This week she is reflecting on the day that transformed her life and her feelings now about what she went through.

Tues 4 July The memories are so vivid

Weds 5 July The people I think of when on a train

Thurs 6 July It's not about blame or politics

Besides Kings Cross United survivors, I have met others affected by 7/7 as the year has progressed. Other survivors from other sites, some of whom met via www.LondonRecovers.com, a site set up by Peter, a Canadian writer who was next to the train when it exploded at Edgware Road and who rushed to help the injured.

And I have met some seriously injured passengers and some bereaved families from Kings Cross, Edgware Road, Aldgate and Tavistock Square.

Some of us have recently come together to campaign for a public inquiry into 7/7. The government has refused one, saying it would "take up too many resources'". But after months of campaigning, some of us finally met the home secretary and Secretary of State Tessa Jowell and now a series of meetings have been planned to continue the discussions.

Heroism and honour

Twelve survivors gave evidence with me at the London Assembly, a local government body on 23 March, and their 7 July Review Committee's report, published in June, was the first, and so far, the only public interrogation of some of the facts relating to 7th July.

It had a limited remit and resources, looking just at communication and the city's emergency services response. Nonetheless it turned up a great deal of information, which I hope will be acted upon.

It's not about blame, or politics, I say, it is about saving lives Read Rachel's 2005 diary

It concluded that though members of the emergency services, London Underground staff and passers-by had behaved with great heroism and honour, the planning and response to the tragedy could be improved upon.

Meanwhile the government produced two slim official responses in May 2006, one of them first official account of July 7th in the form of a Home Office Narrative, written by a civil servant, which claimed the bombers acted alone, with home-made bombs.

Also published was the report of the Parliamentary Intelligence and Security Committee, which absolves the security services of any blame for failing to stop the bombers, though some of them were known and bugged by the authorities two years before they killed 52 and injured 700 on 7th July.

Many people, including myself, are concerned that the government reports raise more questions than they answer and even seem to contradict each other in parts.

Lessons 'not learnt'

It's not about blame, or politics, I say, it is about saving lives.

I truthfully don't think all the lessons of 7th July have been learned and shared amongst all the agencies and people who need to prepare for and respond to disasters and terror attacks - which includes the public itself.

And until the learnings are shared, as publicly as possible without compromising the safety of the realm, how can the public feel any safer than they did on 7th July last year?

On the anniversary, I will lay down my flowers and think of all my fellow passengers, especially the ones who did not finish their journey, those who love them, and those who were physically and mentally injured

I would love to step away from the devastation of 7th July that still haunts my dreams. Campaigning for answers is not something I do to bring "closure"; it is tiring and it is hard work.

But I strongly believe that it is the right thing to do. I couldn't help the people who died and were hurt on the train but I can try to help people now, to tell what happened so that people can learn from it, understand, be safer.

I continue to write of my journey after 7th July, the personal and political fall-out, on my personal blog.

Ordinary life

I continue to be supported by my family, colleagues and friends, including the new friends I have made this year.

On the anniversary, I will lay down my flowers and think of all my fellow passengers, especially the ones who did not finish their journey, those who love them, and those who were physically and mentally injured by the blasts of 7th July.

I will stand in silence with other Londoners, as I did a week after the bombs, in solidarity against terror and explosions, and then, after, I hope that I can look forward to an ordinary life.

Days of sunlight after the dark tunnel; working and writing and planning my wedding to the man I love, who has stood at my side through everything.

The man into whose arms I fell, blackened and frightened one strange summer morning, so glad that we were together again, so glad to still be alive.

One year on, what has become of those people from my train?

And what has become of me, who wrote of my journey on an internet message board, and then was asked to write for a week by the BBC as a citizen journalist, a personal 'survivor' diary that reached millions?

I cannot think of a nicer bunch of people to be blown up and trapped underground with

I have made contact with over 100 people who shared that journey.

Plus the drivers, the police officers, some of the London Underground staff who rescued some of us that day. I have met them, had a drink with them, shaken their hands.

And fellow-passengers from all six carriages now meet regularly in a north London pub to talk about how they are getting on.

How did we find each other? Because some of the people from my train were able to make contact, initially through an internet message board I posted on the urban75.com website, late at night on 7 July, glass still in my hair, soot in my nostrils, needing to tell the story that would not let me be.

The account of my broken journey was picked up by the BBC, and became a week-long survivor diary on the BBC News website.

We people from the train decided to set up a private website and unofficial support group - run by survivors for survivors.

We called ourselves Kings Cross United, and I cannot think of a nicer bunch of people to be blown up and trapped underground with.

Travel buddies

Meeting these people, of all ages and backgrounds, who were strangers to me on the morning of 7 July has been the best thing to come out of the darkness of the underground train commute that I never finished.

We share practical advice and information, act as travel buddies, support each other when official support is slow to come.

Some of us stood shoulder to shoulder at the vigil a week after the bombs, at the memorial service

We have no political or religious affiliations; we are not a charity - we need no money - we buy each other drinks when we meet, and the website software we use is free.

We even created a media strategy to let other passengers know of our existence, talking to media outlets that we thought other passengers might see us on, to papers we thought they might read.

Following this, the group tripled in size and is now 1 in 8 people from the train.

Some of us stood shoulder to shoulder at the vigil a week after the bombs, at the memorial service at St Paul's for the victims of 7/7.

Heart racing

Six months after the blasts, we stood on the platform where the bomber had boarded, then laid flowers at the parish church near Kings Cross and read out the names of those passengers who had been killed.

Who know how concentration can waver, how anger can flash up for no reason, how hard it can be to sleep

A year later, many of us will meet again on the anniversary; strangers from the train who are now friends; who have shared with each other the darkness and fear of the journey that still haunts so many.

These are the people who understand why a man with a rucksack can leave me doubled up, heart racing, breathless with panic, who also now hate fireworks, who understand why sometimes I arrive at work after a bad journey feeling as exhausted as if I have been in a war.

They know how concentration can waver, how anger can flash up for no reason, how hard it can be to sleep - when you are afraid of what you might dream.

These are the people who can make me laugh helplessly, who have the blackest sense of humour I know, whose kindness and compassion is humbling and inspiring.

The people I think of whenever I step on a train.

New people still join each month and I feel honoured to know them, fellow-passengers on a strange journey that continues to touch our daily lives.

It's a year since my journey to work became the journey that changed my life.

The memory of how I boarded a train on a summer morning and 12 minutes later stepped off an unrecognisably smashed carriage, shocked, deafened, covered in soot and blood and glass, still haunts my dreams.

It took months before I could bear to fully remember all of the details I had blocked, numb with shock after miraculously escaping the blast.

I cannot imagine what it must be like to hate so much that you are willing to blow yourself and other people to pieces to prove it Read Rachel's 2005 diary

One of the hardest things to deal with has been the guilt that I survived and others were terribly injured or killed. How I couldn't help them. That, because the train was so packed, others took the full force of the blow.

The memories are so vivid. A bang, so powerful that I didn't hear it, but felt it as a violent blow to the head. My face wet, temperature rising. Crashing to the floor, hearing screams, choking on fumes.

In the panic, in the darkness, I held onto the hand of a fellow passenger, asking if she was alright. As the emergency lights came on, and a little air flooded through the shattered windows, we two staggered to our feet and joined others shouting for calm.

Support group

I remember how the train driver then forced his way out of his cab, and called to us. He said that we must evacuate - if we could walk. We followed his co-driver, who led us all the way to Russell Square.

We had to leave. We needed to get help for those we could not take with us, because they were dead, or seriously injured, or trapped in tunnels so narrow in places that even smashing the doors and windows with bare hands meant they still could not escape.

I remember stumbling down the smoky tracks to Russell Square... trying to make jokes to stop myself and others panicking in the surreal haze

The train driver stayed behind on his train and once the front of carriage one, where I was, was cleared of frightened passengers, he was able to walk into the horrific aftermath of Europe's most deadly suicide bomb attack.

He has never spoken publicly of what he did, what he saw. But I know now how he stayed for nearly two hours, trying to save lives. I dare not imagine what it was like. I wish I had known how many were hurt. I wish I had been able to help them.

Perhaps that is why I set up a support group for survivors, why I have joined the campaign for a proper inquiry into 7/7. It comes from a desire to learn lessons, help survivors and save lives.

We who could walk away left a stricken train packed with rush-hour commuters in the deepest part of the Piccadilly line, 260 metres from Kings Cross station.

'Brave staff'

I remember stumbling down the smoky tracks to Russell Square, 500 metres away, with 30 or so other walking wounded survivors, trying to make jokes to stop myself and others panicking in the surreal haze.

We could not go back, only forward, because the bomb had destroyed the centre of the carriage behind us. At the time I was not sure if anyone else besides us was going to make it out alive.

As we evacuated, I feared tunnel collapse, poisonous fumes, fire, more bombs. We knew we had to escape and raise the alarm. We did so

I remember knowing somehow that the bomb was behind me, thinking that people were terribly injured, and that probably everyone else on the rest of the train was dead.

I knew it was a bomb, but I didn't want to say that in case people panicked and hurt themselves on the narrow tracks - which we thought were live. I didn't know, as I walked away, that I had left almost 900 people trapped 70 feet underground in the darkness, in crushed carriages with no communication - the bomb in the first carriage had disabled the communications system, killed 26 people and injured 340 more.

I didn't even know then that the bomb had exploded only 7-10 feet behind in the carriage I had been travelling on. I thought it must have been further back - because I could not fathom how, if it had been so close, I was still alive.

As we evacuated, I feared tunnel collapse, poisonous fumes, fire, more bombs. We knew we had to escape and raise the alarm. We did so.

Help eventually came as London battled to deal with almost-simultaneous attacks, and before the ambulances and fire engines arrived, brave London Underground staff and British Transport Police ran into the tunnels to help, defying protocol, not knowing what they raced towards.

Running to help the desperate passengers of the stranded Piccadilly Line train.