My escape from Kiev

I spent my last night in Kiev in the ‘Presidential Suite’ of a city hotel – what used to be known as the underground car park. The general manager, a man whose name I never knew but who I hugged tightly before leaving, had promised to make it a shelter for guests who hadn’t checked out by the time it was clear that war was looming. We stayed there with his staff, their young children and elderly parents, their dogs and cats too. It is still the home of the BBC staff who remain in Kiev: the reporters and presenters you know as well as those whose roles are just as important but whose names you seldom hear.

Lying in my makeshift bed – soft rubber insulation pipes which I’d found in a corner next to my collection of whisky miniatures grabbed from the minibar – I dwelt on how much had changed. And how quickly. Just four nights earlier, I’d shared a beer with a group of young comics at an open-mic night. One had told me that the reason she hated Vladimir Putin was that he’d ruined her plans for a weekend of hot sex with a guy who was flying in from London. That, I fear, may be the least of her concerns now.

When I arrived in Kiev to present the Today programme, I honestly didn’t think that war would come to the city. Russia may make a further incursion in the east, perhaps, or annex more land to create a corridor from Crimea. But I never imagined a full-scale invasion and aerial bombardment. When it became clear that this was what was happening, I knew I had to try to leave. And that I’d already left it too late for it to be an easy journey.