You don’t need to be a doctor to know he was in serious trouble. I knew it was life threatening.

I was there by chance.  It was a corporate event. My other half had been doing some freelance work for the sponsors and I was the ‘plus one’. I don’t get to go to these sorts of things; there was a horde of paparazzi and a red carpet to welcome the type of celebrity you only read about in magazines in the dentist waiting room. You know the type; the ones who make a career out of reality TV, disgracing the pages of the weekly gossip mags.

The party took place in a London nightclub; and although there were only 1,000 people there, the atmosphere was electric. Two hours of a singing along to live music with the headline act and her supporters. The show was electric; and after it was finished, the lights went up, and excitement lingered on everyone’s faces as we headed for the cloakroom.

Then it happened.

Everything slowed down; I looked for what could have only been three or four seconds at two men who facing each other over at the bar. The guy who was injured was about my age and was obviously in serious shock, he was doing nothing to stem the spurting from his neck.

My instinct was to go and help him, but in that split second the other man turned. He’d been almost statuesque, more or less toe-to-toe with the injured guy but now all that had changed. I saw his face as he turned and he looked angry.

He hurried towards where I was standing. The exchange I’d just seen was beginning to sink in. I couldn’t let him get away with this, it just wasn’t right. He was smaller than me; I had an advantage in both height and weight. I could see he still had a broken bottle in his right hand and another unbroken beer bottle in his left. He fixed his stare down but ahead as he marched away. There was no doubt in my head he was intent on escaping.

He barely registered me stepping into his personal space; I grabbed his left wrist and then in a fluid movement, took him off balance and on to the ground. I’d used my right hand on the back of his arm to lock it out straight. He did not budge as I growled, ‘don’t fucking move’. I imagine he was feeling stunned as he’d hit the floor pretty hard.

By grabbing his left, I forced him to make a choice. If he was holding the weapon in his right hand, he would have to let go or risk gouging his hand as he attempted to stop his face hitting the concrete floor; it worked perfectly.

The door staff came rushing over; bouncers break up fights all the time. I don’t suppose they’d even registered the fact that nobody had even thrown a punch at that point. But it was fine; he wasn’t going anywhere. One bouncer grabbed me from behind; his bear-like grapple meant I couldn’t maintain my hold on the guy. As my hold began to break the guy started to struggle.

“He’s just bottled him”, I repeated the words over and over until they released me and focused their energy on the offender who was flailing around in his attempts to get free.

As I stood, I caught sight of the injured man again. He was with another man who was trying to help.

The characteristic spray from earlier had now reduced to a gush and although it was still heavy, it was barely even a spurt. It was clear to me that if we didn’t act quickly, this man was going to die.

I went over to the small crowd now gathered around him at the bar. He was now propped up and they were trying to hold blue paper towels to his neck. People around him were panicking. No-one seemed to grasp that their efforts were futile.

The paper towels they were holding were only soaking up the blood, we needed to stop it coming out and I knew what to do. As I reached the two men, I shouted at the stunned bar staff, “We need plastic, we have to stop it coming out. Cling film, a bin bag, anything.”

It was hard to make out the wound but I felt to establish that nothing was sticking out of his neck.

The guy listened as I told him what needed to happen, “Direct pressure, you need to push hard to stop this coming out’. Shortly afterward someone handed me a piece of plastic long enough for us to put it around his neck and create a seal; a second skin.

A bystander was on the phone to Ambulance control. They were asking questions about his condition and relaying instructions. It wasn’t long before we had the external bleeding under control. His breathing was laboured, but regular. That was reassuring.

It wasn’t long before two uniformed policemen turned up, and put up a cordon around the bar area. It seemed like a lifetime before the ambulance crew arrived, although at a guess it was somewhere in the region of 20 minutes. The police had responded in about half that time.

The ambulance crew took over, so I stood back, as did the other guy who’d tried to save him. We both left the cordon to wash off the blood in the toilets, both in shock at what had just happened.

When we got back to the cordon shortly afterwards, they were still working on the injured man. He was on a trolley and they were about to take him to the ambulance.

My night finished at around 6am when I left the police station in a cab, we’d been there all night giving statements.

My choices came back to haunt me four days later. The news headlines reported his death on the afternoon of Easter Sunday. Suddenly, I was flooded with guilt about the choice I had made that night; stop the guy who did it or help the victim. Then it dawned on me, I’d witnessed a murder. I felt sick; and I broke down in tears for the first time.

Before we heard the news of his death, I’d been encouraged by every hour that passed, not just that he’d survive, but that I’d get chance to go and meet the guy, see him sat up in his hospital bed and well on the road to recovery.

Now that dream had been crushed, instead replaced by the stark realisation that taking down his attacker meant I didn’t get to him for at least five minutes. And because no one else knew what to do, that was five minutes that he didn’t have.

The man’s name was Philip Sheriff. He was 37 years old when he died, leaving behind a wife, Jane, and two small children. In the blink of an eye, their lives and mine had been irrevocably changed. In the coming months I was to learn just how much.

__

An update:

Some have questioned my motives for posting this blog.

Please view this in the same way you would read a news report from that night or from the subsequent the court case. Had I been a bystander that night I would have been moved to blog about it; it was an event which has had a profound impact on my life. It’s purely an account of the events from my perspective, I seek no recognition.

Claire Squires died a mile from the finishing line at the London marathon in 2012; she’d aimed to raise five hundred pounds for charity. In death, she raised more than a million pounds for The Samaritans when the public responded.

Phillip Sheriff, a father of two was murdered with a bottle in an unprovoked attack. His wife Jane started the Bottlestop campaign. In a letter to her husbands killer she said, “You, Mr Charles, have ruined my life. You have ruined many lives. However, I will not let you win. By donating his organs, Phil changed at least three people’s lives.”

Last night, I posted my account of what happened six months ago; the night a man was murdered in front of me. Today I ask – Why does it take a tragedy for us to show our humanity?

Jane Sheriff made people care; she brought us into her family and showed us a glimpse of who Phillip Sheriff was in life. For the rest of us, this brought a new dimension beyond the photo in the newspapers.

She made us think about what would happen, if the person we loved were taken from us. But not just taken, taken in a split second by the hand of another human being and in the most horrific circumstances.

Her campaign updates were always personal, the human cost was right there in front of you.  Her life and those of her children shattered. Her asks were simple, “Like it, sign it, share it”.

Why did it take Claire Squires death for us to donate a million to her charity? The rest of us are served up a slice of our own mortality when you read that Claire was only 30 when she died. And yet, her story was just as ordinary and just as extraordinary, as everyone else’s. She was running in memory of her brother and for her charity of choice.

Why did it take terrorist attacks on London for courtesy and compassion to surface? I heard first hand accounts of London that day; of drivers stopping and offering others a lift because it wasn’t safe on tubes and buses.

In every case, we can apply these tragic sets of circumstances to our own lives. Shocked out of our bubbles of self, we become part of something bigger than us; a community.

____

To join the Bottlestop movement to ban glass bottles in pubs, visit the campaign page on Facebook.

To donate to Claire’s Justgiving page, click here

To read more about the timeline of the 7/7 bombings, click here

It started at a nightclub in April 2012; a corporate event featuring a red carpet, reality TV celebrities and headlined Jessie J. Before it ended a 37-year-old man died and the lives of his young wife and children were changed forever.

The wife is called Jane Sheriff, @janeysherf if you want to follow her. I have never met Jane but I have so much respect and admiration for her.

Although she’s been devastated by the tragic loss of her husband, she’s come out fighting. Despite dealing with her own grief and is a loving mother to her two children aged 8 & 5 she has decided to campaign for change.

#Bottlestop

Bottlestop is a campaign to stop glass bottles and glasses in pubs and clubs; the Facebook campaign page Jane set up already has 24,000 likes in its first week.

PLEASE

LIKE – the Facebook page showing your support for the campaign

SIGN – the petition, your small part to stop this happening again

SHARE  – spread the word on Twitter and Facebook

[Image courtesy of Jane Sheriff]

I can’t tell you how much it would mean to me. Thank you for reading.

I’m a gay man who has a loving and supportive family; I have an amazing relationship with my fella and am generally very happy with my lot. I was in my early 20s when I came out; being a late starter helped me handle the emotional turmoil and have the maturity to handle everyone else’s reactions.

The video I was watching on YouTube was part of a worldwide anti-bullying campaign; “It Gets Better”. The message is aimed at teenagers who are suicidal but as moving as the subject is, that’s not the reason why I was fighting the tears.

My workplace has little in the way of diversity. The majority of my colleagues are middle aged, white, and predominately male. It doesn’t reflect the local community; half of the 1.2 million pupils that attend schools in London are from minority ethnic groups. Despite the change in attitudes since I came out, young people still struggle to come to terms with their sexual identity – mainly because society expects individuals to conform.

While women in my company are represented on the board, it’s lacking in ethnic diversity, disabled or LGBT representation. There’s also little cultural diversity, with few non-British employees.

Everyone wears a corporate uniform; the expectation is that you wear a suit, shirt and tie. The building, the offices, the dress code, even the people are grey sometimes. It feels like there’s little room for an individual — even one as comfortable in his own skin as me.

And yet here I was watching an It Gets Better video, a grass roots effort by people like me at my company.

“It Gets Better” is home turf for celebrities, politicians (notably Obama) and progressive corporations – companies like Facebook, Pixar, Lucas Film, Google but not SAP – until now.

Yet there on the screen in front of me was our Co-CEO supporting a LGBT message. My company wasn’t paying lip service to a fad, or jumping on a bandwagon. It was delivering a message of hope, a response to the suicide of another gay teenager – this time, one of my co-workers in the USA.

To a well-rounded gay man in his thirties who, throughout his career with SAP, has on occasion felt pretty isolated, this revelation was magical. My tears were happy tears.

When the teenagers the video was intended to reach, start looking for their first job, I want my company to be their preferred choice. I am going to try to effect change in my company. I intend to speak with our HR Director about taking part in the Stonewall Workplace Equality Index. I might even manage to bring a bit of colour to these grey walls.

Wish me luck.

I don’t want to prejudice any legal proceedings; my story will become public record if this is brought to court. Therefore, I’ve restricted some of the details to my statement. However, I have felt compelled to blog about my experience to a) redress an unfair balance of the reporting in today’s press and b) to share my experience and possibly give someone else a fighting chance.

First off, I want to say I am not in any way affiliated to the evening’s host – Blackberry, the organisers or the venue, but I’ll talk more about that later

What to do when someone’s bleeding out

Everyone knows if you slash an artery, you’re a goner. It kills in minutes if you don’t act quickly; it’s characterised by spurting or pulsing blood from the wound. There’s no training needed, the sheer volume of the red stuff should tell the average Joe that it’s critical; just a cool head and these 6 points could save a life:

1. Make sure someone’s called an ambulance– don’t assume someone has done it, even if there’s a big crowd. Better ten calls than none.

2. A.B.C. – check (A)irway, (B)reathing and we’ll come onto (C)irculation. (visit www. sja.org.uk after the next 4 points to refresh your knowledge)

3. Seal the wound – Your first instinct is to mop up a spill, however, a towel will only soak up blood once it’s out of the body; you need to stop it coming out.

Ask for cling film, plastic bags, anything – to create a second skin. It has to be applied directly on top of the wound (no towels, tissues).

You may be there for a while the ambulance arrives, if you’re using a plastic bag, wind the excess so it’s as tight on the wound as you can make it – without restricting their airflow or circulation.

You might not be able to find something, don’t panic. So…

4. Direct pressure – with or without the plastic – the heart works hard to get blood around the body in one beat – you have to press hard to prevent it coming out. If there are others around, make sure you have willing backup in case your hands/arms tire and the ambulance hasn’t arrived

5. Sit them up – position the wound above the injury, this reduces the pressure and slows the bleeding.

6. Protect yourself – plastic gloves would be ideal, but you’re rarely in an ideal situation. As soon as you can, wash any blood off thoroughly using soap. It’s also a good idea to get to a doctor or GUM clinic to assess your risk of having picked up a blood-borne infection such as Hepatitis or HIV.

The difference between journalists and hacks

The old adage of “don’t believe what you read in the papers” has never been truer.

I refused to give quotes to the press last night. However, I have read various press stories throughout the day, one purporting to have quotes from my other half and making inaccurate references to me.

In the rush to get out a ‘juicy’ story, they’ve cut corners, failed to verify facts and instead have opted to take swipes at Blackberry, the venue and other easy targets. In their haste to catch the reader’s eye by peppering the articles with the names of the plastic fantastic “celebrities” in attendance, they’ve lost sight of the fact that a human being was dying in front of them.

Without making this a personal attack, one journalist even complained that he wasn’t receiving credit for a photo of the grisly scene I’d become a part of.

Why BlackBerry and Pulse have no blood on their hands

For the record, the venue went to great lengths to ID everyone who entered. At nearly 40, I was asked for ID twice by separate doorman; believe me it’s been a while since that happened.

In my opinion, Blackberry and the organisers were not responsible for this sad and violent turn of events; the man I helped didn’t end up in hospital because there was a large queue for coats.

Blackberry might not have got the headlines they’d have liked, nevertheless, before this happened, it was a spectacular show. Jessie J and Wretch32 had the crowd eating out of their hands. We were leaving on a complete high.

I’ve spent the day pretty shaken by what’s happened. However, last night I saw the best and worst of human nature.

You’ve already begun to loose perspective as your disapproving thoughts rapidly turn into dark feelings. You might be projecting these outwards, displaying signs of anger – or inwards, with a monologue of self-criticism, pity or any other damaging emotion.

This may be a temporary thing – you’ve had a bad day at work. You think to yourself that you’ll shake it off. But it’s become more frequent, and like the insomnia – it’s a more permanent state. You begin to feel yourself withdraw and what’s more, you don’t want to talk about it – it’s far easier to slap a fake smile on your chops than face the ugly truth.

If you’re lucky enough to know what’s causing you this pain, then you’re already one step ahead. What happens when you know something is wrong, but you don’t know what? Your head is fogged and clarity has escaped you – but you have no idea where to start.

You might have burst into tears or exploded in angry, even been violent – all completely out of character and as much of a surprise to you as it was to those around you. Control slowly crept away, and you weren’t looking.

You may have even thought about topping yourself – or wanting to sleep for the next 6 months, whilst it all blows over.

1 in 5 people in the UK suffer from depression. You are not alone.

In 1996, my GP diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress, which led to a year-long battle with depression.

He had to retrieve me from the surgery car park. I’d felt like I was being strangled and I fled outside. I couldn’t cope with the number of people in the waiting room, the noise, the humidity; it was unbearable. He explained, once he’d sat me down, I’d experienced my first panic attack. The moment the doctor told me what was happening, felt like a train had hit me.

I’d gone from a happy go lucky 23-yr old professional guy with life ahead of him, to a confused, frightened, angry, miserable wanker who failed to recognise what I had in the people around me. I took everyone for granted and pushed every relationship to its limits. I was furious this had happened to me.

As the months ticked by, I’d slipped deeper and deeper into a completely insane thought pattern. I remember being so confused one day, I sat on the floor in the kitchen and sobbed. The trigger was a realisation; I couldn’t remember what to do, to make a cup of tea.

Looking back I was a shell, limping Groundhog Day style, morning to bedtime in an emotional void.

Joy was completely out of reach for a while. The can pills do that to you. They balance your brain chemistry. The ‘even keel’ meant fewer lows, while feeling happy was possible – joy, in my experience wasn’t. I felt divorced – I found it hard to feel anything.

I learnt a great deal about life, most importantly – I learnt I needed to cut myself some slack.

Let’s face it, everyone has bad days and it’s okay to feel low. But if it’s gone on too long, or maybe you’ve woken up sobbing and can’t put your finger on why, it might be time you faced facts.

There are loads of resources to help you – none more effective & none more constant than your family and friends. If you need a place to start, here’s a link: http://www.depressionalliance.org/

• Be clear about your motivation – why do you want to make this change?

• Capture it in writing – keep a diary or a rewards chart

• Enlist a friend or colleague with re-prioritising your life

• Consider how it may impact other areas of your life

• Create checkpoints, daily if need be – and get them into your calendar.

• Create a plan B – the goal is the same, the getting there changes.

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You'll understand the photo if you watch Celebrity Juice

I thought that I’d give you a preview of some of my 2011 highlights – both the people and the events, that have shaped my year.

If you’ve read my blog before, you’ll know that I started the year and finished it, in different relationships.

The pictures chronicle a journey – during which I have learned a lot about myself – and my friends. Along the way, I have met some wonderful people – some of whom I have mentioned – others (who are equally special) who have made that journey all the more bearable.

Kick off here with my 2011 in pictures.