IT was a Friday evening, around 9.40, there was a bit of a lull. I was on my own in the shop. Two guys came into the station, both wearing balaclavas. One came running up behind the counter. There was no door or screen around the counter. The other knelt at the shop door guarding it, on one knee, as if he was a commando.

First I thought they were fellows I knew, messing, but then the guy who came up around the counter started screaming and shouting. It was very, very scary. There's a large area between the till and back to the cigarettes so there's quite a bit of room to manoeuvre, and he pulled and pushed me and I was screaming and he kept on saying "I'll stick it in you, I'll stick it in you".

I saw his bloodshot eyes first he had awful bloodshot eyes and then I saw the syringe. There was a needle on it, I can see it now. It was white or see through, with a needle on it.

But he wasn't holding it like a doctor would be holding it, he was holding it like you'd hold a screwdriver and I could just see the top of it and the needle.

He pulled and pushed and he got the money and they ran out. The boss's wife took me home and the kids were saying: "Who got injured?" And I said: "Nobody got injured." But then one of the girls said: "But there's blood on your blouse." There were two little dots of blood, up high on the right arm of my blouse, and then I became hysterical and my husband said: "Right, down to the hospital."

We went down there, and my husband said: "What are you going to do,?" And they said: "Hold on, you re tenth in the queue." There were some other people there and there was blood over them and they'd been in a car crash, but they were OK.

My husband just began to make a scene and he said: "Surely this is a priority", and I was thinking of the blood rushing around my body, and that all the blood goes round your veins in four seconds or something.

So then the doctors had a look and they said: "Oh, we come across this a fair bit." And they looked and there was a little pin-prick in my skin, and the two dots of blood on the blouse, not even the size of your nail, and there was a bit on the back of the blouse where the needle had pulled against it and left a tiny line of blood.

They gave me a hepatitis B injection. What happens is your body fights it and then you know how you are three months later. There was the time before that I had a shotgun put up to my neck and there was another guy who came in with a carving knife, some kind of a knife bigger than a bread-knife anyway. And there was another time, a guy with a knife. But the worst was the syringe. You know with a knife or a gun you might get hurt, but you might be OK again, but if the needle is infected that's it.

I told them in the blood bank about it: I used to always give blood, and when I told them they put a code beside my name. But they still called me in and paid for the taxi, then when I got there I told them again about the needlestick injury - that's what they call it - and they checked and saw the code and said "Oh, you can't give blood". I don't think they'd have known about it if I hadn't told them about it in the first place.

I hated that at the blood bank, when there were people standing around me saying "you can't give blood" and looking at me like I was a leper, and everyone watching.

You can't give blood if you had the needlestick within the last year - I wonder, is a year long enough?

I had to work two nights after the robbery and I was standing in the shop, holding the panic button the whole time, and I was having flashbacks. But I didn't know what they were then, I would just see the balaclavas and the bloodshot eyes. I'd suddenly think they were there again, and then I'd close my eyes and open them and realise they weren't there.

I had nightmares as well. I used to have this nightmare where a guy came at me in a balaclava, and it turned out to be one of the doctors in the hospital.

I went to a psychiatrist and he explained about the flashbacks. I hadn't told people much about the robbery, then I was told: "You have to tell people, and keep telling them and get it out of your system."

I`LL tell you what sort of state I was in. Victim Support rang me and they were very nice, but I was so paranoid my mind was wrecked; I just thought "Oh, they just want to know the gory details", so I didn't talk to them, but now I realise they could have helped me.

They caught the guy when he came back that night and bought cigarettes and the guards recognised him from his jacket. I saw him later in court and it was him all right, because I saw his eyes They often come back to see what damage they've done. I think he got five years.

I get angry when I hear people talking about prisoners' rights, I just want them to be in a cold cell thinking about what they've done, and if they're on drugs they can just sweat it out. Because I don't think they realise what they did to me or my husband or the kids. It caused them terrible suffering. One of them was 16 and one was 13 and one 12 and they knew exactly what was going on. Sure it was one of them that saw the blood first.

Three months after it happened, my doctor got the results of the AIDS test. We didn't have the results for Christmas so we didn't really celebrate Christmas, but when we got the results the doctor said I was OK.

I went for another job and I mentioned the needlestick at the interview and the woman looked up and said: "Do you think you'd be able to handle any hassle?" I realised I wasn't going to get the job.

I'm back working in petrol stations, I'm a manager now. The counter staff in stations get usually between £3.50 and £4.50 an hour - something like that. With some companies there's no protection - where I work now there's a screen and there's a machine to take the money down into a safe. And there's a security man.

The fellows who are going to rob you usually come in at between three o'clock and eleven o'clock, when places are still open and not serving through the hatch. And they'll usually come in when there's a girl or two girls working, and no guys working. They time it for when the guards are changing their shifts at two o'clock and ten o'clock at night, when they know the response time won't be so fast. And sometimes they know where in the area the guards' car is.

I was really jumpy afterwards. There was a time in the shopping centre I thought some one was coming at me and I got down on the ground and put my hands over my head, and it was only a child running. And another time in town a guy asked me for directions and I nearly went at him because I thought he had a syringe.

You lose all your confidence and you lose your faith in people. I wouldn't stop now to help someone on the side of the road, and every time someone comes into the shop I think they're going to rob it.

Now I can't look at a picture of a balaclava in a newspaper and I can't look at Crimeline on the television because it comes back and I can hear him screaming and shouting and I can see his eyes.

I want other people to know what it's like. I saw something about syringes in the paper and it all came back. It's always in my mind, but I think I'm over it now.