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I'm off to Lurgan, grateful that it's a routine meeting rather than to cover the aftermath of a bomb.

It was Monday August 17th 12 years ago that news of the Omagh bomb was still unfolding. I woke up that Monday to go into the Belfast Telegraph to write what I had witnessed hours after the bomb went off that Saturday. The wreckage, the remains of a twisted pram, a child's teddy lying in rubble, the blood on the floor of the local hospital, the relatives who sat in Omagh Leisure centre, drinking tea, listening to the mounting death toll, waiting for news. I sat with Kevin Skelton in that hall, his forehead marked with blood. His wife Philomena had taken the girls into Kells for new school clothes and he had stepped out for a minute. I think we both knew his wife was dead. It was something he had said, but then seemed to deny. We made small talk through the grim hours. I was doing my job. But I felt like a ghoul.

There was a girl called Jolene. She was missing. She didn't make it. Jolene Marlowe was 17. I think I heard the news of her death as I got ready for work that Monday.

The final death toll for Omagh was 29 people, plus two unborn children. Others survived but were scarred for life.

Another 12 year old was caught up in the Lurgan bomb on Saturday. This morning's NewsLetter carries an interview with Demi Maguire's father Frankie, who said: "Nobody wants to go back to them days, do they?"

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