Solemnity. It seems such an old word; an old folks’ word. Respectful, and that’s just it. Quiet respect. And yet, there have been exactly two moments in my life when it is the only word that completely understands the pit of my stomach. It is the depths of despair at so called humanity. It is the burning rage that prevents the tears of sadness from falling, It is far from quiet. But it is always respectful. In a way, it feels almost hopeless, as if it has already surrendered – with dignity, but still, surrendered.

And here I am, over 20 years on from the London bombings of 7July 2005. Dubai, my family’s home for almost 19 years. The heavy, grey silence that pervaded London all those years ago is coming back to haunt me. This time it is accompanied by the intermittent booms of intercepted missiles heading our way. Beyond terrifying.

It’s the same feeling. One I wish I never had to repeat. It’s hard to describe. The sadness is just so hard to describe.

Back then I was 7 months pregnant with my firstborns, my twins. I did not look forward to the world into which they would be introduced. Now they are 20 and it is a world in which I wish I did not have to worry about them.

Solemnity. A perfect mask for indescribable sadness.