Had I been attempting to allay my fears of heading to the East with thoughts of fleeing terror attacks, I would need to re-think my strategy: Tokyo was hit by a reasonably shaky earthquake this weekend. I'm told that, due to the preparedness of Japanese architecture, there's no danger: it's just like being hugged awake by an eager friend. I'm not buying this until I've experienced it for myself. The prospect of safely experiencing an earthquake is relatively exciting, as is sitting comfortably through a typhoon (another meteorological treat in store), but fearing the unknown and trusting no one, I will only take my own word for it and so am hoping for an apartment with ample doorways to accommodate my panicking frame until the time comes.
I also don't want to leave London. It's not wracked with hysteria and its alleged defiance strikes me as being more like wearied apathy. Three weeks on and there's little change; more Dibble on the streets, but even they are more genial than usual. People are getting on with their daily business and almost groaning at potential fatal attacks. Yesterday Victoria had a small power cut: the tube and train stations and some surrounding offices lost power. It was dismal as a grimy Soviet bloc and we still don't know what caused it, but people were more concerned about the inconvenience of out of service lifts and whether their journeys home would take any longer than a possible new attack. Hysteria about the attacks may be swelling outside the capital, but Londoners know there's no point worrying. There are 7 million of us here, it's most unlikely that you'll be the unlucky one (although if you are, what consolation is that?).
To engender a form of enthusiasm for going away, I'm investing in a laptop at the weekend with the spurious justification that it will help me stay in touch with my dearly beloved. What is more than likely is that I'll download Chuckie Egg and that will be the last anyone but the specialist cheat sites hear from me. Either way, it's a solid positive about Japan, something I can get excited about while I'm waiting to hear if, when and where I go.
I may also use it to write something sensible and possibly profitable. I'm thinking hackneyed chick-lit: staid, clichéd, predictable, lucrative. I'd like to avoid anything semi-autobiographical. Aside from induling in self-importance here, I may need that material for that difficult second novel...
