Link to original post: My Journal - Entry from July 7th 2005
So I've always been in the habit of keeping a journal. I obviously don't write something in every day, but if I had an eventful day that wasn't filled with too much alcohol, I'd definitely make a point to get it down.
The is my entry for July 7th 2005, written when I had just recently turned 14.
I thought you might find it intriguing, even I do. I was different.
Thursday, July 7th 2005
Today was supposed to be the penultimate day of the school year, with the Summer Fête and Mufti Day happening today. Both of them happened today as planned, but today was not the penultimate day of the academic year, it was the last.
Since it was Mufti Day, I wore my Rasta Daffy T-shirt with jeans today, it was a warm day and my thick black hoodie wouldn’t have been a good idea. I wore my Phat Farm trainers of course, the white ones with the gold logo, not the black ones. I was a bit late on the tube, and no thanks to that, my journey was a pretty stuffy one, and rather uncomfortable. Still, it could have been far, far worse, especially considering what happened on a train less than an hour behind me.
We found out about it in Biology. Well, it wasn’t Biology, we were watching bloody Spongebob. We got some news in the middle of it that London Underground had had a massive “Power Surge” causing all major lines to go out. It didn’t take us long to realise that this was a blatant lie to cover up a terrorist attack. It was pretty obvious when all mobile phone signals were scrambled and there were about 20 police cars a minute tearing through Queen Victoria Street that this wasn’t a power surge. Everyone tried each others’ mobiles, it was all pointless. About an hour later, a news update came confirming a terrorist attack with a handful of unconfirmed casualties. We were hit by Al Qaeda today probably, I guess our time had finally come.
In light of this, we had an emergency assembly in the Great Hall. Some kids were scared, some kids seemed upset and worried, some like KC and Xavier were cracking jokes about how it was probably Dr Khand. We were all told that obviously all London Underground services were halted, access by car within the square mile was extremely difficult, and that if kids couldn’t get home, they could sleep over at school. The assembly of course finished with the mandatory “have a good holiday, but not, too, good!”, which was followed by more cheers than usual since they told us we had no school tomorrow. Makes you feel guilty that you’d be happy, considering some people got blown up on a train, but what can I say? Early holidays are fun.
They planned to have the fête continue as if nothing had happened, which was good. It was nice to see everyone go out and throw water bombs at Mr Dowler and Mr Norman and just keep their mind off the incident. Now that I think of it, I had £2 of my money taken without getting my water bombs. I guess it’s ok, it’s going to charity.
During the fête, I got my hands on a landline phone and managed to reach my mum. She was way ahead of me, she teamed with Xavier’s mum to get to Queen Victoria Street by car. They were using a roadmap to go through all the small backstreets rather than the blocked off main roads.
So it was back to the fête, the end of a good year. We won the interform cup, being of course, the most talented 3rd Form class in every department. Mr Heminway definitely has a hand in it, he’s the head of Hale, and Hale has all the best athletes and academics. Well apart from Jourdan and Dilaksan, but they were put there to make it less obvious. We also won the overall house cup, so this year was basically Hale dominance all round. “All hail Hale.”, “Bring some beef you lose some teef!” were some things shouted on the announcements. Joe, the love of my life is moving to Australia and vanishing into the wind, and Xavier’s moving to Vienna.
All these thoughts were in my mind as the receptionist’s intercom announced for me and Xavier to get down to reception. Our parents were here, and it was time to go home. Xavier’s staying at mine this week, in fact he’s taking a shower right now. Once we were out of the congested square mile, the drive was pretty easy. Me and Xavier played the Black Dude game, or as we know it, “Spot the Screegrur”. The rules of the game were simple. Whenever you spot a black guy/woman you point them out to your opponent. This will get you points. There were several things which got you more points. An average black guy is 1 point, a black woman is 5 points, a fat black woman is 20 points, a black woman with extremely short hair was 50 points, an old black man with white hair was 100 points, and a rasta with a rasta hat was 50 billion points and won you the game, like the golden snitch in Harry Potter. It was really entertaining, and surprisingly, I spotted a rasta in Camden Town, which reduced us both to tears of laughter for about 15 minutes.
So we got home and relaxed for a bit, playing Fable. We’re doing the Arena Hero Save exploit. I don’t make entries often, but today was something extraordinary. People died in the attack. It could have been me too, if I got the train a bit later. I think it’s almost fitting that I’m alive though. The tragedy, it mirrors what I’m feeling. Families of the dead will be hearing the confirmation soon, that their loved ones are dead. They’ll be crushed. For me too, my loved ones will be leaving me, maybe not dying, but it’s close enough. Joe is going to Australia, and I’ll never see him again. Maybe I will in many years, but I think we’ll both have moved on. Xavier’s leaving for Vienna, after we’ve practically become like brothers. Every time I find something amazing, people to trust, people to love, they always get taken from me by some event beyond my control. I feel pain, and the families of the dead, they feel pain.
It’s ok though, it’s the summer, and I still have all the Garden Suburb boys, and the other clowns from CLS. Hopefully, I’ll be fine.
So I've always been in the habit of keeping a journal. I obviously don't write something in every day, but if I had an eventful day that wasn't filled with too much alcohol, I'd definitely make a point to get it down.
The is my entry for July 7th 2005, written when I had just recently turned 14.
I thought you might find it intriguing, even I do. I was different.
Thursday, July 7th 2005
Today was supposed to be the penultimate day of the school year, with the Summer Fête and Mufti Day happening today. Both of them happened today as planned, but today was not the penultimate day of the academic year, it was the last.
Since it was Mufti Day, I wore my Rasta Daffy T-shirt with jeans today, it was a warm day and my thick black hoodie wouldn’t have been a good idea. I wore my Phat Farm trainers of course, the white ones with the gold logo, not the black ones. I was a bit late on the tube, and no thanks to that, my journey was a pretty stuffy one, and rather uncomfortable. Still, it could have been far, far worse, especially considering what happened on a train less than an hour behind me.
We found out about it in Biology. Well, it wasn’t Biology, we were watching bloody Spongebob. We got some news in the middle of it that London Underground had had a massive “Power Surge” causing all major lines to go out. It didn’t take us long to realise that this was a blatant lie to cover up a terrorist attack. It was pretty obvious when all mobile phone signals were scrambled and there were about 20 police cars a minute tearing through Queen Victoria Street that this wasn’t a power surge. Everyone tried each others’ mobiles, it was all pointless. About an hour later, a news update came confirming a terrorist attack with a handful of unconfirmed casualties. We were hit by Al Qaeda today probably, I guess our time had finally come.
In light of this, we had an emergency assembly in the Great Hall. Some kids were scared, some kids seemed upset and worried, some like KC and Xavier were cracking jokes about how it was probably Dr Khand. We were all told that obviously all London Underground services were halted, access by car within the square mile was extremely difficult, and that if kids couldn’t get home, they could sleep over at school. The assembly of course finished with the mandatory “have a good holiday, but not, too, good!”, which was followed by more cheers than usual since they told us we had no school tomorrow. Makes you feel guilty that you’d be happy, considering some people got blown up on a train, but what can I say? Early holidays are fun.
They planned to have the fête continue as if nothing had happened, which was good. It was nice to see everyone go out and throw water bombs at Mr Dowler and Mr Norman and just keep their mind off the incident. Now that I think of it, I had £2 of my money taken without getting my water bombs. I guess it’s ok, it’s going to charity.
During the fête, I got my hands on a landline phone and managed to reach my mum. She was way ahead of me, she teamed with Xavier’s mum to get to Queen Victoria Street by car. They were using a roadmap to go through all the small backstreets rather than the blocked off main roads.
So it was back to the fête, the end of a good year. We won the interform cup, being of course, the most talented 3rd Form class in every department. Mr Heminway definitely has a hand in it, he’s the head of Hale, and Hale has all the best athletes and academics. Well apart from Jourdan and Dilaksan, but they were put there to make it less obvious. We also won the overall house cup, so this year was basically Hale dominance all round. “All hail Hale.”, “Bring some beef you lose some teef!” were some things shouted on the announcements. Joe, the love of my life is moving to Australia and vanishing into the wind, and Xavier’s moving to Vienna.
All these thoughts were in my mind as the receptionist’s intercom announced for me and Xavier to get down to reception. Our parents were here, and it was time to go home. Xavier’s staying at mine this week, in fact he’s taking a shower right now. Once we were out of the congested square mile, the drive was pretty easy. Me and Xavier played the Black Dude game, or as we know it, “Spot the Screegrur”. The rules of the game were simple. Whenever you spot a black guy/woman you point them out to your opponent. This will get you points. There were several things which got you more points. An average black guy is 1 point, a black woman is 5 points, a fat black woman is 20 points, a black woman with extremely short hair was 50 points, an old black man with white hair was 100 points, and a rasta with a rasta hat was 50 billion points and won you the game, like the golden snitch in Harry Potter. It was really entertaining, and surprisingly, I spotted a rasta in Camden Town, which reduced us both to tears of laughter for about 15 minutes.
So we got home and relaxed for a bit, playing Fable. We’re doing the Arena Hero Save exploit. I don’t make entries often, but today was something extraordinary. People died in the attack. It could have been me too, if I got the train a bit later. I think it’s almost fitting that I’m alive though. The tragedy, it mirrors what I’m feeling. Families of the dead will be hearing the confirmation soon, that their loved ones are dead. They’ll be crushed. For me too, my loved ones will be leaving me, maybe not dying, but it’s close enough. Joe is going to Australia, and I’ll never see him again. Maybe I will in many years, but I think we’ll both have moved on. Xavier’s leaving for Vienna, after we’ve practically become like brothers. Every time I find something amazing, people to trust, people to love, they always get taken from me by some event beyond my control. I feel pain, and the families of the dead, they feel pain.
It’s ok though, it’s the summer, and I still have all the Garden Suburb boys, and the other clowns from CLS. Hopefully, I’ll be fine.
Kind of reminded me of when September 11th/2001 happened and I was in my 6th grade Pre-Algebra class loving the fact that I wasn't doing any sort of work but watching the news along with the class. 
