As I write this I am watching the news broadcasts on TV about the 7/7 commemoration ceremonies. Itís been a difficult demon to face, watching the story unfold and reliving the events of one year ago. Iím not into self promotion, or even self gratification for my part in the terrible tragedy that I believe has changed all our lives, just understanding and sympathy for the victims and their families.

Who are the victims though? My answer is all of us, from those who died, those who lost loved ones, all the emergency services personnel who worked in what can only be described as the most challenging conditions ever, all the way down the line to those who now hesitate to get on public transport in London and are nervous of the person next to them in the tube carriage. There is a common held belief that the four suicide bombers are also victims. No, they chose to be there and they knew what was going to happen, they are terrorists fighting for a cause that I will never understand.

Iíd like to think that everyone took a moment to consider the victims today, I know itís difficult to visualise when you are on the other side of Surrey, going about your everyday life, thinking that this is something that I will always read about but never be involved in. You were all involved, all of you Iím sure made frantic phone calls to those you knew were in the area or have had some contact with a victim of some kind.

And this brings me to the point of my message.

All of the victims of the atrocities will be feeling in need of some support today, maybe just a quick phone call or text to say hi? If you know a regular commuter that travels in London, give them a call and say hello.

I have relived the events of 7/7/05 today, but not just the morning that has left me with such terrible images, but the afternoon at a hotel in High Holborn, being re fitted with uniform before I was allowed in the street as I was ìnot to be seen in such a state by the pressî, the waiting to be seen by psychologists and counsellors before I was allowed to go home in case I lost my mind somewhere on the journey, the reception committee at Sutton Police Station of high ranking officers who cleared our public order carriers and scrubbed the blood from our long riot shields that had been used as stretchers, all of us watching with a sense of dread in case they sent us back the next day, I have a vivid memory of the strongest desire ever to be with Naun, so I could tell someone I thought would understand what I had done, someone that would tell me it was ok, that we had made the right decisions. And the absolute horror when I found out she wasnít there, she had been sent to the crime scenes and I would not see her again to enable us to have that conversation for another three days. But my proudest moment, the one that makes it all a bit more bearable, getting phone calls and text messages from friends and colleagues to see if I want a drink, go out, relax, talk if I want to, laugh a bit, make me realise that life is going to return to normal, and I will always have people to lean on when I need it most.