The next night the riots start. We wake to the news Sunday, disbelieving. Sunday night there are more, elsewhere. Monday, reading the papers, the disbelief, the shock is still there.
After work M and I go for a run, run to the top of Primrose Hill, lungs bursting. It begins to rain, heavily, but there is sun too, and a double rainbow. We pound back down the hill. At home we follow the news all evening, increasingly stunned at what we are seeing, eventually force ourselves to bed.
I have no words, really. Or, I have words, but they are confused, half formed, not ready to commit to print.
I will though, say this: London is still, to my mind, a wonderful city. Still my home. Still has my heart.
C took the photo last Friday night, I think. Camera balanced on pizza empty pizza boxes. I like it. Unfocussed, it sums up a little how I feel.