As another anniversary of that awful day rolls around, I can’t help thinking back to the moment when I first heard about the attacks on the Twin Towers.
My in-laws were visiting from Scotland, we had two very young children who they’d hardly seen; youngest baby was only 2 months old and this was the first time they’d met him.
It wasn’t going well, I’d never felt they particularly liked me and had been very apprehensive about the visit. To make things worse, relations between myself and my husband, their son, weren’t great either.
As soon as I found an opportunity to nip out I took it. We’d run out of something, tea maybe? milk? biscuits? I can’t remember. I know we were skint and could ill afford whatever it was and I know I was grateful to be able to escape the house even for a few minutes.
It was on the way to the shops that I heard it. Chris Myles was on the radio, making me laugh with his nonsense and I so needed that laugh! Suddenly the music stopped and he made the announcement; his voice was hesitant, you could hear his fear that he would get it wrong, or that it might be a hoax, or even worse – that it was real.
I stopped the car and listened. I felt sick. I felt panic. I’d left my babies behind because of a selfish need to get out of the house – what if something happened while I was gone?
My earlier worries paled into insignificance as the enormity of the situation unfolded.
I raced back to the house and watched it on the news. Those images will be for ever ingrained on my mind.
Such utter evil, pointless brutality. Such a waste of life.