I dreamt endlessly about cardiology. First about waiting rooms - pretty familiar territory. Then about having a device like butter knife pushed down my throat - I guess that was my unconscious remembering - trying to make sense of - what my conscious mind can't. What happened after they gave me the midazolam.

Then I was taken to a part of the hospital that was like a spooky haunted house, and I was scared, but so desperate to be given answers that I'd have stayed whatever happened.

The nurse gave me a jumper and I expressed how much better it made me feel. I guess that's like when the porter offered me a blanket, draped it over me, when I'd been lying alone in that cold room on a trolley staring at a poster about 'coronary artery bifurcation'.

I didn't feel all that affected by it when I woke up, just confused and fuzzy. Now I feel it, though.

...and today is three years since the airshow disaster.

Thanks for not being here.