My 7/7

I've always been conscious of the need for blogs, IMHO, to be a spontaneous (read, unedited) experience. So it feels a bit surreal to be in a wi-fi Starbucks, on a beautiful sunny day, in Edinburgh, Scotland, looking aout the gorgeous bay windows at Edinburgh Castle in front of me, and reflecting on the events of the day before.

7/7.

The consummate writer and journalist in me feels an overwhelming need to record (for posterity? Or just for the momentousness of the occasion?) my thoughts. I feel a bit perverse about it all - because part of this blog doesn't feel like a spontaneous outpouring, but a somewhat copy edited (how does that read, ooh, nice turn of phrase) entry.

But then again, this is one of those personal events in one's life that almost merits recollecting in entirety.

(oh, and if you're wondering where the Food bits come in to this blog, I'm afraid they don't)

The aftermath of 7/7 (my personal 9/11 seems to be inappropriate - after all, I wasn't there - and that's the whole point surely of this blog?) is a remarkable calm in Britain. Damn, you have to hand it to them (and i'm proud to say at this point, this is what a British education gives you - a don't let the bastards get you down, stiff upper lip resolve) - the news coverage on the Beeb was respectful, informative but none of that over the top hysterionics American overanalysis, ask the same question 60 times, coverage. It was focused, it was calm and it was the bedrock for people who didn't know what was going on. Trust the Brits to never, never, ever, allow themselves to descend into the drama queen, analyse ever damn speckle of information, approach that CNN personifies. Even CNN's coverage was remarkably subdued, perhaps because the Brits simply didn't play into the over-the-top habits of Americans. The calm of the doctors, the police officers, the analysts that spoke on the Beeb (and Sky) shows - just another day at the office. I feel a great pride at seeing them react this way, because after 5 years of education here, I have always, almost, felt like one of them.

Yesterday was...interesting. No, that doens't quite capture it.

A part of me wonders if I am exaggerating when i say, it was a narrow escape. (Paddington was one station from Edgware Road - and as I discovered in the newspapers today, 200 yards from the tube station. Now, I was on the Main Line Paddington Station, but possibilities, indeed, what could have happened...boggle the mind).

I reached Gyle Shopping Mall from Edinburgh Airport, DESPERATE for a television. I suppose it is again, testament to the news junkie habits of Generation CNN. But also partly it was the newshound journalist in me that felt a compelling need to find out what was happening simply because I was a part of it. A momentous event in history had taken place and I had somehow, in my mind, been connected or to some degree, a part of it.

I searched desperately, with an almost wrecking sense of anxiety, for a television. Any DAMN TV would have done me. Just to find out what the hell was happening. It didn't help that I couldn't get through to anyone on my mobile phone, Maxis SIM or Virgin SIM. I felt totally cut off. And the fact that the people around me seemed to be oblivious didn't help my increasing irritation and need to KNOW what happened.

I do wonder, in hindsight, what prompted me to write an e mail to Jeff Ooi to share my account.

Now, this is the me who reckons the whole 'share my account' thing is a bit of a squidgy soft warm and fuzzy feeling thing. And I've often wondered why people who share their first person accounts with the newspapers ( I mean, it seems so weird, even if I, like many other reads, eagerly devoured the first person accounts in the papers). Now I realise, or at least, understand why.

It is a momentous event in your life. To be in the middle of a momentous event in history. You want to talk about it, you want to share it, you want people to know what was going through your head, a blow by blow account of the thoughts going through your mind, you want to capture every sensation, even feeling, even heartbeat. (here speaketh someone who considered blogs to be, too public, and who is about, to write to the Star to share my first person account - go figure).

I think it would be perverse, indeed, trivial, to say that yesterday, was my personal 9/11. (though it makes great copy). It feels over the top to think of it as a close scrape, a narrow escape. (again, make great copy but...really, how close was I?). I probably will never know and don't think I want to know...)

My hurried, uncomposed, spontaneous thoughts, I recorded for posterity in my e mail to Jeff. This I suppose is my more composed reaction.

A thought has to go out to the way the Brits are handling themselves. With absolute fantastic composure and calm. The don't let the bastards get us down stiff upper lip class that they have always displayed. I'm not a Brit but 5 years amongst them in my schooling days, has certainly made me always feel like one of them. And in times like this, you can't help but feel proud to be if not one of them, amongst them. None of this bullshit American over the top news coverage, analysing everything to bits and asking the same question 60 times over. Auntie, was fantastic. Straight coverage, no panic, facts only, constantly keeping the information flow open but steady at the same time.

Must get on with my piece for the Star...will they publish it? (ugh, ever the writer to the end)

God save the Queen

After 2 years since my last trip back, I'm bleery eyed in Starbucks, Leicester Square, the din (murmur would be too gentle a word) of thousands of conversations mingling with that easy listening music you get in Starbucks) in my ears. (and an overdose of ICON, the Steve Jobs biography on the brain).

Trawled Gerrard Street, where Chinatown is but sadly, where apparently only the dreck Chinese restaurants are left - the good ones apparently have all migrated to Bayswater. An interesting experience - something of a meander down memory lane for me. Nice memories of the place although the familiar spots have all disappeared - I couldn't even find the infamous Wong Kee (I'm sure its there, I just didn't quite look hard enough). But the bakery where years ago I remember buying Chinese pastries and buns was still there. Hmmm, might merit a visit tomorrow morning. It would be interesting to have an experience of eating Hong Kong food in the middle of London.

Ironically, my first meal in Britain was not toad in the hole or some quintessentially British dish (the to die for all day breakfast, nah, pass). Instead, I decided on a Bacon Double Cheeseburger at Burger King. There's something about the allure of piggy bacon, having been countless times, offered the appalling 'beef bacon' that demanded I make Burger King my first port of call.

Not proud of it, but hey, its as good a way as any other to kick off a visit to Merry Olde England...