Today is the tenth anniversary of the 7/7 bombings. People say you can remember where you were when traumatic national event happen, but I really cannot. I was 9, I would have been at school, in year 4. I don’t remember there being any assembly or announcement that something had happened. They call it a major disaster but I don’t know whether people realised the gravity of the situation outside of London. Maybe I just can’t remember any reaction from school – I can’t remember all that much about year 4 anyway. What I can remember is the morning television on CBBC a year later, at the weekend, where they showed the drama That Summer’s Day, showing the event through the eyes of teenagers at a school in London. It was sugarcoated and age appropriate, but it was poignant as well.

Of course today is not about a bombing, it is my dad’s birthday. As with any major event of this scale, the bombings are something that will always overshadow the day. I remember going away for my dad’s 50th, on the third anniversary of the bombings, and watching Wimbledon then the news and commemoration of 7/7 and then the Doctor Who episode Journey’s End. And I’m not saying we shouldn’t remember, we really should. But life doesn’t stop because it happens to be the anniversary of a tragic event – life hasn’t stopped for the survivors or the bereaved.


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