Halt.

Life I stood with the crowd in Clayton Square Liverpool at lunchtime watching the events unfold on the big screen. Some people had their mouth open, others muttered about terrorism, a group of teenagers giggled and chatted until stopping stunned as confirmatory text appeared in the middle of the BBC News broadcast. Seven explosions in London. Six tube stations and one bus. Two confirmed dead. Possible terrorist connection. I heard the teens read the text outloud in disbelief.

My eyes flickered across the ticker at the bottom of the screen, then I saw the words I really didn't want to see 'Prime Minister leaves G8'. I'm watching his helicopter leave Gleneagles tonight and as the gravle skips away from the undercarriage I can see that the terrorists suceeded in one of their aims. To stop life in its tracks momentarily, blur the expectation of what is to come.

There I stood in the square watching television, eager to know what was happening, scared about what it meant for all of us, instead of doing all the things I'd planned to do at lunchtime. I won't be watching the film I'd planned to tonight. I'm not in the mood. My dvd rental company Screenselect have seen fit to send me Napoleon Dynamite, and although I know it's only a title, it doesn't feel appropriate.

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