Disconnected Thoughts

The sun is setting early tonight through dense grey storm clouds. The dusk is rust-coloured, a Martian twilight. A tree in a neighbour's garden is being highlighted by a small shaft of sunlight. It's unearthly and eerie, it looks wrong. It's not how a day should end.

Driving home on the motorway, the overhead indicators advised "AVOID LONDON TODAY, LISTEN TO RADIO". I was listening to Scott Mills on Radio 1, who had been presenting the breakfast show this morning when I first heard the news on my inward journey. He was still there because many of his colleagues couldn't get to the station to present their subsequent shows.

This morning he'd been chirpy, calling Mariah Carey on a mobile "starphone" that he'd given her to pass on to anyone famous that she might meet since he interviewed her. She was in the bath when he called and there was bawdy speculation about the trickling sound in the background. This evening he was clearly more subdued, giving out police hotline numbers and playing thoughtful, reflective music.

I started to think how the events of the day had made his morning show look rather trivial in retrospect, but then I became conscious of the overwrought pessimism in this view. I tried flipping this perception onto its back and liked it a whole lot more. The diva phone call might not have been the most weighty thing I've heard recently, but it was full of good-natured humour, innocence and wonder. Things to celebrate.

And so tomorrow I hope I turn on the radio to find him calling Mariah again and to catch the glee and delight in his voice as she tells him that dahling she's getting her nails done and she still hasn't seen anyone famous to pass the phone on to but that she still hasn't given up. Where the water looks shallow, sometimes there are hidden depths; joie de vivre is profound, however it manifests itself.

Other thoughts of the day... It was comforting to be phoned, texted or e-mailed by so many people today, from closest friends and relatives to passing blog acquaintances. It made up for the lurching feeling in my throat and stomach as I flung out my own web of communication and waited to see what responses I caught. That said, I feel rather numb. I can't really think of anything other than the day's events, but at the same time my thoughts are fragmented and less intense than I would have expected.

Is it because London is used to IRA terrorist attacks? Because we've been waiting for this particular attack since 9/11? Because it merely repeated the design of the Madrid attack and therefore lost some of its impact? Because thankfully the casualties - though appalling - are not on the scale of the WTC losses? Because Northern Ireland went through this type of atrocity on a monthly basis for decades? Because Iraq still does on a weekly basis?

Because London has been on a high since Live8 and the Olympic bid success and the comedown is unexpected in its brutality? Because any losses still pale into insignificance besides one child dying in Africa every three seconds? Because however terrible a bomb blast might be, it still doesn't match the horror of people jumping out of skyscraper windows? Or simply that I'm in some kind of shock that this could happen a few streets away from where Mrs Hg and other friends work?

I don't really know what to think. All I know is that we should carry on with our day-to-day lives. We don't ignore what has happened, we acknowledge it, we condemn it and then we move on. Its message of hatred and intolerance is so antithetical to our shared cultural values that to dwell on it would be to imbue it with a significance that it doesn't deserve.

I've written this on and off over the past hour or so, with the phone ringing periodically. During this time it has become darker and the rain has started. The washing on the line is getting soaked and next door's cat is deftly navigating the fence between our gardens with the certain instinct of one heading for home. The rain is so heavy I can hear it bouncing off the roof tiles above me.

A few miles north of here, maybe it will wash away the soot and the blood. The city will sleep, then dawn will rise and a new day will greet us. Nephew #5 was born on Tuesday, Nephew #6 is due any day now and Niece #6 or Nephew #7 - we don't know yet - follows in a few months' time. The relentless cycle of rebirth and renewal continues and in that I find immense hope and comfort. Whatever tomorrow might bring, it too will inevitably end and be replaced with a further new day in which we are stronger still.

Posted by Hg on Thursday 07 July 2005 at 22:38.
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