I know what I would be doing today if I lived in London. I’d be revisiting a part of North Kensington I first walked one summer morning eight years ago when the air was heavy with ash and grief and a block of flats called Grenfell Tower stood like a blackened tomb. Around its charred hulk that day a dazed community wept and raged, some attaching photos to fences, begging for a stranger’s reassurance that a family member was not one of the 72 poor souls incinerated in the deadly blaze two days