The Nice Terror Attack

 

 

This happy photo of my husband Steve and I was taken in the transition area for the World Long Distance Triathlon Championships in Nice, France. I think it was 1995. It was one, of a number of occasions that we raced there. We are standing on the Promenade des Anglais.  

 

The last blog that I posted, was the one titled Slaughter in Nice. I wrote and posted that on June 15^th which is also the day that I remember my mother’s birthday. I always tickles me when people say of a dear departed family member; 'She would have been 107'. My mum was about the age I am now, 77, when she died because she died over thirty years ago, yet funnily enough, when I think of her, I think of her most often when she was thirty something with long wavy hair; a strong, healthy, hard working woman with a big bust a ready smile and a quick temper; not a good idea to cross my mum.
 

Seeing the TV news about the mass murder that day at 5am before I went for my usual Friday swim training session, was most shocking to me. Later when I heard that the French had declared that there would be three days national mourning for the 84 victims, I went along with that and did not post a blog for the weekend period and still did not feel like doing it until today. 

Its strange isn’t it how you feel quite guilty that your life goes on when hundreds of family members of those poor murdered souls cannot believe what has happened within their family. Life for them has ground to a halt for a while as they try to come to terms with a terror attack that has mutilated and killed their loved ones, some of whom were children.  

Don’t anybody try to tell me that is says anywhere, in anybody’s holy scriptures that you have to kill innocent people, men, women and children by driving deliberately into them with a 19 ton trunk, swerving to hit as many as you possibly can. No. No God, yours or mine would want that. No holy book tells you that. Only vile, unbelievably evil TEACHERS tell trusting but stupid people things like that. Maniacs say those things.
 

From my own feelings I felt doubly, trebly guilty because not only was my life going on, but my husband and I were going out for a big weekend in London that we had planned months ago. Last Saturday morning we watched the latest reports from Nice on several news channels before taking a bath, getting dressed and driving to Arundel Station to catch the train to carry on, not quite as usual because we had a special day ahead, but to carry on, was the intention and we would enjoy it.