Joy
I'm home and I'm alive and I'm safe and I'm even - dare I say it? - smiling. Or wearing a look of grim determination, at any rate. I left the office at around half past 3, and made it home for around 6 because waterloo station was open and trains were running out of London.
To get from my offices in New Cavendish Street to Waterloo Station, I walked along Regent Street, then Oxford Street, then the middle of Soho, then Shaftesbury Avenue, then Charing Cross Road, then through Trafalgar Square, then along the Strand, across the bridges and through the subway. It was bright and sunny, and I was surrounded by hundreds of people doing the same. And you know what? No one was panicked. No one was upset. I suspect that everyone had done their panic and upset thing immediately after hearing / feeling this, as I had done. By midday, judging the impact, there was simply a look at how to best manage the situation. No one wanted to make things worse by panicking, or flooding the streets. Offices started emptying out slowly, with people volunteering to stay late to make sure that the system wasn't flooded and others leaving early to see what exactly was available.
So, I set off, ready to brave traumatised crowds. Except that the crowds weren't actually crowds, per se, and not precisely traumatised. I mean, sure, there were people - and it was really odd to see empty shops and cafes all along Oxford Street - but they weren't in crowds. In fact, the number of people seemed perfectly proportional to the size of the road. There was no traffic, apart from emergency vehicles and people on bicycles and a couple of cabs, maybe. No one was running, or rushing. Instead the people sort of flowed towards the station, as if we were in some giant queue. Which I suppose we were. Once we got to the station, we filed quietly on the train, listened to the train guard assure us that they were doing everything possible to ensure our safety, and we travelled in peace and quiet, with complete strangers swapping stories and experiences in hushed voices.
People didn't look frightened, or cowed. They just looked... determined.
And you know what?
I'm going back to work tomorrow.
So there.
ETA: Some words from some fellow Londoners, collected from various LJs and webpages:
London
Tony
Ken
In response to any alleged incidents of "bravery" on my part excusing me from housework -
"You're not traumatised, you're just noisy."
and
"We lived through worse in the Blitz." (because, yes.)
and, finally
"'I've lived through a terrorist attack' doesn't mean you get out of taking the bins out."
A sensible philosophy, I feel. (I made tea.)
For those that want to help - some sensible suggestions
and
General love for Graeme who is a mate of mine and who, queenspanky tells me, was down the street, is a National Rail person with big arms and was shifting wreckage. He's getting a hug ASAP.
Finally, lots of love to lj in general. People have been wonderful and supportive, and, speaking as a Londoner with many friends overseas, I especially appreciated all the offers to contact people abroad once the phone networks came down. I dealt with many frantic overseas voicemail messages once the phones started working again.
I'm going to go to bed, now. Take care, people. I'll see you tomorrow.
To get from my offices in New Cavendish Street to Waterloo Station, I walked along Regent Street, then Oxford Street, then the middle of Soho, then Shaftesbury Avenue, then Charing Cross Road, then through Trafalgar Square, then along the Strand, across the bridges and through the subway. It was bright and sunny, and I was surrounded by hundreds of people doing the same. And you know what? No one was panicked. No one was upset. I suspect that everyone had done their panic and upset thing immediately after hearing / feeling this, as I had done. By midday, judging the impact, there was simply a look at how to best manage the situation. No one wanted to make things worse by panicking, or flooding the streets. Offices started emptying out slowly, with people volunteering to stay late to make sure that the system wasn't flooded and others leaving early to see what exactly was available.
So, I set off, ready to brave traumatised crowds. Except that the crowds weren't actually crowds, per se, and not precisely traumatised. I mean, sure, there were people - and it was really odd to see empty shops and cafes all along Oxford Street - but they weren't in crowds. In fact, the number of people seemed perfectly proportional to the size of the road. There was no traffic, apart from emergency vehicles and people on bicycles and a couple of cabs, maybe. No one was running, or rushing. Instead the people sort of flowed towards the station, as if we were in some giant queue. Which I suppose we were. Once we got to the station, we filed quietly on the train, listened to the train guard assure us that they were doing everything possible to ensure our safety, and we travelled in peace and quiet, with complete strangers swapping stories and experiences in hushed voices.
People didn't look frightened, or cowed. They just looked... determined.
And you know what?
I'm going back to work tomorrow.
So there.
ETA: Some words from some fellow Londoners, collected from various LJs and webpages:
London
Tony
Ken
In response to any alleged incidents of "bravery" on my part excusing me from housework -
"You're not traumatised, you're just noisy."
and
"We lived through worse in the Blitz." (because, yes.)
and, finally
"'I've lived through a terrorist attack' doesn't mean you get out of taking the bins out."
A sensible philosophy, I feel. (I made tea.)
For those that want to help - some sensible suggestions
and
General love for Graeme who is a mate of mine and who, queenspanky tells me, was down the street, is a National Rail person with big arms and was shifting wreckage. He's getting a hug ASAP.
Finally, lots of love to lj in general. People have been wonderful and supportive, and, speaking as a Londoner with many friends overseas, I especially appreciated all the offers to contact people abroad once the phone networks came down. I dealt with many frantic overseas voicemail messages once the phones started working again.
I'm going to go to bed, now. Take care, people. I'll see you tomorrow.