Let me tell you a story. I give you my assurances that it's true but you can take that for whatever you think it's worth.

When I was eight my grandmother was hit and killed by a car as she walked home one night.

She wasn't some doddery old lady. She was strong and full of life; well-known and well-loved in her community.

The driver was a young man with a family. He wasn't drunk or speeding. It was a dark night and a dark road and perhaps he wasn't concentrating fully - it was an accident.

We were devastated. My mother and my sister were profoundly affected. It was over thirty years ago but I can still remember my grandfather bending down to give her one last kiss as she lay in the funeral parlour.

We never hated the driver. My grandfather and my mother begged for him not to be sent to prison for causing death by dangerous driving as it would only ruin his family's life too.

I have more hatred for the people who chose to carry out this attack in Manchester and for their vile and twisted ideology than I do for the man who accidentally killed a member of my own family.

Make of that what you will.