- Unprecedented bomb blasts sweep through London -

This is budding intern Jonathan Ng reporting from London, where 4 bomb blasts yesterday ripped through the Northern fringes of the capital. The BBC can provide you with the details, such as that 3 bombs went off in the underground tunnels and one took off the top of a double decker bus at Tavistock Square, killing 33 people in all. The news will tell you that an arm of the al-Qaeda terrorist movement has claimed responsibility for the blasts, but they will question the credibility of such claims. But what I'll give you is the sentiment on the street, the pandemonium among the people.

I was in the area of the UK Parliament House listening to a talk when I was told of some chaos on the streets. I realised that the homebase of one of the most perhaps contentious governments in the world was not exactly the safest place to be. Faced with a choice between staying on to listen to some chap's take on US-Lebanon relations or living, I instinctively chose survival (but only just). I bolted. Like a rat deserting a burning ship. But a smart one.

Still unaware of what had transpired so early in the morning, I surveyed my surroundings. There was speculation of a power surge on the tubes. Surely that couldn't be classified as a national disaster, more like "another day in London then".
No sign of chaos, but all around me, sirens were going off as police cars and motorbikes as well as ambulances zoomed through Westminster from every direction. Something was clearly wrong. A passerby I stopped filled me in with what little information she knew, and it seemed the UK's worst fears had materialised. The inevitable was finally happening.

Yet there was no turmoil, no screaming, no one ablaze. For many, it was business as usual.
Mere confusion, yet seemingly in respect only of how to get from the Big Ben to the next tourist destination, as the bus and tube services had all been shut down. It became fairly apparent to me that the terrorists had succeeded in crippling the nerve centre of the city while its Prime Minister was in Gleneagles, albeit only temporarily. The sudden paralysis of the transport links rendered so many immobile.

It is sad, or perhaps a result of careful planning, that such tragedy should so quickly overshadow the jubilant scenes around the city of just a day ago with London's successful Olympic bid. A newsvan zipped past, and I saw that "Olympic success souvenir special" had been replaced by "Terror as bombs go off in London".

My first thoughts lay in allaying the fears of my (maybe) anxious parents, my guests, and the people I knew who were still in London. I attempted to ring my parents up to notify them of or disappoint them with my safety, but the lack of service on my mobile gave me the impression that everyone in London had the same intent.

I'd have to leg it back to the office. The snoop in me led me to enquire a little more along the way about the current situation and whatever was going on.
Were the Russians coming?
Were the Martians going to take me (if you're reading this, please do)?
Were we going to die (then again, results are out next week, so it's just an issue of delaying things, a matter of whether I go out in a blaze of glory or like a disgraced, snuffed-out candle, though I don't know which would be which)?
More importantly, what's your phone number?

I listened in horror as cops recounted tales of 5 bombs exploding simultaneously, of the top halves of buses being blown off, and I imagined how I would embellish it all on my blog to make it seem like I had been there. Slowly, the strain on the common man began to show. They looked stoic, but their calm demeanours belied their tense interiors, the uncertainty that wracked them inside. I looked around and found myself between 2 kinds: those fraught with worry, and those residing in the black hole somewhere between blissful oblivion and naive self-delusion.

I reached the office where, for the first time ever, the telly was blaring rather than blair-ing. We stared, transfixed by the scenes of utter devastation that greeted us, the images of sheer carnage near Liverpool Street, the reports of the woman who had to climb over the limp, lifeless body of the man next to her who had shouldered the blast in order to get off the bus or the man who saw a blinding light and then a space which his arm used to occupy.

We sprang to work, sending hourly situational reports back home and making frantic phone calls to our contacts.
All this while, there was more activity in my mailbox and on my mobile. A flurry of texts, including 2 from Singapore -- all went unanswered. The phone lines were still jammed.
A couple of emails later, everyone was found to be fine. Well, everyone I knew anyway.
And the work began.

I knocked off work 4 hours later, and it was business as usual. The bus services restored, the pedestrians perfuctorily sauntering the streets. I didn't know if I should applaud the their efforts to show they would not be cowed by terrorists or deride their callous, nonchalant approach.

It's funny how the everyday man shrugs off crises so quickly.
In an instant, "Oh, my god, it's a catastrophe!" gives way to "Where you want to meet for dinner? Huh? Ok, steady."