I found out later that the airport ground crew had known about the cracked cockpit window before we’d taken off. But they’d thought they’d chance it.

At thirty three thousand feet the crack became a hole. There was no time for an announcement. The plane went into a nosedive as the pilot tried to equalise the pressure. Thirty three thousand feet to nine thousand as quick as that.

Like the stereotype that I am I lived the moments of extreme excitement in slow motion. The oxygen masks dropped. I put one on and helped the person next to me do the same. I looked around for a stewardess. There wasn’t a single one in sight. My ears popped with the regularity of a repeater rifle. People’s mouths moved in silent screams.

Most people on the flight were Arabs. A handful were climbing upwards, heading towards the rear of the now near-vertical plane. They gained footholds on peoples heads and the backs of seats.

‘Where are they going?’ I mused, ‘We are all going to die, but…is it nicer to die at the back of a plane, rather than down here, at the front?’

Their robes were flung around their waists. I focused on one rather bulky chap. His underwear was filthy.

‘His mother,’ I thought, ‘will be fuming.’

A chap put his foot in my face.

‘Asif...asif...Sorry,’ he said, and carried on climbing backwards, down the cabin.

‘No trouble at all,’ I mumbled through my oxygen mask after him.

The plane seemed to dive for so long I began to get bored. I considered making my way to the kitchen and having one last vodka. Or perhaps trying my luck with a stewardess or two if I could find any. Either option would be fine. I wasn’t feeling very fussy.

When we began to level out the captain apologised for the inconvenience. The stewardesses reappeared and handed out free lemonade. The heap lying on the floor by the toilets clapped and praised Allah as we made an emergency landing at Rome airport.