Hole in the wall 4
4 March 2010
The missing terrace on the shopping parade is famous. An unexploded bomb was underneath it all the time.
It’s not the bomb’s fault that the terrace is missing. The terrace was taken up a month ago. Most of it must have been bombed flat anyway: it’s always looked like snaggleteeth.
Nobody really knows what’s going on, not even (or especially not) Twitter. I walked back home from work, quarter of an hour before they were going to close my side road, so that I could pack an overnight bag in two minutes flat in case we ended up spending the night in someone’s school hall.
The police said they weren’t closing it at all, but I should stand by in case they knocked on the door later. The Royal Engineers’ van drove up as I walked past.
I packed a bag and spent ten minutes trying to find black socks that matched. There are many, many unmatching kinds of black.
Now, police officers could knock at the door at any moment. No doubt when I’m eating supper, drifting off to sleep or on the loo. It’ll be a pain in the neck, but at least it won’t be frightening.
This is what belonging to the most trusted religion, ethnicity, political stratum in a democracy must mean.