On a quiet - some might say eerily quiet - Monday, I stepped out onto my balcony in Bermondsey. I wasn't alarmed by the unexpected peacefulness until I looked to the right and saw police clustered at the end of my road... and then looked left to see even more officers.
On Monday, workmen unearthed a World War II bomb near my house, and by Tuesday night it was gone. What struck me about it was the incredibly prompt and organised response to what must not be a regular occurrence for London's police, paramedics, or even army, who all arrived to help control the incident.
While I was fortunate enough not to be evacuated, I lived in a vacuum for twenty-four hours, with the streets empty, the shops shut and no idea whether or not I would be required to leave my home. It was a surreal time, punctuated by the reality of running out of milk (and having no way to get more).
I won't say much about the facts of the event - I'll leave that to the news team here at HuffPostUK - but I will say that I was very impressed by the way it was handled by everyone involved, and would like to acknowledge the people that worked within such a close range of such a dangerous item to ensure the safety of residents like myself.
And now (around seventy years after it took up roots in Bermondsey) the bomb is gone. I'm sure we're all glad to see the back of it - I know that myself and the officers stationed by my flat were certainly delighted to say goodbye to the Bermondsey Bomb.
Images of the bomb being transported away from the site in Bermondsey, all photos are my own.