I got a message from my office on Wednesday morning saying that Gloria Hunniford's chat show had rung to invite me to be a guest. I knew perfectly well what Gloria wanted. They wanted me on the show as a "victim". I was unfortunate enough to be one of the 200 or so people who caught the 12.10 London to Leeds train on Tuesday last week. That morning I'd been in the ITN building on Gray's Inn Road collecting a computer. I was on my way back to my office in Leeds. A routine journey.
Or at least it was until just before 12.30 when the crash took place.
My first instincts were journalistic. I dug out my mobile and told the Channel 4 News newsdesk that I'd been in a serious train crash. It was only later that the bizarre transition from reporter to victim took place.
As I walked towards the back of the train the severity of the accident became clear. Half the roof of the buffet car had been ripped off and it was with trepidation that I looked in at the twisted metal of the seats and the litter of newspapers and bags. I expected to see mangled corpses.
Later I'd hear myself describing that moment again and again on radio and TV. I did a live interview with the ITN's new 24-hour news channel and then the ITV lunchtime bulletin. I said the roof had been peeled back "like a sardine can".
As the other passengers were led away to be taken on to the reception centre I asked to stay behind. I still thought of myself as a reporter and that helped me deal with the horror of it. But as soon as I stepped over the police cordon at the end of the road I stopped being a reporter and became one of the reported. By the time I crossed that makeshift line I was the only eye-witness still on the scene and everyone needed a first-hand account of what had happened.
I've been part of the press pack many times but I've never had to face it and I wasn't really prepared for how it would feel.
I agreed to do an interview with ITN's ITV team. The camera was set up just beyond the police cordon. As soon as the interview began all the other journalists huddled around. There seemed to be dozens of them: five or more TV crews, a clutch of press photographers and who knows how many radio and print journalists.
It's a very strange thing to have that much attention focused on you. The lights, the people fighting to ask the next question. Even more strange is when your interviewers have got the quotes they want. Then - almost as quickly as the press pack gathers - it evaporates. Everyone is off to ferret out the next element of their story.
Normally I'd be with them. Today I was the one left on my own.
There's no doubt that in a crisis like this it can be cathartic to talk about what has happened - it certainly was for me. But as I discovered, it's a dangerous game. I wanted the attention but what I wasn't ready for was how it would feel when the pack turned its back. You're left feeling very lonely. And for people who don't understand the workings of the press that feeling must be even more pronounced.
One of the ITN cameramen - Bruce Shayler - must have sensed that I was starting to get a little shaky. He led me away for a hot, sweet cup of tea.
That's when I began to feel the impact of what had happened. I did some other interviews later that day but at that moment, cradling my tea in my hands, I was no longer a journalist. At that moment I was just another shocked and frightened passenger. Just another victim.
I turned Gloria down though.
