Last night

Last night I was privileged to spend time with three extraordinary people, none of whom I would have met if it had not been for 7/7. Due to a series of problems I was very late for my drink with John, whom I had met when we both attended the CAMPACC meeting in the House of Lords last week. I had heard, read much about him, seen him on TV and vice versa, wondered if we might meet, one day.

I am reading his book at the moment, and it is enlightening; quite a lot of his experiences and many of his views mirror my own. He is hoping for a public inquiry, and as he had tickets for the theatre, and I had other arrangements too, we agreed to meet up on Monday so we could talk properly. I am looking forward to it; not just talking about the bomb, but the aftermath, the media storm, the bigger picture, the wierdness of being witness and victim and writer in the midst of what turned out to be an event given not just personal, but political, social, cultural resonance.

Then I raced to Finsbury Park to meet Kathryn and Linda, who I have been corresponding with for a year as they read my blog. Kathryn's daughter Shelley died on my carriage.

Their warmth and love was apparent from ten yards away; I cannot remember when I last met two such great-hearted women, with such big hugs.We went to a favourite restaurant, and ate fire-grilled lamb and salad. We laughed a lot. And cried. They told me about their home, in New Zealand, their trip to Prague, where Shelley spent New Year, showed me the lake where they live. It reminded me of the Lake District where we went for family holidays each year, where my uncle was a parish priest. Kathryn gave me a book of her beautiful poems that she had written For Shelley, I remember seeing and hearing her read one out at the Commemoration ceremony on July 7th 2006. About the moon, that shines over both sides of the world. Afterwards, we sat in my little yard and drank wine under the stars, and I lit small candles.

Shelley's was the name I said out loud as I let free my white balloon in Tavistock Square with Kings Cross United on the anniversary. The balloon flew straight up, though it was windy, and it flew close to the other ballooons, 26 of them, one for each person murdered on the Piccadilly train, released by other passngers who had escaped with their lives.

I was, I am, so desperately sorry, that all this happened. Shelley should still be here, walking home in the heat of the evening, after having a beer with her friends in town, looking forward to the weekend, as I am; and Kathryn and Linda should be watching the sun set over the lake in New Zealand, arm in arm. It should not be like this. And I can only stand in awe as people whose hearts and bodies have been so injured smile into my face, and ask how I am doing, with such compassion in their voices.

I feel humbled and glad to have met these people, and only sorry for the circumstances which made our paths cross. I cried before I went to sleep, at the unfairness of it all.

J had to work all night long; he came in at 6am. He has been late in every night; he is shattered, and has so much work to complete before we go on holiday. We are both very tired, but his work load is ridiculous and I am worried about him. I have bought him a shirt and the first half of the second series of Lost, to cheer him up.

Another person who is tired is Danny, who spent the day practising climbing stairs on his new legs. Yesterday was the hottest day for 90 years. 'No, there isn't any air con', he said, 'this is the NHS!'. I try, but I can't imagine. I'm running with sweat just sitting here typing.

I caught up via phone and email with some of the Edgware Rd people who attended a meeting with the Home Secretary and The Secretary of State Tess Jowell. Aldgate had their meeting last week, Kings Cross next week. We all tell each other what was said and keep in touch. Public inquiry stuff, who asked what, what was said, what was inferred, promised, denied...Danny and I caught up on the latest news, as he wasn't able to attend the meeting himself and Jacqui, a survivor from Edgware who took lots of notes is going to fill him in as well. I hope Danny gets to have a meeting with the Home Office soon. He can't get into London, so Jacqui suggested that the next meeting happens outide of London.


You give up being angry after a while, you just get more determined. It is good that senior people in the Government are engaging and talking and listening. Somebody said that we are helping them, the government - they want to listen and learn. I suppose so they can manage it better next time. Or maybe they want us to be placated and go away.

Private meetings don't seem to stop anyone whose after an inquiry wanting one, though, and that was made pretty clear by the sound of things. It's all very well meeting the victims behind closed doors, but we are just random people. This needs to be a discussion that is public, because the whole public are at risk, not just us. It's totally missing the point to assume we just want answers for just for ourselves, so we can shut up and go away. It's never been about that, closure. It's been about trying to use what happened to us to stop it happening to others.

And if we are angry, pesistent, keep asking awkward questions, well, that's what happens when you bomb a random cross section of the British public, it seems.


Tonight's news: more bombs. Every bomb I hear about, I reverberate, I remember, I feel the tug of empathy. Over a third of those killed in Lebanon, in the latest Middle East violence, are children. More than ever, this war on terror, these tactics, these beliefs and policies need to be challenged, and if by some fluke I, and John, and Danny, and Jacqui, and Kathryn, and Linda, and Michael, and all the rest of us end up being the pests who do the challenging, well, so be it. What else is there to do? Give up? Get scared? Back down?

Maybe nearly being killed, or losing someone you love, through the blowback of the war on terror changes you. Maybe you stop being scared of authority. You don't have a quiet life, even if you want one, so what do you do with the life you have? All this. And more.