The floor of the cell was stone. They gave me a dirty blanket to throw under me and one to cover me. The weather was cool and I slept in my coat, jeans and jacket. I was not allowed to go to the bathroom. They would give me a pan and a bowl and tell me to wash myself in the toilet.

The true nightmare of Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe’s imprisonment – in her own words

I couldn’t sleep a wink for the first week. My heart palpitated so hard that when I put my head on the blanket it felt as if it would explode. I knew day from night by the light coming in from the sides of the fan blades on the window. I prayed when I heard the call to prayer and realised it was morning. Then morning would slither to noon, and noon to night. The silence hour was from 10pm. At nights I couldn’t sleep, and by the sound of sparrows I knew it was dawn.

They brought us food three times a day and I was given a bottle of water. If I asked for water any other time, they would say I had already taken my ration. The quality of the food was awful, and I only ate bread, cheese and jam.

The weather became warmer, and the heat was stifling during the day because there was no air-conditioner. The cell toilet smelled so horrible that guards covered their noses when they came to distribute food.

I became sick at times. I had trouble breathing in that muggy air. Being solitary in a cell was exceedingly difficult. But a few times they brought drug addicts to that small cell with its dirty open toilet, which was hard to bear.