It's wall-to-wall TV coverage this tenth anniversary of 9/11.
I remember it well. I was sitting in the living room. Mum-in-law was visiting. My son was 17 months old.
The phone rang. It was my husband. "I think you should turn on the TV," he said.
He rang off. I turned on the TV and stared in horror, and disbelief, as they showed the clips of the first twin tower on fire, and then the second airplane hitting the second (south) tower.
Nobody knew exactly what was happening. There were just speculations and conjectures. Mum-in-law mentioned "World War Three" and my heart sank.
About an hour later, husband rang again.
"I'm coming home. We are being evacuated." As usual he did not give details.
After that it was a few hours of agony as we waited for my husband to arrive home.
As more news of senseless destruction came in, we in London became very conscious that we could be under similar attacks. I tried calling my husband to check his progress, but of course he could not be contacted.
You cannot imagine the sense of relief mum-in-law and I felt when he finally walked in the door.
We then learned that he and his colleagues were evacuated when there was a rumour that a plane had gone "missing" from Heathrow.
Thoughts of being widowed with a young child from a terrorist attack disappeared, at least temporarily, until 7/7 when its effect on me was even more traumatic.