I went out for drinks in Paris as the attacks unfolded - here's what happened

Please allow me my sappy reflective moments because it has been a strange 24 hours

(Antoine Antoniol/Getty Images)

The evening of 13 November began like many before it, I met some friends in a bar and we drank some beers. It could very easily have been a bar in one of my favoured drinking spots around Oberkampf or Saint Martin, but on 13 November I had been record shopping (one of the records we bought was "Imagine" by John Lennon) and decided to stay in the 12th arrondissement.

Having felt a bit unwell, I was hesitant to make any evening plans at all and ummed and ahhed about it all day, before finally deciding to meet friends for quiet drinks at the last minute. Earlier that evening, as I walked with my boyfriend along the bustling Parisian streets - filled with people finishing work and gearing up for Friday night - we had witnessed some police arresting a guy who had tried to hold up a jewellery store and thought that was going to be the most dramatic thing that we would encounter that night.

Beneath its stunning façade, Paris can be a gritty old town sometimes but even after the events back in January we usually felt pretty safe.

Later, at about 9pm, I had met friends in a bar and one of them checked his phone and said that there were attacks in Paris. At first, I thought it was just another robbery or a false alarm - like the Primark robbery back in July - but when we all started checking the news and social media our worst nightmares were confirmed.

My friend's girlfriend was going to meet a friend in Saint Martin (the area where two of the attacks took place) so he contacted her to see if she was safe. She said that she went to the area and saw a man lying on the ground and lots of people were panicked and telling her to get out of there, so thankfully she did and came to meet us in the bar. The bar was emptying quickly, as scared people scattered onto the streets, not knowing what lay ahead of them as they tried to reach the safety of their homes. Nobody was sure what to do.

We were situated just south of where some of the attacks had taken place and the air was filled with the sound of sirens and shutters closing. I had planned to get my boyfriend's train home because he was working, as a train driver, that night but the Metro stations were blocked and I didn't want to walk to the train station alone, so I decided to stay at a friend's place. My boyfriend's work hadn't told him about the attacks, probably so not to put any stress on the drivers and as we chatted, we recalled how we had talked about going to see Eagles of Death Metal but couldn't because he had to work.

Neither of us have ever been so grateful for a Friday night shift before and hopefully wont be again. When something like this happens, even though you shouldn't, you can't help but to analyse the events before and around the time.

The bar I was in had a lock-in to keep people off the streets and we waited until late, with the news centre stage on the television showing pictures of the attacks. The horrific images felt a long way away but in reality were just outside, on the streets of our city. Everybody spoke to each other more than usual - it is not commonly the custom here in Paris to mingle too much with strangers - and on twitter the hashtag #PorteOuverte was trending as people offered a place to sleep to strangers. The Shakespeare Book Company had taken in at least 20 people and taxis had switched off their metres, taking people home for free. In the taxi, travelling along many of the pretty Parisian streets in the early hours, there was little indication that nearby streets were strewn with blood but the city felt like it was on lockdown and it was pretty eerie. It was certainly a surreal trip.

This morning I woke up on a friend's sofa and felt sick when I remembered the events that had occurred. Most of the Metro was suspended this morning so I walked down to Austerlitz station. Streets were closed off and even though people went about their business, queueing for meat and bread, the atmosphere was sombre.

My route took me through the 10th and 11th arrondissement where attacks had taken place and when I reached the western end of Rue de Belleville, I came across my first police blockade of the day - at this point, little did I know that I would encounter many more during my walk to get home.

My only option was to walk down Rue Bichet, where at the end on each corner are Le Carillon and Le Petit Cabodge, the bar and restaurant that gunmen had opened fire in last night. All seemed normal along the street, with cafes opening up and prepping for the day, until I reached the end where a crowd of mourners had gathered outside the establishments, laying flowers and candles in front of the bullet riddled windows and fronts.

People rushed to try to comfort a girl who had discreetly dropped to the floor to sob and the sadness that was shared felt unbearable. I continued across the picturesque canal, today a million miles away from its usual charming self; dotted with police and military personnel and cloaked in a deep sense of morose.

My lack of Paris navigation skills and many of the roads being closed led me to wander through a number of streets, until I reached an area full of news vans and reporters. I soon realised I was outside Le Bataclan, where so many were slaughtered during the EODM gig. I just wanted to get home and it was whilst standing, looking at the abandoned shoes of one of last nights victims, in the cold light of day, that the extent of the horror that had unfolded the night before really dawned on me. In that small bar in Paris, so close to the hellish scenes it was impossible to comprehend what was happening but as today continues, I continue to be thankful to have woken up safe and sound this morning.

It was heart warming to receive so many messages of concern from friends and family last night and intensifies the level of gratitude I feel for being safe and well and able to say the same thing about my friends. There are so many pictures of mostly young faces across social media today as people try to locate the people the love and every face I encounter with the twitter hashtage #resercheparis breaks my heart.

These are the faces of innocence, of people who wanted to enjoy their Friday nights but may now never do so again. It is senseless and in these times of increased hatred we must remember to cherish each other. Please allow me my sappy reflective moments because it has been a strange 24 hours. I hope that this cowardly act of hatred doesn't spur more hatred and intolerance because that is the last thing we need as we mourn, as a species.

Hashtags like #MeetParisians offering tourists comfort in the form of a drink, dinner or lodgings are great example of how we can find strength together during tragedy and why Paris is such a magical city.

Now I am safe at home and writing this through tears. My boyfriend is driving his train, on the only line that is open today and he waits to hear about a friend who was in Le Bataclan. Life goes on but the pain continues and the ache from it will never leave.