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Sunday, July 17, 2005
I visited my colleagues in hospital on Thursday. I feel odd mentioning them by name on here, as if I'm writing about them without their permission, so will just use their first initials, J and S. J is the woman who had never travelled by bus before, although I'm beginning to suspect this may be an office myth. Whatever, she is the most "okay" of the two, sitting up, mostly unharmed from the waist up, complaining about hospital food and laughing about how she missed a visit from Princess Anne because she was sitting on the commode at the time. J told us the whole story of that morning, from having to vacate the tube through finding a seat upstairs on the bus, to being blown out of the back window and waking up with a terrible ringing in her ears. Her legs are lacerated and she's still undergoing surgery. But she's bored and wants to go home. We entertained her by telling her what she's been missing on Big Brother. S is in worse condition but was also able to smile and crack jokes. She broke her cheekbones, though these have been fixed, and her knee, plus has some nerve damage in her fingers. She's been moved into a private room. I think she got to meet Princess Anne. Lucky her. In what seems like a parallel universe, Britain has been gripped by Harry Potter fever. I got mine: £7.97 from Tesco. Of course, I would have supported my local small bookshop except, er, I don't have one. The Co-op at the end of the road is selling it but I don't think they count. I was planning to start reading it this weekend but Butter has hijacked it. Saw War of the Worlds last night. Loved it. It brought back the terror of listening to the Jeff Wayne album in the seventies. My mum would play it after I'd gone to bed. I had to ask her to stop because it gave me nightmares. I was surprised by how dark and bloody the film was. In search of some mindless entertainment this evening we started watching Troy on DVD. Twenty minutes into this ludicrous, overblown pile of codswallop (which is a very underused word), the washing up suddenly seemed very appealing. Thursday, July 07, 2005
I've had loads of emails and calls today from people making sure I wasn't caught up in the horror in London. I got to my office in EC1 at about 8:50. Five minutes later we heard there'd been an explosion at Liverpool Street. At first, we didn't think much of it, but then more reports started to come in - there'd been a power surge on the tube; reports that two tube trains had crashed. A lot of my colleagues were late because the Underground had shut down. Two girls who were turfed off the train rang in to say they'd be getting the bus. Then we heard there'd been an explosion on a bus. Suddenly, it was clear this was terrorism. The information coming in was patchy and unreliable. Texts and calls started coming in from people at home watching TV. Ambulances screamed past the office, sirens wailing. The two girls who were getting the bus in hadn't arrived yet. No-one could get hold of them - and then we got the bad news. One of them was in hospital. The other missing. The office manager rushed to the hospital where the first girl had been taken; we heard she had a collapsed lung. Finally, we got news of our missing colleague - she was also in hospital, being treated for burns on her legs. The first girl was okay, with, in the end, just cuts and bruises. But they had been on the bus that got blown up. The burned girl, who has lived in London, had never been on a bus before - she hates them and is scared of them. At 3pm I left the office to walk to Cannon Street station, not knowing if it was going to be open. None of the tubes or buses were running and the streets were fuller than I've ever seen them - thousands of people walking the streets, just wanting to get home. Luckily, I found a train to Tunbridge Wells where I sit now, dazed and emotional. What a day. Yesterday, the city was euphoric because of the Olympics. Only a few days before that, the optimism of Live 8. What a week. Saturday, July 02, 2005
I've been watching Live 8 all afternoon and evening, only tuning out in order to avoid the world's most pompous twit, Sting, and Mariah 'I don't' Carey. I missed Elton John too. (Great review this, isn't it? Me banging on about the people I didn't see?) My highlights were Razorlight, who will surely go on to be megastars, Coldplay. The Killers, though their set was far too short, and dear old Robbie. 'Feel' and 'Angels' made me go all tingly. Madonna was good too, although I hate her, with her awful books and hunting and fishing. Whose idea was it to let Velvet Revolver play? Did they blackmail Sir Bob? Sir Bob hasn't sworn at all this year but Snoop Dogg made up for it, saying 'motherf*cker', 'bitch', 'shit' and, er, 'bottoms' (probably) all in the space of 15 seconds. I bet the Beeb's switchboards lit up like Peter Kay's face when he sees a cream cake. The Who are on now. Zzzzzzz. Then I expect Pink Floyd will put me to sleep. I'm only staying up hoping for a big historic singalong at the end. I remember watching Live Aid when I was 14, lying on my dad's sofa with sunburn because I'd been playing tennis all morning. Back then, nobody seemed to know what they were doing and we were full of naive optimism, thinking that giving our f*cking money was going to solve the world's problems. Except it didn't. It's slicker now, and the aims are grander and less simple. It's about awareness, about adding your voice to the cry for justice. It's all about the media, and using the media for change. There are two massive issues facing the world right now - Africa and climate change. Let's hope Live 8 can persuade those powerful men in Edinburgh to tackle one of them; and let's pray they deal with the other too. Blimey, got a bit serious then. Let's talk about Big Brother. Saskia went last night. The loathsome harridan didn't get booed nearly enough as far as I'm concerned. She's a horrible, racist piece of trash. Makozi to win! |