Nodnol: 871 Selim

Last updated: Wed, 06 Jul 2005 12:01:00 GMT

Ah, Red Dwarf.

Not quite childhood memories, but close enough.

I know that I should probably express some sort of sadness or anger about London, even if just for the sake of appearance, but I can't. I find it hard to care. The chances are that I know no-one who was affected in any real way, and that makes all the difference. I refuse to get drawn into the hysteria, the Dianafication of Britain.

I grew up thinking that terrorists were Yin to Santa's Yang, and worrying that the World was about to be consumed in a nuclear powered fireball, flyblown and starving, infected with AIDS. Explosions were part and parcel of the Christmas pageant, were they not?

MTV Generation my arse. IRA Generation, maybe.

Without trying, I can name five people I know relatively well who've either worked in or volunteered in the Balkans, Rwanda or Zimbabwe, amongst others. Which I figure makes me two or three degrees removed from people who are either dying or wishing they were dead right now.

We have to draw the line somewhere, and those poor folks in London being geographically closer, or whiter, or more English, seems like a far more artificial line to draw than "people we don't know." True, the chances of me being blown up are slightly higher than they were five years ago, and way higher than those of me starving to death, but I promise I won't take it personally if you don't cry yourself to sleep if I fall casualty in this War on Terror.