Left a good job in the city

A little late, but I can’t move on without commenting on the events of the 7th July. I was quite surprised at how it made me feel: shocked, emotional, fucking furious. And homesick. It made me want to move back to London. I feel like I need to be close. I guess it’s a form of patriotism: I want to be there for my city – anyone who has lived there for any length of time becomes a Londoner to some degree. I’ve written before about the weird feeling of sitting in a foreign country and watching the carrion of terrorist attacks being picked over by the TV newsmen. This time London is burning - and I must have considered ‘Spanish bombs’ as just too obvious a title for that previous piece – and I feel the unfulfilled need to be there.

In the meantime, I sit watching Sky News and muse about the rejuvenation of the verb ‘to cow’. Uncle Tony was the first on the day itself, and it feels like everyone else got out their dictionaries, thought “mot juste” and appropriated it. Moo.