There is little to add to Lara’s terrifying lucidity in her post about the London incident at Borough Market. My own grown children are in that market weekly and, like, Lara I could not stop watching the news – understanding what was going on but it all being terribly unreal. Here is Lara’s first-hand account of that night. In the meantime, may we all keep safe and free. Ed

Saturday night. A normal, summer Saturday night. Even the trains were running properly for the first weekend in ages. The sun had been shining all day.

We very rarely go into the city on a Saturday night, no more than once a month I would guess. In fact, this Saturday night was exactly a month since the last time we went out for dinner in central London, for our anniversary.

We’d spent the day doing normal things, ParkRun, dog walk, grocery shopping, ironing, sitting in the garden.

At the restaurant, we talked to the barman about gin (he set up a mini tasting for us), we spoke to him about his odd accent (he was Danish but had spent a few years in Newcastle). We drank 2 cocktails each. My shoes hurt my feet. We laughed, chatted about our holiday and the unlikelihood of my balloon flight happening the next day (yet again).

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