shock. No doubt the media, particularly the BBC reports I saw on the large TV in the clinic, have intensified the prevailing surreality of the situation. That's not a judgement on the coverage, just an aknowledgment of how strange and artificial the situation feels, as reports are still coming in.
It's wierd out there, everything moving out of time, and a lot of people obviously experiencing the day, and coping with it, in very different ways. I can't say now why I was so intent on keeping my hospital appointment, but the situation didn't seem so bad at 9.30. Kentish Town tube was closed, and at the veg stall half-a-dozen people huddled round a radio, the traffic bulletin confirming a train crash near Liverpool Street station, "due to a power surge" they said. All I knew was the Northern line was down, and it wasn't until I got to Mornington Crescent, when the sirens began in earnest, that I figured it was probably more. I watched 2 ambulances scream down Eversholt Street, and had a sudden hankering for a strong coffee. Is this, I thought, the long anticipated, until now insidiously illusive, event?
About a block down an old Irish guy with a hearing aid told me there had been an explosion at Euston - what transpired to be the Tavistock Square bus bombing. G8, I thought, G8, of course. That was reiterated by a french guy on his mobile, and he said there was a bomb at Liverpool Street. When he'd gone the old boy said, "I bet it's the bloody French - pissed off about the Olympics". I have to admit I chuckled with him, but it was a nervous laughter. As I began skirting Euston 3 vans full of police, some in anti-terrorist vests, hurtled past while motorcycle cops blocked the roads south. Looking back, I remember some of the cops being really animated, staring out of the windows, in full anticipation of death and disaster, whatever their destination (probably Edgware Road). A woman in a black coat walking away from Euston was sobbing into her mobile, the proverbial mascara running down ashen cheeks.
At Euston Tower a police Range Rover swung out of traffic to cross the kerbed central reservation and speed down the underpass, against the flow. At the hospital I caught up with the first news reports, the most profound being the video-clip (recorded on mobile) of the first ambulances arriving at UCH, just a few blocks away. I had my appointment, I went and had a blood test, and the 3 nurses there watched the news reports with a distinctly professional interest - they were all on standby to drop what they were doing and recieve casualties, perhaps hundreds, anytime. My personal condition seemed to pale beside the as yet unknown pain and suffering of other people. The nurse taped a swap of cottonwool on my arm, and I thought about the old adage about a band-aid for a gaping wound.
I walked out into the empty street where ambulance men watched the news reports through the pub window, smoking. I stopped to eat, and finally get that coffee. It's a cliché, but it was a fantastic cup of coffee. I spoke to Giles at work, in a daze. I realised I wasn't gonna walk to Knightsbridge, and walked back toward Camden in the rain, unable to determine what the right thing to do was, or rationalise events. I caught the first bus I could get on, a 29, and to cap the mounting sense of anxiety amongst the throng of passengers, the driver had to deal with a spot of road rage on Camden Road. I escaped the bus and got soaked to the skin on the 5 minute walk down my street.
As I close they're showing a photo of people in the tunnels, those dark and dirty tunnels of old, underground London. I can't believe it but after the grey, morose morning the sun has come out... It seems ironic, after all that's happened. But I'm grateful, so very grateful it has.
posted by johnnytoobad at 1:55 pm
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