Blasted

I was in London when the bombs went off. I was way down in Battersea, staying with Hannah, and miles away from any danger. We got a call from Andrew, who had driven up to Sheffield very early in the morning, telling us to turn on the TV. We watched events unfold with horror. I wasn't able to look away, terrified of what I was seeing but unable to switch off.

Whether it is a trick of genetics, social conditioning or just true love, the first thing I wanted to do was come home, give Maia a kiss and make sure that she was OK. Even though the chances of terrorists attacking Meersbrook are pretty limited, I wanted to be with her and make sure she was safe and well. More than that, I just wanted to hold her.

The police, security services, Transport For London - everyone was advising people in and around London to stay put. So I did. Hannah and I stayed up late into the night talking about stuff, shell-shocked. I drove back today, and I am going to go and pick Maia up now.

I guess they are different issues, but it seems so sad that something like this should happen today. After all the optimism generated by the Make Poverty History campaign, the G8 really felt like an historic opportunity for the most powerful men in the world to at least try to do something about The Big Stuff. The poverty that kills a child every 3 seconds. The curable diseases that make daily raids on Africa and carry off people in their thousands. The man-made climate crisis we seem incapable of halting, even though we know how to.

The juxtaposition of the hope and optimism that motivates those goals (compromised and messy though the result will always be) and the hatred that is expressed through blowing up people is so stark. But then maybe that is not really a discussion for a blog about my baby.

Speaking of, gotta go. I need to hold her for a bit.