We are currently OK; there's been some explosions on the Tube (so it's all shut), there's been some explosions on the odd bus. So far, I've managed to get everyone to check in. However, mobiles are out of action (and land lines are struggling as people try to contact their family and friends), and there's lots of sirens. Fortunately, I managed to phone Mum on a completely different matter before the news broke.
Those who are already at work are looking at a long day - various people haven't quite made it in yet.
Those who are already at work are phoning their Mummies in Australia.
Those who are already at work are kinda scared. Since the IRA settled down, we're really not that used to this sort of thing any more.
xxx
Update 11.30 am.
OK. Make that "I am shit scared" and we have updated our work website. We are advised to stay put. At least six explosions... sheesh.
xxx
Update 12:15 pm
Rumours abound - that there's suicide bombers, that someone's been shot near Canary Wharf/Deptford/Docklands.
My phone's just rung once and then gone silent. And can I concentrate on work? Can I heck. But I'm trying to. Heather's been evacuated from her offices under the Westway... I can't get hold of Jo, I suspect she's been drafted somewhere as a Medic.
I really want to be out of London, but all transport out of London has been suspended.
xxx
"I don't believe in trying to shield girls from all sorrow and trouble. We want to make strong, helpful women of them - not spineless jellyfish!" (Brent-Dyer, Jo Returns to the Chalet School, 1936, p139).
Currently pulling self together.
xxx
12:45 pm.
Concentration still shot, Jo OK, Jon OK, Andy OK, Heather OK, Eff OK, Benj OK, office OK, Kerri OK, Emma OK.
I think that's everyone.
Thank you, God.
xxx
15.00
(Twenty-four hour clock, much more sensible). We now have lists of who can get home, who can't get home, who will have extreme difficulty getting home from work. The advice is to stay put. Don't move. Don't try to go anywhere. There is a rumour (well, there's always rumours) that there's more to come, it's to do with G8, and with the Olympics (damn. Wasn't going to comment about that!). That they deliberately targetted the tube, to force people onto the buses, to target those.
There's not much to say - other than that I have managed to eat lunch, I desperately want a proper hug, but I'm trying not to be too much of a wimp about it, and we've cancelled Brownie Revels this weekend.
Forty dead, according to CNN. Only 2 on BBC...
When I have the number for relatives, I'll post that.
There's been a steady stream of people walking up Finchley Road, past work. Very few in the opposite direction. All the doors are locked.
xxx
15.30
Forty five - according to Sky News. 'Several' say the BBC. Slowly, inexorably, this is going to keep creeping upwards. It's scary. My boss could have been on the bus that got bombed. We are all a bit freaked, to be honest. At the same time, we're shut away, we've turned off the radio (this is good, the less scare from that the better), we've got internet access, and I'm poised for our next annoucement to the world at large...
xxx
15.48
The train stations are beginning to open up, the buses are beginning to run through the centre of London again. We are allowed to move outside the building now, with the sanction of senior management... and those who can't get home are guaranteed a place to sleep at work (apparently, there's 100 spare sleeping bags 
).
Business as usual, we've been told... and I'm still poised for our next update.
So, you could say, that Blitz mentality has kicked in - and, it was remarkable, really, how calm everyone was while walking up Finchley Road. There's not been that many helicopters, either. Lots of sirens, though, which is always scary. And something of a determination to really enjoy life after today. To grasp hold of everything good with my customary enthusiasm every time. Not just sometimes. Every time.
Casualty Number: 0870 1566 344 However, this is to receive and collate info, and is not a general number, so only call it if you're worried about a specific person whom you've not managed to get in touch with yet.
16.33
And, thank you for your hugs, prayers and good wishes. I really appreciate them all. 
. Discovering you're there, thinking of me has really helped - I may only have been sitting in my office all day, but it's still scary. The post-modern age of constant media streaming has its good points and its bad points. It's much easier to get in touch with people than it used to be. One hundred years ago, a lot of you still wouldn't know what had happened - I suspect I may not have known myself. With this increased ease of communcation comes increased worry "I can't get in touch. I can't get a signal. I haven't had a reply to the email. They haven't called." Moreover, because I've met most of you through Xanga, I've contributed a specific person to your general worry when you heard about it. You have, through the magic of the Internet, a tangible link to what's going on over here; even if I am 'far' away from it (http://www.streetmap.co.uk I work in Taunton Place, NW1 - if you look on the BBC, and the maps of the blasts, it's not that far away at all - I'm under the blue box on the top left of the map.).
So, at this point, there's stuff I want to say.
You're all wonderful.
Please go and give blood if you haven't done so recently; just in case. In the UK, we are particularly short on stocks at the best of times (donors don't get paid for their services; plus anyone who's received blood since the 1980s isn't allowed to give, due to BSE). It's about being prepared.
Thank you for thinking of me.
xxx
18:10
I'm back home, safely, in Camden Town. So many people walking through Regent's Park (and me, next to Brummie Boy, pushing my bike - can't believe he didn't offer to push it for me, given that I was doing him a favour by not cycling home but walking home with him and listening while he stressed lots and wailed about what he was going to do if it were him - well, frankly, if you're bombed, there's not an awful lot you can do about it, so there's no point in getting too het up). All moving Northwards. Huge amounts of cars, loads of taxis, helicopters overhead that I can hear. I think it may require a sleeping pill to get to sleep tonight.
I'm shattered. I'm pulling myself together a bit, wondering what to do to celebrate life (I think, maybe, hoover the sitting room), and will be phoning round my Brownies to cancel Revels, but stress that there is a meeting on Monday when I've got as far as organising and eating some supper.
I just wanted to watch the Simpsons first.
xxx
21.15
And, our favourite actor is OK too. Yay! Actually, that counts as one of the more embarrassing moments of my life. Am provided with phone number. Text it, but do not put it in my phone. Get reply. Reply to reply saying "Terribly sorry but I can't match you with a number in my phone book. glad you are safe..."... subsequently die of embarrassment at his response. Not quite sure what to reply. Decide discretion the better part of valour. Update phone.
Details of the casualties are filtering through - amputations, lacerations, critically ill; burns, burst ear drums, shock; airway burns, huge cuts. 208 were treated in one hospital, 27 are still there, 7 crtical, 1 dead - and that's just from the hospital near Liverpool Street and Aldgate.
I'm lucky to be alive. I'm going to hoover the sitting room. I have finally replaced the bulb in the kitchen.
We are going to the theatre tomorrow. If it reopens. I hope it does. As Mum says, we've had the Blitz, we've had the IRA, and we are not going to let them stop us getting on with enjoying life. Because, if life's going to be ripped away from us, then, to be honest, I want to be enjoying it as much as I can before that happens.
xxx
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