Oh yeah, and there was a controlled explosion at Westbury-on-Trym, and an arrest, as you might have heard. Round the corner from my work and round the other corner from my house.
With my family flying out out of Glasgow Airport moments before the attack happened last summer, there’s now a pattern of exceedingly dull brushes with the most bungled terrorist operations that islamic fundamentalism has to offer.
I really don’t think it’s my fate to be blown up by a terrorist bomb. I generally see myself lasting till old age, but if I go early it’d probably be the result of some bizarre accident brought on by my own carelessness.
If I can think of my only true near-death experience, it happened when I was around 16 or 17. I was lying on the couch, flat on my back, drinking from a pint of water and ice. Suddenly one of these massive icecubes slid right down the glass, down my throat and lodged in my windpipe, completely blocking off my breathing. I leapt off the couch and scrambled around the floor on my hands and knees in a state of total panic, as the seconds ticked by with this ice cube stuck in my throat. I just couldn’t believe that this was it, this was how I was going out. Amidst the sheer terror I was feeling, there was an overwhelming sense that it wasn’t fair that I’d been terribly cheated. I tried to shout for help from my sister who was upstairs, but I couldn’t make a sound. I don’t know how long the whole experience lasted, because all sense of time had been lost. Eventually a proper cough was all it took to send the ice cube flying. The sense of relief was incredible. I’ve often thought though that if I had choked to death on that ice cube, there’s a good chance that it would have been a complete mystery, with the evidence melted by the time I was found.
I just looked up this…