Regular visitors to this page may well have wondered why there has been no comment from me so far on the events of 7th July 2005, or 7/7 as has inevitably become the shorthand for referring to the horror of that day which London now so tragically has to add to its collective history.
Some may even have wondered if I was safe myself. Mercifully I am, but only by the grace of God and not being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was touching to find many of my own friends trying to find out if I was OK on the day of the atrocities, as so many thousands of other friends and family were doing at the same time, even if they were hampered by the mobile phone system going into major emergency mode and being deliberately blocked to non-priority users of the service.
What anguish flowed through the hearts and minds of not just Londoners but millions of ordinary, civilized, thinking, feeling human beings around the world that dreadful Thursday morning. A flood of tears which might even refresh the rain-starved Thames, the watery vein which flows through London's heart and gives it the symbol for the 2012 Olympic games so euphorically celebrated just 20 hours before four young men with poisoned, de-humanised minds turned our dancing into mourning.
One reason I haven't written, is because it is so difficult to know what to say. Should there be any need to say anything? Actions do speak louder than words: the actions that spoke of the real effect of this cruelly calculated act of barbaric disdain for the sanctity of human life recognised by all major religions were thousands of silent but live human bodies standing as one at 12 noon on 14/7. Taking two minutes out of a hot summer day in a great city whose heart with sorrow is torn was the most moving collective act of remembrance I have ever experienced, I think.
Sunday 17 July 2005
Thursday 7 July 2005
The Eye has it!
The British gift for understatement and restrained emotion was much in evidence in the West End today. When I took my lunchtime stroll down to Regent Street, I was totally unaware that about half an hour previously, the nation's capital had been awarded that most glittering of prizes, the 2012 Olympic games. Yet look at the expressions on people's faces, or listen in to passing comments, and you'd never know. I was convinced that once again we were the nearly men (and women) of the world. Only a hastily scribbled "We've Won!" across the newstand poster, where the earlier edition was still on sale, liberated me to hear this wonderful good news!
The awarding of the Olympic games to London of course offers the greatest potential the city, and indeed the nation, has had to show off to the world and to re-brand for years. The mud of Iraq and Britain's controversial involvement there still sticks. Yet seven years hence- another jubilee year, funnily enough, should her maj live to the grand old age of 87- will our nation really rise to the challenge? My hope and dream is that it will also herald a renewed spiritual passion in the UK, that the historic Christian traditions of this island can really be celebrated with renewed vigour as much as the best the human body and mind can offer in competitive sport and culture. Vivat Londinium, Christus regnet!
The awarding of the Olympic games to London of course offers the greatest potential the city, and indeed the nation, has had to show off to the world and to re-brand for years. The mud of Iraq and Britain's controversial involvement there still sticks. Yet seven years hence- another jubilee year, funnily enough, should her maj live to the grand old age of 87- will our nation really rise to the challenge? My hope and dream is that it will also herald a renewed spiritual passion in the UK, that the historic Christian traditions of this island can really be celebrated with renewed vigour as much as the best the human body and mind can offer in competitive sport and culture. Vivat Londinium, Christus regnet!
Tuesday 5 July 2005
Where the streets have no shame
Back at work in the West End after a hectic schedule but a largely very pleasant week off. More on this no doubt in another post, because there's plenty I'd love to share. Journalists are normally stuck for stories at this time of the year, but this has to be the heaviest summer season for news we've encountered in many a decade. The week just gone had enough of them, and now there's just time for a brief pause before 6th July brings probably the most important and significant events of the year to Britain, as the G8 Grandees gather in Gleneagles and Britain's Olympian hopefuls gather in Singapore to learn tomorrow whether after all the hype, London will finally get the games for 2012.
The last days of June brought the Trafalgar 200 celebrations, with the biggest fleet ever assembled in English waters to commemorate our great man of the sea and what was billed as the biggest fireworks Britain has ever seen. Funny, there was me thinking they were going to be happening in Scotland from tomorrow as the jaw jawing starts all over again, but there you go. Meanwhile, the first weekend of July saw the thrilling climax to Wimbledon fortnight, with both the men and the women giving a thrill a minute.
Lindsay Davenport literally jumped for joy at the end of the longest ladies' singles final ever, while the unstoppable Federer Express once again de-railed poor Andy Roddick. A great shame really, as I rather like the US fall guy, and fall he did a couple of times. It certainly looks though as though the young Swiss could go on to be up there with the greats- he's certainly proving himself to be one of the most astounding talents ever seen on a grass court.
And yet I've managed to get through three paragraphs already without yet mentioning the media drowing in a Saturday Sea of Superlatives, as Live8 took place, billed as "the biggest worldwide event ever". However saintly Bob Geldof KBE may be to some, he shouldn't be called a "Sir" as an honorary knight, and neither should grown up journos who ought to know better be trumpeting a mega musical concert, however worthy, as anything other than that. The biggest worldwide event ever was clearly the creation of this terrestrial ball, and none of us had the advantage of satellite to see that, but we do have the eyes of faith to see that the only thing maybe worthy of a an even better "audience figure" is the death and resurrection of God's only son, our Lord Jesus Christ.
U2 headlined Live8, with Bono proud to sing alongside "Macca", Sir Paul McCartney, on what was apparently his first ever live performance of "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band", hard though that is to believe. Strange to think, really, that these worldwide megablast attacks on one of the greatest evils in society owe so much to two Irishmen, viz Bob and Bono, who sound like a pair of dogs to me. For the origin of the song I allude to above, look no further than the lyrics and interesting story behind its genesis by clicking on the title above. Genesis, by the way, were one of the few ancient rock acts, it seems, who were not persuaded to reform for Live 8. Meanwhile, The Who and Pink Floyd seem to have seen no harm done to their own record sales by their show-stopping performances in Hyde Park.
The last days of June brought the Trafalgar 200 celebrations, with the biggest fleet ever assembled in English waters to commemorate our great man of the sea and what was billed as the biggest fireworks Britain has ever seen. Funny, there was me thinking they were going to be happening in Scotland from tomorrow as the jaw jawing starts all over again, but there you go. Meanwhile, the first weekend of July saw the thrilling climax to Wimbledon fortnight, with both the men and the women giving a thrill a minute.
Lindsay Davenport literally jumped for joy at the end of the longest ladies' singles final ever, while the unstoppable Federer Express once again de-railed poor Andy Roddick. A great shame really, as I rather like the US fall guy, and fall he did a couple of times. It certainly looks though as though the young Swiss could go on to be up there with the greats- he's certainly proving himself to be one of the most astounding talents ever seen on a grass court.
And yet I've managed to get through three paragraphs already without yet mentioning the media drowing in a Saturday Sea of Superlatives, as Live8 took place, billed as "the biggest worldwide event ever". However saintly Bob Geldof KBE may be to some, he shouldn't be called a "Sir" as an honorary knight, and neither should grown up journos who ought to know better be trumpeting a mega musical concert, however worthy, as anything other than that. The biggest worldwide event ever was clearly the creation of this terrestrial ball, and none of us had the advantage of satellite to see that, but we do have the eyes of faith to see that the only thing maybe worthy of a an even better "audience figure" is the death and resurrection of God's only son, our Lord Jesus Christ.
U2 headlined Live8, with Bono proud to sing alongside "Macca", Sir Paul McCartney, on what was apparently his first ever live performance of "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band", hard though that is to believe. Strange to think, really, that these worldwide megablast attacks on one of the greatest evils in society owe so much to two Irishmen, viz Bob and Bono, who sound like a pair of dogs to me. For the origin of the song I allude to above, look no further than the lyrics and interesting story behind its genesis by clicking on the title above. Genesis, by the way, were one of the few ancient rock acts, it seems, who were not persuaded to reform for Live 8. Meanwhile, The Who and Pink Floyd seem to have seen no harm done to their own record sales by their show-stopping performances in Hyde Park.
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