A favourite song of mine at the moment is 'Love Smiles' by The Billy Nayer Show from the soundtrack to The American Astronaut (which is one fantastic film, too).

Love is a flipping rolling riddle
Love is smiling when you hear the giggle
Those angels giggle when they know you're smiling

So how can you keep on smiling
when you see yourself in the mirror smiling?
Just about to say the name of the girl that makes you smile

My next trip to London is going to be on Sunday or Monday. A small part of me is not looking forward to it, but I'm determined to go as I would normally. As my reward, I will be reunited with my suitcase.

Lying on my bed listening to Jarvis, I was feeling a bit down in the dumps this evening. The best plan is always to pick up the phone and call a friend.

I flick through the contacts, starting at A. I don't get very far through the alphabet before I've already spotted the person I'd like to speak to.

So, what exactly is it that stops me from pressing the call button? For someone who is a hell of a lot more confident and self-secure than I used to be, I consider it very strange of me that I decide (after wondering about it for ten minutes) not to call them and to call someone else instead. Someone else who I'm sure won't mind if I ring them.

Stupid thing is, thinking logically the person I was going to ring was hardly going to mind either. If they weren't, they just wouldn't answer - just like I (or anyone else) would do if I'm really not able or in the mood to talk. Besides - who else cares?

It was nice to talk to who I talked to, but I've made myself more miffed at myself for not stopping my search earlier in the contact list. Shame on me!

So, as some of you are already aware, I had the misfortune of getting caught up in the mayhem of the terrorist attack on London on Thursday morning.

I arrived at Kings Cross at around 09:20 and was advised that the underground station was closed. Shortly after leaving the train the mainline station was then closed and I, with thousands of others, was promptly ushered out on to the street by staff. In the rush to evacuate the station I realised that my suitcase was still on the train, with no opportunity or prospect of being able to gain access to the station to rescue it.

The scene outside Kings Cross was as widely reported - crowds of people milling around, several ambulances, several fire engines, and a modest police presence. At this point nobody seemed to be aware of what had caused things to end up like this. All the police were saying was "something is happening in London, if you want to know more go and listen to the radio".

As I made my way towards the main road, some of the people I saw were very distressed and I came across a couple of people who were covered in black soot. It reminded me of footage I'd seen from the Kings Cross escalator fire in the mid-eighties, shot on exactly the same concourse I was standing on there and then.

With the emergency services present and the soot-covered commuters, my assumption was that there had been an accident on a tube line close to Kings Cross St Pancras. I started the walk towards Paddington station, for onward travel to my final destination of Reading. Looking at it on a map the journey is a short and simple one, but on this occasion it was anything but.

First of all, I wasn't able to contact my manager to advise of my delay or find out what the hell was going on. It took a while before I could get through as the mobile networks were overwhelmed. For most of the hour and a bit that I was walking across London, it was impossible to make or receive a call.

The stream of emergency service vehicles I saw and chorus of sirens I heard during my journey was expected, but coming across the various roads being cordoned off alarmed me. This is when I thought my assumption of an accident at Kings Cross St Pancras must be wrong. As my journey continued, I saw more and more people in distress and by now hundreds of police were deployed. After heading straight down Euston Road and Marylebone Road I kept hitting dead ends of police line tape, and I relied on my sense of geography and the assistance of others to get me near to Paddington. Once I was off the main road I was surprised at how stressed I'd become. No mobile, no map, and a situation in the city that probably doesn't hold my predicament as much of a priority right then.

My sense of direction didn't let me down. A dozen anonymous side streets later, I let out a cheer and threw up my arms in the air (briefly!) when I finally arrived at the entrance to Paddington station. Despite still not knowing what was going on, arriving to find that all the trains were cancelled was not a surprise. I was just glad to be there. After queuing at a payphone for ten minutes or so, I finally learnt London's horrible fate.

A hour or so after that, a lot later than I'd planned, I finally arrived in Reading. When I arrived at work and started to talk about my morning, I finally flicked out of 'trying to get to my destination' mode and I started to understand what I'd just been through. At that point, it was very clear that work wasn't really the best idea and so I went and checked into the hotel.

There's much more to the story - my Thursday afternoon spent buying clothes to wear on Friday whilst trying to contact my London friends, my Thursday evening getting drunk, my return to London and Kings Cross on the Friday afternoon, and even my thoughts two days on from the event. But, frankly, I'm feeling like it's already time to draw a line under the whole thing.

Unlike far too many others, I'm still here in once piece after all.