July 10th, 2005

I love London. I love its dirt encrusted architecture and its gritty people and its filthy weather and its sooty underground. It is one of my life’s mysteries: when I first arrived in London at just under 20 years old, I felt as though I had finally come home. I still can’t explain it, but I can’t deny it either. When I heard that a bomb had gone off in Russell Square I remember how often I’d stood there, waiting for a tube, watching the rats play on the rails below. I have not seen pictures, but I feel for you, dear city, and all your inhabitants. Londoners are made of tough stuff, and they will carry on. I cannot muster appropriate eloquence for the moment, so I shall have to be merely direct: my sympathy and my prayers will rise for you and yours on many nights in the next weeks.

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