Those of you who've been with me awhile know how I feel about London. The first time I set foot there, on July 3, 1976, I felt like I'd come home. I spent America's Bicentennial in London. Not that I regret that we won the Revolutionary War (although, if we hadn't, we'd have national health care right about now -- bummer). Whether it's genetic recall (my ancestry is around 85% British), or just environmental preference, London is the only city I've ever felt as at home in as I have in L.A.
I'm very distressed today. I can't even make any political commentary (though I will confess to some dark moments spent as a conspiracy theorist). I just feel badly for the families of those who've died, and for those who will live, perhaps permanently disfigured and damaged because of this tragedy.
My heart goes out to them. I do know that the British tend to weather stuff like this better than we do, mostly because they aren't such coddled babies as we are. I have faith that they'll get through this and that, as in Madrid, the culprits will be caught and tried.