‘There’s no problem; it’s alright — I’m with British Airways,’ a short dark-haired woman is screaming in my ear. I slowly return to consciousness, as though forcing my way through mist. I am lying on a trolley, being pushed at high speed through a concrete tunnel with no windows. Stark neon tubes burn above my head, illuminating central heating ducts and an occasional doorway. Even in my disoriented state, I know everything is definitely not alright!
