Just a note to say that I wasn’t in town today – I try to conspire to get work appointments in London on the first Thursday of each month so I can attend the infamous Doctor Who Tavern and quaff red wine with the other writers – but my ever-shifting diary colluded to send me to Bristol instead. Both family members are checked in, with the customary stories of transportation* – as are all friends. I’m still waiting to see a few bloggers post, but there’s no point in panicking over that – they may well have more urgent priorities than blogging right now. Over the past three decades, I’ve had to worry about people getting caught in events – from the Birmingham pub bombs in the 70s to the Reading derailment last year – with a ridiculous amount of frequency and the main thing I’ve come to realise is that being calm, getting on with something else, and maybe having a cup of strong tea really are the best responses until communications can be established. If they can, the person will check in. If they can’t, either because the networks are down, or they are stuck somewhere, or worse, no amount of unanswered calls will ease your uncertainty.
*if there is something the British love to talk about more than football, and almost as much as the weather, it’s transport. One family member told me the route they took on foot to reach an open train station, another told me how the train they were on – which I assumed had been stopped at Reading since it passed there at 10am – had in fact gone all the way in to Paddington and then back out.