Ten years ago, where was I? At Stansted airport, returning from a week in the sun. On the way home, I phoned Sally and got Giles, who said they couldn't talk because they were watching the news.
'A plane has flown into the World Trade Center,' he said.
Never having been to the World Trade Center, I got a mental image of a little Cessna flying into - as in landing in - a plaza surrounded by shiny high-rises, in the manner of that German guy who breeched the Iron Curtain and landed in Red Square.
'How exciting!' I said, trying to sound enthused by the idea of a little spy plane landing in New York.
'Thousands of people will be dead,' he said witheringly, putting the phone down on me.
I still squirm to think of it.
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