The First Day

I hardly know whether it was real. In my head I know
that bombing started around 5:30am. I know because I
heard low thundering booms that drew me out onto the
balcony, where I could feel the pulsation through the
air and see the distant flashes and the occasional
moving light of a Cruise missile, until the sky got
too light to spot them any more. I know because I saw
the feral dogs that live on the riverside running down
the middle of the road, which was wiped clear of cars,
trying to escape the noise, which was in stereo. I
know because the phone's been ringing all day with
journalists asking what's happening.

The streets are still empty. Nothing is open to travel
to. There's nothing in the shops and the metal or
brick frontages are staying where they are till it's
all over. The war has started and yet not started.
Bush says this morning was only an "opportunistic
strike." The full weight of "shock and awe" hasn't yet
begun.

This morning the manager of our hotel was arrested,
seized by two men in uniforms and dragged, screaming
and struggling in obvious panic, to a vehicle,
apparently because some ignorant journalists were
filming the bombing from the roof of the hotel, even
though they're all supposed to be staying in the
Palestine Hotel across the road. They wouldn't tell us
where they were taking him and we couldn't do a thing
to help him. We hardly expected to see him back, but
within the hour he was escorted through the door. The
edifice isn't crumbling just yet.

Those who are out are wandering around a little
numbly. It's kind of the war but it's kind of not.
There's nothing to stop us going out and doing things
but there's not actually anything to do.

We're still in limbo.