Seán Cassidy, whose son, Ciarán, was one of 52 people killed in last year's July 7th bombings, talks to Frank Millar, London Editor.
"There's a game on now," Seán Cassidy notes, nodding towards the television in reference to the World Cup. "But I've no one to talk to about football."
These simple words from this quietly spoken Cavan-born man bear powerful testament to a father's continuing sense of loss for his son, Ciarán (22), whose life was taken in the carnage of Kings Cross in the London bombings on July 7th last year.
Ciarán was, his father recalls, "a happy-go-lucky fella really, just loved life." He also loved his friends and Arsenal Football Club. As a boy, he had dreamed of playing for the club in north London, where he was born and raised. And the young man would often spend his Saturday afternoons along with his father, cheering the team on.
No more. The cheering died with hope late that Thursday night last July, even though the family would endure another six days before receiving confirmation that Ciarán had not survived that last journey to his job in Holborn.
I cannot begin to imagine the loss of a child, or how Mr Cassidy, his wife Veronica and their daughter Lisa must feel on the eve of this first anniversary.
People say time is a great healer. But is it? "I don't know," he admits. "It's not long enough for me to know whether it does or not. It hasn't healed yet, anyhow."
Is that in part perhaps because of the national attention focused on tomorrow's planned commemorations? "That's likely, I would say. Maybe next week or the week after I might feel a bit better. I don't know. This is new territory for me, I've never been in it before."
Have there been times, days, weeks, when he did feel better? "Yeah, I did," he says. "I felt better a couple of months after. When I went back to work I did feel better for a few weeks, a few months." But it didn't last. "Since New Year . . . it hasn't got better, it has got worse."
And the feelings now, ahead of the laying of flowers, the unveiling of plaques, the memorial service in Regent's Park? "Awful, really," he replies, with no need of further words to describe his family's pain. They will attend tomorrow's events with no expectation of deriving any great comfort from them, Seán explains.
"We'll go for his sake. And we want it to be remembered. We do not want it to be lost. We don't want these Muslims to get away with what they did really. We want the innocent people who were killed and injured to be remembered."
And he believes it should be an annual act of remembrance. It was the first suicide bombing in Britain by home-grown terrorists, he reminds us. "It's a very unique club we belong to. There's 52 families in it."
One clergyman recently suggested the importance of praying for forgiveness. Could Seán Cassidy ever forgive the bombers? His voice doesn't rise, and this seems only to accentuate the certainty of his conviction.
"No, I don't forgive the bastards. I hope they're rotting in hell. I do not forgive them, I've no time for them. All I think about them is I hope they're in a hot place. I'll never forgive them. You can put that in print in capital letters at the top of the page."
Mr Cassidy also shares the widespread view that Muslim leaders have not done enough to challenge extremists, and is scathing about those who condemn the bombers while saying they can understand what motivated them.
"There's a lot of them around unfortunately," he says, referring to the protests over the publication of cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad.
"Getting on to the streets over a silly cartoon where no one was killed. There's cartoons in the papers, having a go at somebody every day. The Irish have had plenty of cartoons in the British press over the years. So what? And they go protesting in the streets with suicide bombers' belts on them. It's a disgrace."
What, though, of the many who believe Tony Blair's war in Iraq increased the danger of terrorist attacks on Britain? Mr Cassidy admits to maybe being one of them.
"I would say if there was no war in Iraq, I do not think there would have been a bomb in London."
He accepts al-Qaeda has attacked countries unconnected to the war, and others long before it, and asserts the war could not justify the 7/7 bombings.
However, there is also the sense of powerlessness and frustration when he observes of politicians, "there'll always be answers for everything . . ."
And he believes there is momentum behind the campaign for a public inquiry, despite Mr Blair's rejection of the idea again this week.
Citing Britain's long resistance before Mr Blair himself conceded the Saville Inquiry into the events of Bloody Sunday, Mr Cassidy is also convinced that "something did go wrong" in the handling of intelligence and that the security authorities probably "have plenty to hide".
Mr Cassidy told Mr Blair what he thought about all this, and what he considered "the shambles" of the emergency services' response to the bombings, when they met last year at St Paul's Cathedral.
He also told the prime minister his dead son had had no time for politics - he thought politicians "said one thing and did something else".
Unintentionally perhaps making the same point, 27-year-old Lisa recalls Mr Blair's promise to write to them addressing their "issues". She confirms they never received the letter.
Lisa and her younger brother were close and she misses him terribly. Her eyes light up when recalling his always being late, his joy in his friends, in going out, the caring nature of a good guy. She'll be there tomorrow with her parents, for Ciarán.
And after that? When the media moves on and the agenda changes? There is no doubt Lisa speaks for her parents as well as herself in eager anticipation. "We want that peace now. We want to be left alone for a while, for the phone to stop ringing . . ."