For me, it became very real on Tuesday, in the afternoon, when I received news that the riots were going to hit my part on London, and I needed to get home now.
I rushed home, on a tense but silent bus journey, though a street shuttered up, thronged with police and aware of a very odd atmosphere. But whilst one part of my mind concentrating on getting home and locking the doors, another corner of my mind was writing.
I walked though the pre-riot street, knowing what was coming, thinking to myself ‘this is unique. You’ll probably never experience it again. Write it.’. I slowed down, and looked. I watched over people. I noted reactions, and moments, and tried to put the strange air of foreboding and expectation over everything into words. Part of me was nervous, but another part of me took over – the part that wanted to write this, and get it right. I walked home very slowly, and once I reached home,