To Moorgate
I went down to King's Cross this morning, camera under my arm, to see what was going on. More bouquets since last night, and - I think - more members of the press. There was a Japanese newscaster there, as well as a team from Poland. And many more, of course, but I don't know where they were from.

Many of them were milling around the fenced off area where the bouquets are being left, desperate to get a good shot of someone leaving a bouquet or such. Others reported in the environs.

I hung around for a little while, and after realising that the station was in fact open, I decided to head inside. No photographs allowed inside, I was told, and with fearful reverence, I complied.

The photo with this post was taken, despite what the EXIF information says, at 11:30am, just outside the entrance and just before I went in. Ordinarily at this time, King's Cross should be thronging with people, but today there was almost no-one.

I bought a ticket and went out to the Eastbound platform. There were perhaps ten people waiting. It was 11:35. The displays just said "Eastbound trains via Liverpool Street". Unlikely, I thought, given that trains were terminating at Moorgate.

I walked up and down the platform, pacing, recording on my mobile phone the sound of the deathly quiet, constantly interrupted by security announcements and reports of service alterations. I waited.

A few more people came. I continued pacing. An old gentleman in a suit was trying to get to Elephant & Castle, and solicited the assistance of a very kindly member of the Tube staff, who spent not a small amount of time explaining to him the route he should take. The train was at Finchley Road and would arrive within 15 minutes.

I paced. We waited. In almost total silence. Of the maybe 15 people waiting, perhaps there were two couples, but no-one really talked. All there was was a drilling noise and the constant interruption of the tannoy, detailing service alterations and asking customers to be vigilant.

And then, 4 minutes before the train was due to arrive, the dot matrix displays finally listed the train. It finally arrived at about 12:10. I have never ever waited that long for a Tube train before.

We got on, I checked the area around the seats for anything suspicious and sat down. The train trundled out at normal pace, out into daylight, back into another tunnel, daylight, tunnel. Anyone who knows the route will know what I mean.

At Farringdon, someone got off, a couple got on. And all the while I was unnerved, because the woman sitting in the seat diagonally opposite me was getting very irritated for some reason, fiddling with her phone and cursing.

My attention was also drawn to a man who was standing up down the other end of the carriage. He seemed agitated too. I thought about what I had read on the BBC News site about how one man on the No. 30 bus that was bombed thought he saw a very agitated man acting strangely on it. Paranoid thoughts, perhaps. But I couldn't dismiss them.

The train carried on. Next stop, Barbican. Uneventful. The woman calmed down. She had managed to call in and explain that she was going to be late.

The train rolled slowly on towards Moorgate. We stopped briefly outside. Why? Why? Arriving at the station, we were reminded to please take all our belongings with us.

It was evident from the number of people disgorged from the train that there had been quite a lot of people on it. But still no-one spoke. We just made our way away from the platforms towards the Northern Line or the exit in silence.

The silence, of course, is pretty normal. But it seems all the stranger now. Paranoia does those kind of things to you. Silly things.

But give Londoners a few more days and I'm sure we'll be back to normal.