the bus

I listened to the events of the seventh in the backroom at work. The radio was tuned in to Talk Sport. Covering terrorist atrocities seemed to be exceeding their brief but I didn't have the heart to ring in and complain. The lines were busy anyway.

Barely-controlled hysteria was the order of the day. 'Can we have a reaction?', asked the presenter, and a pundit fled the studio, screaming. Things calmed down later. They were talking about the image of the 'iconic' red bus with its roof ripped off, like it was an exhibit at Tate Modern. How long before it actually is?

Paula at work marvelled at the amount of organisation involved in such an attack. 'We find it hard enough organising a weekend of Harry Potter-related events', she said. 'Yes, but it would be much easier if you were blowing the children up', I pointed out. I think I may have given her an idea.