45 minutes after I posted the last and “final” blog, I was mugged. Consequently I have no choice but to write another entry. After all, a mugging is a story to be told. Hell, if I can write about the most mundane of topics like my father’s Christmas card, or my friend’s friend being late for lunch then I must write this.
Unfortunately I’ve ruined it now by telling the end as my style is usually to go back in time and make the past the present to create at least a bit of suspense, but here I go anyway …
I switch my laptop off and close it. It’s 1pm and time to get on with my day. Baking a cake is on my list of activities, but I need eggs. I could also do with some other basics, inclusive of toilet paper. With only £10 in my pocket I trot to the local shop liberated by the absence of my usual possessions; my iPhone, my iPod and my purse. Just me, my keys, £10 and a bag to carry home my shopping.
Balvinder the local shopkeeper and I exchange our usual pleasantries. With the purchased items in my bag I commence the short journey home: I’ve a cake that needs baking.
The bag is in my right hand and my left hand is in my coat pocket, holding my keys. I hear someone walking behind me and glance back to see a tall young man. He’s walking faster than me so I move closer to the brick bridge on my left to let him pass.
I certainly didn’t anticipate him using his body weight to shove me against the bridge and slam my head into the bricks. No sirree, I did not.
He takes the bag from my right hand and steps back.
Him (murmuring something in unclear English that sounded like …) : Got any money?
Me: No, nothing. Just my keys.
I pull my keys out of my pocket and show him.
It’s a strangely calm and understated moment as I realise he’s more tense than me. I guess I know what he’s going to do/has done (mug me) whereas he doesn’t know what I might do. Fear of the unknown is always powerful.
He steps forward and quickly pats my coat pockets. I stand still, looking at him. He turns and walks away – the same direction he’d come from. And that was it. Entirely undramatic.
Mum once said that no one would ever attack me “Look at her. Would you take her on?!” It turns out that a 6’2” Eastern European lad would.
I’m strangely happy. Of all the times to be mugged it’s the one time I leave my flat with absolutely no items of value. I don’t have to waste my time cancelling credit cards or calling a locksmith. I’m very lucky – he’ll be a disappointed mugger when he discovers his grand haul consists of eggs, toilet paper and a bottle of squash.
I continue home, grab my stuff and walk to the police station to report the crime. They suggest I go to the hospital to check out the lump on my head, but that seems like overkill. Instead of wasting the rest of my day in A&E, I jump on a bus to Shepherd’s Bush to see a movie. After watching (the coincidentally fitting) “Seven Psychopaths” I get the tube home, eat my dinner, watch TV and go to bed. I’m convinced I find the intricacies of mundane life more interesting than allegedly “genuine drama”.
It’s the second time I’ve been mugged in London, though admittedly the first time with a degree of violence. But I’m fine, totally fine. I wouldn’t write this post if I was traumatised. I’ve decided simply to view this incident as the cosmos telling me to keep writing. Though one friend commented that maybe I should view it as a message to stop making cakes.
Most of my friends are shocked that someone selected me to mug. One remarked that he sees me as more of a mugger than a muggee. I’m starting to think that I may have to do some defriending in 2013 …