At Hyde Park Corner this evening the traffic was brought to a standstill by an onslaught of sirens: police, ambulance, fire. The high-pitched screeching and the flashing blue lights had everyone, cyclists, pedestrians and motorists alike, all straining to work out what was going on. It seemed like the whole of London’s emergency services had congregated in front of the Lanesborough. (I later found out, via T, that someone had thrown themselves in front of the tube on the Picadilly Line, which seriously disrupted services during peak hour, which might explain all the sirens.)
Once over that little dramatic sight, I was forced to confront another. As I cycled along the South Carriage I counted a dozen police minibuses parked up. There were police everywhere, and part of the cycle lane I trundle along, at the rear of the French Embassy, had been cordoned off. There were important looking men in important looking suits holding important looking notebooks milling around. I assumed they were police detectives. I even spied some of the specialist operations officers wearing their funny blue jumpsuits and little peaked caps.
I don’t know what was going on, but it looked like some form of raid. There’s been nothing on the TV news and I can’t find anything online. The journalist in me views this as a kind of torture: knowing that something happened but not being able to discover what it was! I’m kicking myself that I didn’t stop and ask!