New Orleans

We were on Bourbon Street until 2 am or so, an hour before the attack. I'd been making a film of Bourbon where it begins by Kerlerec right down to Canal St, recording as I walked its length to show what this famous street is like during the NY celebrations and the contrast between its residential and party blocks.

The only reason we left was that I'd lost sight of my husband in the crowd as I stopped by a side street to film a guy playing the trumpet, the people dancing alongside, and a pair of Louisiana state troopers whose uniform made them look like they'd got lost en route to The Phoenix. I returned to my local bar on Royal to wait for him as per our plan. He showed up shortly after and we decided to walk home. Had we not lost each other we'd have continued down to Canal where it happened.

It was a noisy night. I lay in bed listening to fireworks, celebratory gunshots being fired into the skies, train horns and- suddenly - what sounded like hundreds of sirens. The latter didn't bother me that much, we'd expected to hear them. On our way home we'd had to pull up short when a firework thrown into the street exploded. The culprits? A bunch of older people sat on their porch. Everyone gets reckless here.

I was woken just after dawn by my phone going crazy which I ignored. And then it rang and on the line was my daughter nearly mad with relief when I answered. She told me what had happened. I spent the next two hours checking in on friends and answering hundreds of messages from people.

I love this city and its people with all my heart. Yet it's a complex, contradictory, and frequently dysfunctional place; the infrastructure is fucked, the city’s civic organisations are incompetent at best and corrupt at worst, the weather seems determined to wreak havoc, it's expensive to live here, and easy to develop a drink and drugs problem. Ironically it's also a great place to live if you're trying to stay straight because the city is filled with folks who have had addiction issues and are only too happy to offer support.

New Orleans is where you go when you don't feel welcome anywhere else. If you love her, she'll love you right back. The city is filled with transplants who have fled unacceptance, bigotry, and mundanity. Remember the town in ‘Footloose’? That's the kind of place and attitude New Orleans defies. Want to paint yourself blue, cover your legs in feathers and ride a golden golf cart equipped with a giant music system and a rainbow parasol? Nobody in this city will mind. Paint your home how you like. Decorate it with whatever you want. Draw on the streets. Draw on yourself. Talk to strangers or yell at them unrestrainedly because life here can test a Saint. Play that music loud. Dance. Shout at clouds because nobody will mind or be scared. Hell, even the trains here make more noise.

That's what that bigoted asshole tried to hurt. He attacked a joyful, vivid city on the happiest of occasions. He tried to kill joy in a city suffused with it.

I can't say what effects this will have. Some friends have expressed fears that the government will use this attack to justify clamping down on a city they see as licentious. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I'm donating to an organisation devoted to ensuring everyone in this most musical of cities has access to music lessons and instruments. Let's nurture joy.