The channel crossing was pretty rough, so it was with some relief that I sensed from under my hood that we were finally docking in Dover.

In the rush to disembark I lost TPR and EF, but I wasn’t too concerned. I’d catch up with them at Customs. I trooped off the boat like everyone else following the orderly queue.

For a port preparing for Brexit, Dover seemed a little behind the times. The steep, rough path that led away from the docks wasn’t even tarmacked, and it was hard work for me – a relatively fit middle-aged woman – to climb up the hill single file with the other passengers. Also, there were no border officials to be seen anywhere. It was as if we were all on a day out in the hills together, competing to see who could reach the summit of the ridge first.

Everyone took their cameras out at the top of the hill to photograph the beautiful sunrise over the sea. Meanwhile I was still looking for TPR and EF.

A stranger informed me that my travelling companions had probably just cleared customs as usual and the continued their journey.

“So what’s everyone doing up this hill?” I asked.

“We’re just a party of photographers who wanted to capture the sunrise”, he replied.

Two minutes later, with my own camera poised in the direction of town, I clicked the button at the moment of a huge blast. My picture captured the moment that the windows shattered along the High Street. I posted it immediately on Twitter. Within seconds several media outlets started a bidding war for my amazing image of the latest UK terrorist attack.