Diary – 15 July 2005

Wednesday last week, back when travelling on the Tube was no big deal, I was on the Central line on my way to White City to appear on a BBC2 lunchtime business programme whose usual select viewing audience was going to be greatly swelled that day by my mum and dad. The loudspeaker at the end of the carriage crackled to life: ‘We would like to inform all customers that London has been successful in its bid to host the 2012 Olympics.’ I looked at the line of people in seats opposite. They responded exactly as they would have done to ‘Stand clear of the doors. Mind the closing doors, please’ — no one moved a muscle. Feeling that some sort of modest acknowledgment was in order, I caught the eye of the woman opposite and raised my eyebrows. She stared back stonily. Does this mean real Londoners couldn’t care less about who hosts this tedious sporting event in seven years’ time? Possibly; though more likely it shows how deep is our distaste for talking to strangers on the Tube. Which is one of the things that makes the city such a great place to live. The Olympics is not big enough to break it.

A bomb, by comparison, is big enough. The following day Tube passengers were forced together in wounded and dying embraces. As a result, all Londoners have been recast: we are no longer cold, private people who never talk to strangers. Instead we are brave and marvellous and spirited and the finest people on earth. Which is fantasyland. In truth some Londoners were heroes in the heat of that hideous moment. I suspect the rest of us have emerged from the shock with our personalities intact — the good bits and the bad bits are all present and correct, just as before.