If I'd missed that 10pm train at King's Cross, likely I would have found a hotel and returned first thing Thursday morning, so I could have been in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time. I was thinking that the antipodean lad who overheard me telling Herself about Padraig's case, and then came over and asked me about it was being over cautious, but now… I actually passed through Russell Square at about 9.45pm on the Wednesday, 11 hours before these wicked bastards blew up working people.
Ian McEwan writes about it in the Guardian.
Radio 3, bacon, wine in a box, bombs. I must be back in England.