I left my body. I had to. The pain was too great. I saw them stand me up and try to make me fight back, but I was weakened. I collapsed every time and let them get on with it. I knew then that I would die and no rescue would come for me. I could not bear to watch. Instead, I drifted past them, back towards the way I had come.

As I neared the pavilion where only minutes ago a wedding had taken place, I saw it now lay in ruins as the rioters trampled over it looking for stray guests. A woman was screaming for help as three men dragged her into the park. Someone had started throwing chairs and tables into a big pile to set them alight. Images of Guy Fawkes Night flitted through my brain and I half expected to wake up near the fire and see fireworks.

But I didn’t.

I saw riot police marching into the fray, batons tamping against their full-body shields like modern-day knights ready for battle. They began clashing immediately with the rioters, trying to subdue them but really only adding to the violence.