The Humanity!

I wrote an article recently about how bloggers in the Middle East provide a vital record of life inside war zones such as Iraq and Lebanon, where they manage to tell the stories mainstream news organisations are either censored from -- or two squeamish -- to report fully. I was filled with admiration for these brave bloggers who defy the authorities at great risk to themselves. But I am now proud to add my name to the list of pioneering bloggers by bringing you first-hand news from within an earthquake zone!

That's right, at one o' clock this morning I was trying to get back to sleep having been woken by a dream when I felt a jolt and heard a low rumble. The house then shook for a few seconds and then everything settled. Well, externally it did anyway: internally I was all of a flutter I don't mind telling you! I told myself it was the wind, but my window was open and I didn't hear a gust, only the house shaking. Then it occurred to me the house itself was falling down. Maybe the foundations had shifted or the roof was sliding down. Then I did what any self respecting Englishman would have done: I went back to sleep. After all, the British Empire wasn't built on faint hearts; it was built on courage and cups of tea.

(Incidentally, until recently, I really thought that when it was said the empire was built on cups of tea, what was meant was that when we arrived in distant countries all ready to conquer, we were sustained by drinking tea. I was already well into my thirties when it dawned upon me that it was more to do with the trade in tea from China and sugar from the West Indies.)

Then I woke this morning and switched on the radio to harrowing accounts of a great earthquake, measuring 5.2 on the Richter scale. I bounded down stairs to check for damage and words cannot begin to describe what I saw. A spatula was lying on the counter top and not where it ought to have been, which is in a sort of jar. Okay, so it isn't quite waking up to finding a chimney stack at the foot of your bed but still, it unnerved me as I am sure it would you.

Half an hour later, I stepped out from within the door frame (they tell you to stand within door frames) and started smelling for gas. Fire from ruptured gas pipes killed more people in the San Francisco quake than did the shaking of the earth and I wasn't going to take any chances.

I turned on the TV and was grateful that I still had electricity and there appeared to be a news blackout as they were talking about other stuff. Clearly, the situation was worse than I thought. I picked up the phone -- thank God, a dial tone -- and rang around my family. They were all fine.

I went to the local supermarket and stocked up on bottles of water and tinned food (and also some Cadbury's Cream Eggs) and also bought a shot gun for when the looting begins.

I went back to the TV for the Prime Minister or the Home Secretary to tell us all to stay calm (I was in need of that at the time) but the coverage extended only to an image of a pile of bricks in front of a house and a chimney standing at a slight angle. A single glove was spotted on a wall. The search for the owner has begun but so far nothing has turned up -- not even the other glove. But people can survive for days in air pockets so we're hopeful.

But where is Bono when you need him? He'd know what to do. An emergency helpline needs to be set up; and someone needs to write a song to raise money for the victims.

I'll keep you up-to-date for so long as we still have power. Until then, I am going to walk the streets listening for tapping.

Richard