Samizdata has a moving post on how “the real England” feels about 9/11.

Last September, because of the attacks, I was stuck for a week in London, a city I love, feeling nothing but the desperate ache of someone who wanted to be with his wife and son. The day after the attacks, too numb to do much of anything, I took a walk around the city and stumbled onto Grosvenor Square, where the American embassy is located. A makeshift memorial of flowers, candles, and poems was already set up outside the building. I bought my own bouquet, placed it among the others, and started to read what had been written. Those expressions of empathy and solidarity were so moving that I lost it right then and there, and had to dash away before ITV caught me on film.

For the entire week, strangers treated me as if I’d just come from a close relative’s funeral. I will always remember those expressions of support; I’m glad -- but not surprised -- to see that outside of the broad sheet’s op-ed pages, little has changed in the past year.