Memories of going to Manchester with Rich and Tom in October the year Connor died. Visiting Rosie doing her maths degree. Who looked after Chunky Stan and Bess? Coming across a Goldfrapp installation at the Lowry Gallery. A song named Ulla. A mate who joyfully snaps at my heels while offering so much love. And a beautiful goddaughter.

A performance of Fiddler on the Roof was also on that day. Paul Michael Glaser, my first love (with Doyle from The Professionals who I thought was Blake in Blake’s 7). We were under the same roof as Starsky.

Tom spent a night with Rosie at her student home. We were in a budget hotel that made the most of every space including multi coloured fairy lights around the toilet area. Failing on cellophane wrapped shite for breakfast. A big name was playing at the Manchester Arena that night. Billy Joel. Another childhood figure. So many excited punters, a year or so before Ariana.

Four years later. Yep, four years… The Oxford Road GMC hearing into whether Connor’s irresponsible consultant was fit to practise. [Obviously not.] Rosie turned up at the drop of a strangled phone call the night before to sit with Rich and Charlotte Haworth Hird who represented us at Connor’s inquest in the public section. She came out of friendship.

I shared details of the Kimpton Hotel yesterday with attendees of a workshop we’re holding today and tomorrow to pore over the findings of a research project exploring the experiences of making a referral to a fitness to practise hearing. The Witness to Harm project. The GMC put us up at the Kimpton the night before I gave evidence. Only to be taken apart by a barrister who had lost any sense of human and a panel that looked the other way. A posh hotel for a subsequent breakdown.

Ten years on and the slow wheels keep turning.