I never cried after my near-death crash - then I found a box
Then everything went hazy and I passed out again.
When I finally woke up, I was told I was at Central Middlesex Hospital and I'd missed one of the biggest moments in recent history – because I almost died.
Nine days earlier, on September 2, 2001, I'd put on the first ever gig by British rock band The Darkness at the club night I used to run in Kings Cross. I'd organised it as I knew their guitarist Dan Hawkins – I was simply putting my mate's new band on as a favour.
I was driving home to Staines in my 1968 Morris Minor when, at 4:44am, my mate James and I were hit head-on at 99mph by teen joyriders being chased by police.
I was in a coma for two weeks.
Luckily for us, not only were the police already there, there was a fire station nearby and we were cut out of the car in four minutes. I was told by doctors that if they hadn't been so quick, we would have died.
We were literally bleeding to death in a car that resembled a crushed bean can.
We were rushed to hospital and both put on life support. We had broken almost every bone and both had serious head injuries.
Initially, they thought they might have to amputate my right arm and right leg, but luckily I got to keep both.
It's a miracle we survived. In fact, my wife Helen was told to prepare for the worst – but James and I pulled through.
We were both in hospital for six months and I had more than 80 hours of operations. The first to save my leg took eight hours.
Even The Darkness came in and visited me in hospital but I can't remember it – I wish I could, but I've got huge amounts of amnesia both before and after the crash. I do have a vivid memory of screaming in pain during my first physio though.
I don't get any flashbacks. My brain saved me from PTSD by immediately erasing the crash, my rescue, and being in the ICU.
My wife and brother went through it, not me. They still have nightmares to this day.
I was out of action for a year and was lucky not just to have support from family and friends, but The Musicians' Union too. I was signed to Sony as a solo artist at the time, having created and written the songs for Sophie Ellis-Bextor's band theaudience in 1996.
As I was incapable of playing any instruments, I couldn't earn a living and the Musician's Union gave me essential financial support, since it took years for compensation from the accident to come through.
But my career took a new turn.
Once my injuries had healed enough, a friend of mine, BBC Radio London's Gary Crowley, invited me to go onto his show to talk about the latest music releases. I'd done stuff like that before as a guest on shows and I really enjoyed it.
Gary said I was a natural and encouraged me to do a post-grad degree in Broadcast Journalism, which I did in 2004 at the University of Westminster. After that, I got a job producing music programmes at the station. I'm now the station's travel presenter and Brentford FC commentator and I love my job.
But I remain a musician at heart.
So it was serendipitous that during a clear-out in the Covid lockdowns, my family found The Box – a gruesome keepsake of the night of the crash, containing photos, police statements, and court reports – and asked if I'd like to see it.
It was the first time I cried over the whole event.
I've still not seen the photos of my beautiful car, crumpled to nothing, and I don't want to – everything else inside the box was bad enough. But among the paperwork, there were two blood-splattered mini-discs that had been in the car.
One wouldn't play, but the other was full of demo songs with me singing. I had no idea where I'd recorded or what they were about, bar vaguely being about love and capitalism.
Then last year, my old friend Nigel Butler, who's now a top record producer, agreed to work on them. I was chuffed since he's worked with everyone, from One Direction to Aerosmith.
He isolated my vocals and turned it into a solo album called 'When Lord God Almighty Reads The News', which is out on green vinyl on June 6, the day before my 60th birthday.
I'm in esteemed company. Scottish indie label Last Night From Glasgow, who just released an LP by Peter Capaldi, are putting it out.
So far, the singles have had lots of play on BBC 6 Music but it's strange to hear yourself, from the past, singing songs you don't remember writing. People are often filling in the gaps for me before and after the crash, as I don't remember much of 2001 at all. More Trending
After all, memory is a shared experience and songwriting is a precious part of that – these songs are almost a time capsule from that year.
But I'm so proud of this record.
It's proof good things can come out of the worst situations and that you've got to cherish life.
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These songs and I both survived that crash – I know I'm lucky to be alive. So I absolutely cherish every moment.
Do you have a story you'd like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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