Bomb Scare

Typical. After a hectic week of travel, and withdrawal symptoms from Sweden, I decided to cheer myself up by having a sneaky manicure on my way home from work. The househunting (I'm staying put until a room at Ben and Erin's comes up, but the stress of looking as well as living in a student house where the oven explodes is not helping), the uncertainty about my career and the utter singleness have been weighing on me. Recently I also confided to Ben that I thought there might be something wrong with me, since everything I eat seems so tasteless these days. He replied, 'That's just British food'. So today, apart from shoes, a manicure was the next best thing.

As I approached the store I noticed that one entrance was taped off, but determinedly found another one. Just as I sat down and put my hands on the counter, a woman approached and asked me to move about two seats down. 'It's because the store front is made of glass,' she said, somewhat cryptically. Suddenly I realised that there was potentially a bomb outside and the woman was implying that an extra 30 centimetres would give me that much-needed distance from shards of glass flying at supersonic speed. Of course I shouldn't interrupt my consumption habits just for a bit of life-threatening terrorism!

The manicurist tried to comfort me. 'We had a fire here last week and they evacuated us, so I'm sure this can't be serious,' she said.

I was having none of it, and left for the slightly inferior but infinitely safer home manicure option. I am wondering if London is becoming like it was (apparently) during the days of constant IRA bombings - half jumpy, and half almost-unreasonably serene.

I guess I'll get used to this but after the peace of Stockholm it's a shock. Even in Sydney I would probably be sceptical of a bomb threat, but in London right now I am not keen on taking chances, no matter how scruffy my nails are.