‘At the time, it seemed completely rational. I’d already visited Angel tube station that morning (its name was a sign from God, obviously), and proposed to a complete stranger in Costa Coffee, saving his number as ‘love of my life’ in my phone.
‘So when I found myself at Stansted Airport’s baggage drop, that, too, felt logical. As I jumped, my left arm hit the fire alarm; sirens wailed, security descended and I was jolted out of my mania to realise I had no idea where I was.
‘I can laugh about it now. But at the time, aged 22, I’d never been more afraid. Shortly after, I was sectioned and placed in hospital under the Mental Health Act. For the first month, I didn’t recognise my own parents; I can’t remember the first six weeks at all. I do know that I thought I was Susan Boyle for a while. I also thought I could speak Arabic.
