After more than 40 years in London, George Psaradakis can speak English as easily as his native Greek.
Yet, in either language, he still breaks down as he struggles to convey the full, heart-wrenching horror of the moment a July 7 suicide bomber blew apart the bus he was driving.
"To see those happy people butchered. It was like a bomb exploded inside me that day, too."
It is a decade since Psaradakis, 59, turned his No 30 bus into Tavistock Square and briefly saw the faces of his passengers in the rear-view mirror seconds before 18-year-old Hasib Hussain detonated a bomb on the top deck. Thirteen people, including Hussain, died and many more were seriously injured.
It was the fourth in a line of co-ordinated suicide attacks across London that day which left 52 people dead, 700 injured, and countless lives changed for ever. Psaradakis is among them. Although he emerged physically unscathed, the emotional scars remain.
"The horror of what I witnessed is etched indelibly on my heart, but I saw so many wonderful things, too. Sheer altruism, benevolence, people going out of their way to help others. What I saw was the worst of people mixed with the best.
"It was a sacrilege, but we will not let these people win. They have caused so much pain to people's lives but they will never achieve what they want. They are a few against many."
He came to the UK as a teenager from Crete in 1972 looking for a better life, and never went back. He trained as a bus driver and raised his family - son John, 40, from his first marriage, and Christina, 25, and Marios, 23, from his second marriage to wife Andriani.
His shift that day started at 5.30am. As the clock ticked past 9am, he had already completed two circuits of No 30's route, from Marble Arch to Stratford, and was due to drive another before a mid-morning break.
Psaradakis was unaware that beneath him, three Islamist militants had simultaneously detonated bombs aboard three Underground trains at 8.47am, causing carnage.
He received a transmission from Transport for London's central control telling him that there was a problem on the Underground which meant there would be extra passengers using the buses.
His bus full, Psaradakis moved at a crawl. "You could hear sirens, traffic building up, people running up and down the pavements and on the roads it was chaos."
By the time he arrived at Euston Station, hundreds of people were pouring out of the Underground.
Unable to follow his normal route because of diversions, he pulled over to tell passengers that if their destination was close by it would be quicker to walk.
It was a spontaneous decision that saved many people's lives.
"A lot of people got off, maybe 50, because the bus was packed. And a terrorist was in the middle. Now I think about that split second between the ones who stayed and the ones who went."
Still unsure where to go Psaradakis then drove his bus into Tavistock Square, the first point at which he felt he could safely stop and call for guidance from his depot.
Seconds later, sitting towards the rear of the upper deck, Hussain detonated his bomb. Such was the force of the explosion that nearby witnesses reported seeing "half a bus flying through the air".
Yet, miraculously, the front remained nearly intact. Psaradakis' initial thought was that he had crashed. The windscreen had blown away and metal shards were clattering to the floor. He got off the bus. "Everywhere I looked - I cannot describe. There were body parts. Heads. Piles of human meat like mincemeat. It was like my brain couldn't process it."
He remembers uttering Kyrie eleison - Lord have mercy - in his native Greek.
He ran towards the bus to help, drawn to the profile of a young woman sitting on the lower deck. "I kneeled down beside her, then I realised it was just a torso and half a head. It is hard to explain how it felt. At that point I didn't know it was a terrorist attack."
He adds: "Everywhere I looked, people were helping each other. That's one of the things I take comfort from. That human nature was at its best as well as its worst that day."
- Daily Mail