Whenever I write on this blog, nearly always the true subject behind it is London. I find it hard to write about the city, in the same way it's hard to write about anything important to you, like the people and things you love the most. I've written plenty of times in a silly way about how I obsessed about living here when I was growing up - how I had a postcard of London above my desk all the way through my teens.
Sure, it had its problems but they were acknowledged and debated, unlike my hometown, where the Conservatives always got in until the year they put forward a black candidate. I always wanted to live somewhere different, a slightly more evolved society with a wider mix of people and cultures, where I could be how I wanted to be. When I finally landed here, in 2002, after a few years spent in a not-so-nice town, it felt like both a tiny triumph and the beginning of my real life. I've spent the last almost-decade here, and I've always been proud to say I'm a Londoner.
The last three nights have shocked us all. Police sirens have wailed through the night as area by area got smashed up, seemingly for the joy of destruction rather than to make a political point. My friend was punched off her bike on her regular cycle home. Independent shops, the kind of places that make London what it is, got looted, as well as chains. We huddled together at home, constantly refreshing Twitter, which quickly became more useful than any news service in telling us where the next target was.
Last night, we decided to wander down from Church St to my friend's flat just behind Dalston Kingsland station. It was freakishly quiet. All the shops and pubs were closed like it was Christmas. Broken glass everywhere, and a bus on fire on Shacklewell Lane surrounded by riot police. We've always joked about the local "Turkish mafia" but found a whole lot of Turkish muscle on the street, standing off against kids - and they were kids, 13 or 14 years old. At the time, I was proud of the strong Turkish community guarding their businesses and Stoke Newington but today, all I can think of is how last night will affect the area's racial tensions.
The city's felt uneasy for a while. Unemployment, the high cost of living, social exclusion, even awful weather... I'm not well-informed enough to speculate about why three nights of rioting happened, but I hope they never happen again. London's better than all that. And, despite the complicated ways in which I love this city, I'm not going to give up on it just yet (even when it feels like Cameron has).
I don't usually write 'serious' posts on here, as there are so many other writers that do it much better, but I couldn't not write about this. Follow #riotcleanup to find out how you can help - I'm heading to Hackney with some giant bin bags!
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