Rav Casley Gera

Normally, I get the bus to Liverpool St and change for Brixton. Today, fortunately, I decided to go to Old St and get the tube, or I would have run right into the post-blast mess.

Old St was closed but looked normal. I could actually get in to the subway up to the station gates, despite the news websites at that point saying that there had been an explosion there (I didn’t know this at the time). I assumed just the Northern Line was closed, planned-like, and swore loudly. It wasn’t till I called my director and she said “the world’s ending!” that I found out the whole network was closed.

Thinking it was just an accident, I popped into RNID to pick up a cactus they gave me which I left last week. As you do. While I was there the first reports of the bus explosion popped up on Sky News, leading to the first suspicions of foul play. I swang into Voice of Reason mode, telling everyone you can never trust Sky News and not to panic until the BBC confirmed it. Then I left RNID to walk to Liverpool St to get the 133.

Looking back now I can’t believe I did that. But you know what? It was as if nothing had happened. I walked all the way to London Bridge and over it, and it really was eerily calm - people talking, tourists laughing. My radio clunked out so i couldn’t keep up to date intil I got some batteries from a cheerful woman at London Bridge. Even in the heart of the City, I don’t think it had sunk in at all. My brother kept saying “don’t get the bus!”, but I still intended to get out of Zone 1 and find a bus to Brixton.

I stopped into a cafe and in true Gera style, responded to stress by eating. A cheese and mushroom omelette, for what it’s worth. With my new batteries, I heard Blair’s solo statement and the G8 joint one. I was deeply relieved to hear the G8 was carrying on - if all the hard work of the Make Poverty History campaign had been derailed it would have compounded the tragedy.

At this point it seemed fatalities were going to be super-low.

There was a kid in the (oddly deserted) cafe - looked about 16. He was nervously thumbing an A to Z. The remarkably unfazed Eastern European waitress was talking to him. He’d obviously commuted in on the train and was planning to buy a bike from Evan’s up the road and cycle home. I wanted to talk to him as he seemed very shaken, but of course I just sat there, and then he left.

At about 12.30 I left the cafe. Having spoken to my director and confirmed rehearsal was off, I started the long walk home. In the rain. I’d nearly taken an umbrella that morning, a large white one I found in the bin outside. But it was dirty, and anyway, the rain was stopping at the time.

It did feel a little odd to be walking back into the City. I knew I’d have to work my way East, bypassing Liverpool St and Aldgate, and I got a bit lost - holding an A to Z in one hand and a plastic bag over my head with the other. I popped into a pub to use the loo and my brother phoned. I’d texted Mum to let her know I was safe but when she came on the line, having left work to go to Mo’s house, she sounded very upset. It turns out she hadn’t got the message, and had just arrived at Mo’s to find out if I was OK when I sopke to her.

As I was nearing Whitechapel my friend Nathaniel called, and I asked him for a lift. He said to get up as far as Kingsland Rd so he didn’t have to navigate Aldgate. Fair enough. It gave me a chance to walk through Brick Lane. I saw a few teenagers buying copies of a DVD called “Heroes of Islam.” For a second, images of the cheering Palestinians on 9/11 flashed through my head. Then I slapped them down and felt ashamed of myself. I bet some of the shops and homes I walked past have had their windows smashed in by now.

As I was walking up Brick Lane Ken Livingstone came on. I’d been unfazed most of the day, or dazed, but he brought tears to my eyes. His was the first voice all day who seemed to be speaking for London, not Britain, and it made a huge difference. It was a powerful paean to the power of the city - this city maybe most of all - to make people free. I felt grateful for it, and guilty for always slagging it off in favour of New York.

Then Nathaniel picked me up and I got home. And went to sleep. It seemed the only appropriate thing to do ++