Ten years ago, when I first became ill with lung disease, I lay on a hospital bed irrigated and oxidised by tubes, fussy nurses drawing blood and being fed miserable things.
A doctor sat, tears in his eyes, at the foot of the bed and informed me that I would never play the trombone again.
I am not one to take this kind of thing lying down and within weeks I started the process of proving him wrong and now, ten years later I am able to share this photograph with you:
I am about to go on stage to perform John Cage's 4'33.
How wrong was that doctor.