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See Silver Honda, near black taxi

On the morning of 7/7/05 I was driving into the office on Herbrand Street in central London. I reached the junction on Tavistock Square and slowed to give way to a red double decker bus. It too was slowing down, less than five yards away as it passed my car. In fact I was staring at it impatiently as it moved.

A second later it blew up in front of me. There was a white explosion of light, a thunderous bang, followed by a deathly silence and then piercing screams.

I won’t go into too much detail about what I saw that day only to say it was an act of pure evil. I walked away from that scene to live to tell the tale. Thirteen other people were not so lucky.

When I woke up early the next day I was angry and very upset. I stood in my kitchen and scrawled a few sentences down on paper and wrapped it in cellophane. It was from the heart and done in seconds. I then paid a reluctant cab driver double fare to take me into central London and left my handwritten message with a policeman stood on the perimeter of the square. That night I sat at home with my wife Lisa and we read my words again, only this time they were on the 10 o’clock news at the end of a news bulletin. It was then I realised they weren’t just my words anymore but the sentiments of many, many others; the response of a city, the most extraordinary city in the world. We Londoners did indeed “go on”. Today I dedicate “our” words to those who were injured and to the families and friends who lost a loved one that day. May they rest in peace.

7/7 in my words (2min 22secs)