Cycling home to Hackney from the Wet End
I stopped in Victoria Park to take my rain-proof off. As I pulled it over my head I felt a sharp jab in my side.

Mr Crackhead was holding a knife to my stomach, one of those lovely serrated types which I think they gut fish with.

As he rode off, he took the rucksack I'd put over the bars and threw it aside as it was slowing him down. I picked the bag up, caught up with him and swung. Hard.

You see, the bag had my d-lock inside and when it connected with the side of the numpty's head it seems I might have hurt him a bit. Well he was out cold at least and I'm not ashamed to say that in my rage/terror/frenzy I contemplated a quick Ro-Sham-Bo but managed to restrain myself.

Instead I called the police and rode off to a safe distance until they arrived. And you know what they said? "Well it is quite a good bike...." Like it was my feckin fault!

Arse-wipes.
( Geoff the Clownfish You know Myra, some people might think you're cute, Mon 19 Jun 2006, 9:28, Reply)