The night's muggy heat had given way to a sharp, clear autumn morning. Janis pedalled through the streets of Uxbridge, slowly so as not to break into a sweat. An AWACS plane climbed low from Northolt, banked and headed west, towards Wales. The High Street looked untouched by the troubles, a cosy familiarity of supermarkets and wine bars and drug dens and video shops, vast mirrored frontages of office block behind. Around the roundabout and along the main road past the RAF barracks(DANGER:MINES), swing right into Kingston Lane. Usual early morning traffic - a dozen buses, all different companies, milk floats, water floats, APCs flying the hanoverian pennant from their aerials ....