I wouldn’t normally use a medium like this to comment on terrorist attacks. I wouldn’t normally comment at all. The reaction of someone like me is meaningless next to the pain and horror felt by the families and friends of anyone affected. Their voices mean so much more than mine, and I can do nothing but show sorrow and support.
But the attack in Manchester yesterday shook me, as it did with Kier, for different reasons to the deaths around the world reported in the news every day. They don’t mean any more, or any less, than lives in Syria, Turkey or Westminster. They just feel so much closer.
One night last week I was walking along City Road on the phone when something bumped into my shoulder, so I turned to see two people with helmets on, on a moped.
First instinct was that they were cutting across the wide pavement to skip the lights (people do worse to avoid London traffic), but then I noticed that they had a hold of the phone in my hand. It wasn’t until it was dragged out of my hand and they’d driven away that I yelled out, and a few seconds to figure out I’d just been robbed.
Picture me as the guy in the brown coat in this video, with look of “wait… what?!” on his face: