Last night I sat in my kitchen with the radio on, Twitter and Facebook open. I texted and rang the few people I know here to make sure they were all safe, which thankfully they were, although quite afraid. Helicopters flew above the house, sirens whizzed up and down the streets and the city descended into chaos. I eventually got into bed with a hot water bottle and my iPod to distract me from the unsettled feeling in my stomach.
Clapham Junction is on my commute to work. I bypassed it this morning, but stopped on the way home and had a look on the high street at the aftermath of last night’s riots. The street was cordoned off from traffic, quiet and quite peaceful. Groups of people stood at the police barriers with cameras, trying to take in the amount of destruction on the street. A fantastic clean-up operation was been organised earlier in the day and helped restore a bit of faith in society.
Many other people have written far more eloquently on the causes and reasons behind the riots, if legitimate reasons do in fact exist. I don’t understand how people can inflict such destruction and cause so much fear, and seem to enjoy it. Maybe I haven’t been in the country long enough to gauge the public mood. But it all just seems mindless.
Thankfully London is quieter tonight, and I think I’ll sleep.