A life-changing incident is remembered years later when two old friends meet.
By Katherine Jones
The early evening air was misty, damp and cold as I made my way, wrapped in my new winter coat, through the central London pre-Christmas throng.
The question of why Kelly Harmon had agreed to meet up with me was turning over in my mind as I approached the pub we had established as our place of rendezvous and made my way down the stairs into the basement bar.
The incident involving Kelly in 1984 was burned into my memory. What I saw that day had excited but unsettled me in equal measure. It was the first time that I had understood I had an interest in corporal punishment and probably always would have.