Sitting in a grimy ante-room that reeks of stale French tobacco does nothing to help undo that knot that is slowly tightening in your stomach.

Appearing as a witness in British court trial would be nerve-wracking enough, but standing in front of a judge and twelve jurors who speak a language you don't heightens the tension even more.

In Britain, witnesses have to remain in the court

A crucial difference between French and British law is that witnesses have to appear individually before the judge on the opening day of the trial.

You give your name, age and occupation before being given a 'time slot' to return to court, instead of waiting for days for your turn on the stand.

In my case, the judge required my presence at 11.15 last Thursday - the last witness to give evidence in the Robert Lund murder trial.

And at 11.15 precisely, came the knock at the door.

Walking past the the row of armed police guarding the exit and entry doors, I entered the court room.

Aware that all eyes -and ears - are on you, the overwhelming desire is simply not to make a mistake, either in what you do or what you say.

All I wanted to do was tell the truth and emerge as a creditable witness who the jury would believe.

The judge asks if I wanted to respond in French or English. And as ordering a drink in French is about my limit, I opted for the latter.

An interpreter stands at your left shoulder, whispering quietly the questions from the judge.

Unfortunately, he does this at the same time the judge talks, instead of waiting for a suitable gap. So your brain is frantically trying to unscramble to conversations in different languages at the same time.

Under the intense scrutiny of the three judges and twelve jurors, who all face you, you have to swear to tell the truth, right hand raised, in French.

That done it's time for the first questions.

Why were we there? What was Mr Lund like? What was his demeanour?

Answering in a coherent, logical way that the jury will understand isn't easy as I have to stop at the end of every sentence for the interpreter to translate.

Unnervingly, some long answers elicit a short translation from the interpreter - and visa-versa - and a thought flashes through your mind that he hasn't understood what I've been saying.

Gradually, however, the story is how both Clare Cook and I met up with Mr Lund and the story of our amazing drive to the lake with him unfolds in a precise way that everyone can understand.

The way he drove to the remote spot without any hesitation, what he said at the lake side and his spontaneous reconstruction of the alleged three-point turn - I've managed to recount our experiences without making a mistake. And that's all I wanted to achieve.

It's been almost four years since Robert Lund drove us to the Lac de Bancalie, and the events of Saturday December 6 2003 - and our appearance at the Palais de Justice in Albi last week - will stay with us forever.