My holiday companion – a stranger – ate her breakfast at our table at the pavement café. None of the calorie-laden dishes on offer appealed to me, so I walked into the market square to look for a stall that sold croissants or something similar.

Along the way, I found TPR – just as Concorde fell from the sky.

‘Run!’ I screamed. ‘We need to get away from the museum quarter as fast as we can. Otherwise, if any of these tall buildings are hit, they could collapse and completely squash us.’