The first time I almost choked to death was eight years ago. I’d just interviewed Gordon Brown and had a big barney with him. I got to see his famous temper in full fury when I asked him about Iraq while he wanted to talk about the Scottish referendum.
I was upset. It was pissing down, dark, and I ended up in a Glasgow curry house by myself. I phoned up Murdo, the photographer on the assignment, while I was eating and took him through the interview bit by disastrous bit. A piece of naan stuck in my throat. Murdo was on the end of the line, hearing me retching. Then choking.
