Yesterday, the space shuttle Columbia broke into pieces as it approached for landing, at a height of about 200,000 yards above Texas, raining debris over a huge area of land. I mention this purely so that there is a historical reference to it in my journal. However, at the risk of seeming unfeeling, as the newspapers trumpet the idea that the whole world is in mourning, I find myself earnestly wishing for a life so simple and idyllic that I could find it in me to mourn a vehicle crash killing 7 people I don’t know. Yes, obviously the implications are wider than that. Their families. The space program. The people in the path of the debris. But, the same day, there was an explosion in Lagos that killed between 25 and 50 people, and this seems no more remote to me than the shuttle accident.