Would I demonstrate grace under pressure if I found myself in the midst of a terrorist attack? I like to hope for the best, even while suspecting that a cowardly vacuum gapes where a heart of oak should pound.
As a journalist, I have reported from the scenes of several terror attacks. In Nice and Paris, I noted the speed of normality’s return. On the beaches of Sousse, I marvelled at holidaymakers who took to their sunbeds in defiance of the horror. In Nairobi, where gunmen had picked off shoppers at the Westgate Mall, I heeded the advice of experts and planned escape routes in enclosed spaces.
