By Karen J Mossman
Back in in 2002 my dad was very poorly with septicaemia and was in the High Dependency Unit at Salford Royal Hospital near Manchester.
I was going to visit him one day and they had glass windowed lift which only went up one floor. As I was walking toward the entrance, I could see it coming down and it was full of men in suits.
I was anxious to get to see my dad – who did recover, by the way – and I remember thinking, Oh good, as soon as I get there, the men will have disembarked.
However, as I arrived, most of them had exited except two of them busy chatting. Now, not being a rude person by nature, this didn’t come naturally, and all I will say in my defence is that I was a little stressed at our family circumstances.
They hadn’t realised it had come to a stop. So standing at the door, hand on hip, I said: “Are you getting out, or what?”
One of the men jumped forward, as if startled, “Oh sorry,” he said in a very strong Scottish accent. I then realised, much to the other man’s amusement that it was none other than Sir Alex Ferguson, the then manager of Manchester United.