Copley Square is one of my favourite places in the world. It conjures memories of balmy summer days, fresh squeezed lemonade, dads tossing footballs to their sons, piano concertos, market stalls selling sunflowers as big as your head.

Now those memories are interrupted by images of bloodstained pavements, an ownerless trainer sitting in a puddle of red, the chef from our favourite hotel with his apron wrapped around a woman's severed leg.

But also of the first responders who saved lives, of runners removing their T-shirts to use as makeshift tourniquets and dressings, of local restaurants providing sustenance to the emergency services, of people offering beds for those who had nowhere to stay, of the nation putting rivalries aside and offering solidarity.

I can't begin to understand why anybody would do this or why Boston would be a target. My heart goes out to all who have been injured and their families, and those who have lost loved ones. Hopefully some of the best trauma centres in the world can limit the damage to some extent.

Boston is a great city, full of great people and I have no doubt they will stand strong and get through this, but rather than putting me off going I can't wait for August 16th so I can go and see for myself that the city that I love is ok.