Went to visit two friends in London. Last time we were at their place, I had a fever and had to lie down during lunch. I never turn down a Sunday roast so everyone knew it was serious. This time, we went out to the pub and I was feeling in the best of health. Halfway through, I could feel some of the food had gone down the wrong pipe so tried to swallow it down, but with no success. Three or four gulps later, I was getting short of air and covered my face with my hands. I realised there was a bit of a problem but couldn't bring the food up or get it down. Barney noticed I had stopped eating so asked if I was alright. Devoid of the power of speech, I continued choking and Rachel opened the back door so I could go out into the street. Finally, the pipe cleared and I was left crouching over a drain on a London street corner, as the Cambridge United fans in the pub wondered what on earth they were watching. I returned to the pub and finished my meal.
This left me thinking, when else in my life had I had a near-death experience? Probably the closest I came was when Andy Lawrence put a peanut in my Apple VK bottle in the first year of uni, without me noticing. I didn't choke on the peanut - I've just got a nut allergy.