Joy and devastation - two days in the life of the city

When I moved to London in January, I did so with the belief that I would be heading to the city where things happened; I was moving to the capital - the cultural, political and economic centre of the UK, where everything of any note seemed to take place.

It has been a whirlwind time - London has suprised me over the past 6 months - and I've seen many sides to this city while I spent time both in and out of work.

'The big smoke' may be exhaustibly and suffocatingly busy, sometimes impersonal and almost mechanical at times, but it is also packed with personalities, images and sounds which are fascinating, never-ending, and ultimately addictive.

I remember feeling exhausted in my first few days in London at the sheer number of faces I absorbed strolling by or standing around me on the tube. I still look at each and every face (until they look back at me, at which point I swing my gaze away!) but that tiredness has subsided. Seeing everybody, everything, has become something I love. Over time, London has begun to feel like home.

In the six months I've lived here, I have seen a number of notable events, or at least, what I thought were notable events. I saw Nelson Mandela kick off 'Make Poverty History' in Trafalgar Square, and I was privvy to a concert in Westminster Abbey for the same campaign. I've seen the spectacle of the London marathon, walked anti-war marches, and filmed on London's streets (and bridges!) for the deaf magazine show VEE-TV.

Of all the sides of London I've seen, it was surreal to see the city literally swing between utter joy and devastation over the past few days.

On Wednesday, I dashed during my lunch-hour to meet George and Zhao in Traflagar Square for the 2012 Olympic announcement. This was like a four-year reunion for the three of us. We were in China on the extraordinary night of July 13th 2001 when Beijing was awarded the games.

We saw a city rejoice with joy then; as if China had finally been recognised by the world. People beeped their car horns in packed traffic, the night seemed electric, alive, a carnival atmosphere. We walked for miles to get home and soaked it all up, drinking cheap beer and celebrating with Beijingers.

In Trafalgar Square, we found ourselves in the sober light of day, on the edge of the crowd, waiting with hushed breath for the announcement.

The moment when London was awarded the games was surreal; we expected to hear the word 'Paris' and instead heard only the joy and cheer of the crowd as it reverberated from the base of the square to the steps of the National Gallery, and finally to us, jumping up and down in the air.

Multicoloured confetti blew in the wind, the Red Arrows roared above leaving behind a trail of red, white and blue in the sky. The Olympics were going to be held here. Here, in London!

The city was in celebration mode. Wednesday evening's news and Thursday's morning press were gearing up to celebrate a national victory. Okay, so the city wasn't going as mad as Beijing back then, but there was a smug satisfaction on peoples faces - Britiain had won something for once!

My first indication of tragic events that would totally overshadow the award of the Olympics was when I saw Zhao walking back towards our flat at 9.30 on Thursday morning. I was nonchalantly setting off towards the office at the time.

Apparently there'd been some kind of power surge on the tube, the whole underground network was shut down and emergency services were all around the tube stations. His first thought, and mine was that this could well be the terrorist incident we'd been told was 'inevitable' at some point after September 11th.

Teletext reported nothing more than a 'bang' at Kings Cross, so I headed towards work as usual, but on the short journey past Warren St tube and down Tottenham Court Road, I began to get an ominous feeling. Police cars and ambulances were rushing past at regular 30 second intervals, crowding around the entrances to Euston Square and Warren Street tubes. I could hear helicopters whirring overhead.

There was hardly anyone at work. The few of us that were there turned on the TV and realised that events had unfolded rapidly in the preceding minutes. Just two streets away, a bus had exploded. The sirens we were continuing to hear from outside signified a panic, a horror that was unfolding close to us.

We stayed put through the day. A workmate of mine, who lived in Omagh, Northern Ireland at the time of the bombing there, was particularly affected. Some continued their working day as if nothing had happened. We all congregated to hear Tony Blair's national address at 12. People phoned their families, workmates, checking that they were alright.

Finally I walked home at 4pm, seeing the unusual sight of the street being even more full than usual, packed with people starting the long walk back to their homes.

Still, police cars rushed past, and still the Euston Road was blocked by police. There was, however, a sense of solidarity in the mood yesterday evening as people took to the streets, even as further reports came in of the carnage that had occured.

The next morning, tubes ran, buses returned to the streets, and although central London was quieter than ususal, people were going about their daily business again. People looked jaded, but there was still the familiar chatter, rush of people going about their day.

Has London changed? Does every city affected by terrorism change? There will be fear, for sure, but there is also a sense that the city will go on, as cities always do. London is a very cosmpolitan city, and has the virtue of being packed with people of every culture possible living side by side. I hope that when the pictures of the people that commited these crimes are published, we do not see a cultural backlash against minority groups as was seen in New York after September 11th.

Thursday was a surreal day in my life, in all of our lives, that showed just how quickly the mood, the conciousness of a city and a nation can turn on it's head. As horrific as those events were, they will become part of the chequered history of this great city, just as London's successes and failures have been remembered from the past.