Funeral

Last week, I attended the funeral of someone I studied with who died in the 7th July London bombs. It was a very sombre, subdued occasion. As the family made their own tributes after the Hindu ceremony, there was an outbreak of gentle weeping among the congregation. I hadn't really seen the woman who died since we left college about 15 years ago, but I was still shocked to hear what happened and felt I had to go. A deeply upsetting day. Afterwards, when I met with some friends I similarly hadn't seen for some years, everyone was heavy-hearted and saddened.

I wish I could say that London can take it, but we're no different to anywhere else. Bomb us and we get hysterical and as shocked as anyone else. Today on the radio, I tuned into a chatshow and heard a taxi driver describe the hundreds of people queuing for taxis outside Kings Cross because they're too nervous to take the underground. Although, to be fair, he mentioned some Scandanavian tourists who started to cry when he suggested they take the underground rather than wait for a taxi and then said that he hadn't had any such probelms with Londoners. As for me, I mercifully haven't had togo into my university in the centre of London for more than a couple of days since the bombing. But I will be going in on Monday.