2005-09-21»
my friend was mistaken for a terrorist»
I don't see the Guardian in this country, so I missed David Mery's front
page story about being arrested for wearing a rain jacket:
LONDON (Reuters): - A London underground train station was evacuated
and part of a main east-west line closed in a security alert on
Thursday, three weeks after suicide bombers killed 52 people on the
transport network, police said. A Transport Police spokeswoman said
Southwark station was closed and Jubilee Line services suspended
between Waterloo and Canary Wharf in the east London business
district.
This Reuters story was written while the police were detaining me in
Southwark tube station and the bomb squad was checking my rucksack.
When they were through, the two explosive specialists walked out of
the tube station smiling and commenting nice laptop. The officers
offered apologies on behalf of the Metropolitan Police. Then they
arrested me.
David's put up a record of
the whole experience, which he is keeping up to date as he attempts to
regain his possessions and investigate what happened.
2005-09-18»
the year of living quietly»
It's been a weird year for me. I say that with the shock of someone who was
intending to write "a weird few months", and then started counting, and then
ran out of fingers.
Since October last year I've been involved in projects that for one way or
another, have discouraged idle gabbling. I'm not sure that's been good for me.
It's given me a chance to think a great deal and get far ahead on some topics,
but now I feel pretty lonely and a little insecure. I don't feel I've done
what I should really have done all along, which is bring others along with me
for the ride. I know all this extra stuff, and it was delicious
learning it all. But now it feels like just a big pile of boiled potatoes in
my stomach.
I'm out of practice at being open. Or not completely open, but that
half-way state that most people who have online public exposure built into
their daily lives, that state of having the doors to their life slightly
ajar.
I have an office now. I love having an office; after six months, I still
get a little burst of delight when I walk in there. I love being able to close
the door when I'm calling people, so I can concentrate on just what they are
saying. Often I forget to open the door after the call. A few minutes later, I
snap to attention and pull the door ajar again, because I can't hear the buzz
of what's going on outside, and somehow that drives me a little crazy. I don't
feel like I'm missing anything; I feel like I'm missing.
I feel like when you're sitting in the forest clearing, and it's been very
peaceful and quiet, but your good sense tells you it's time to turn around and
go back, because it's a long way home, and it's getting dark, and you have
some friends who are wondering where you are.
