Remember when there were bombs going off in London? It seems like yesterday, but in fact it was Thursday. So long ago - yet so near in our hearts.
Am I the only person who - I know this is going to sound a trifle weird - misses the bombs, in a silly, soft-hearted way? I mean: remember how they brought us all together? How we stood united in our grief and shock - and most of all, united in our defiance and stoicism? Even as they mowed us down with their homemade gelignite?
Sigh. I miss those times, I really do. The Blitz spirit. The way everyone had to walk home all the time. The snarling at anybody with a rucksack. The way we'd all climb off one Tube carriage and move to another, whenever a Pakistani appeared. Yes, I know there was a downside to that strange poignant era - the mass killing, the undiscriminate slaughter - but the camaraderie was a wonderful thing. And there was real charity: sometimes you would get a free coffee, if you had soot on your face, or perhaps a kindly passer-by would assist you into hospital, if you were copiously bleeding from several major organs.
And - come on, let's face it - the bombs were fun! A lark! Sitting by your screen and TV all day, waiting to see which Tube Station would be next. What could be more amusing? Look, they've taken out Aldgate! Boom! - there goes Edgware Road! Whoops! - the cops have shot an electrician! Were me and my friends the only people who would sit around an A-Z, taking bets on which Tube line would be next? Were we the only ones to play a new version of Monopoly, with Chemical Attacks instead of Community Chest? I don't think so. A lot of people had a lot of fun during the bombs, we just don't like to admit it.
And here's another thing. It was sunny during the terrorist outrages. Now its raining. Or is that just the power of nostalgia, as we look back to those distant halcyon days of suicidal barbarism, now barely remembered.
Until the next time, that is.