I’m stealing a leaf – or a post, actually – from my friend Claire’s blog, Scribblings.
A few days back she published her memories about the day history became something real for her, it became something happening around her.
Strong stuff.

We talked about it, a few nights back, and I came to the realization that for me, this sense of “My, this is history happening!” also clicked, more or less at her same age, but in quite a different circumstance.

It was on the night of the 26th of April 1986.
I was in Geneva – dreary town on a Saturday night – and it was raining.
We had spent – my school pals and myself – the day in CERN, and now most of the guys were either revelling in their hotel rooms, or having a wild night somewhere in Geneva.
I was alone, I was under the rain, and I had just learned the Chernobyl reactor had blown up that morning.
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