Tuesday, 24 June 2008

Dirt McDirt

Being mugged at knifepoint isn't as stressful as first feared.

Exasperated at news coverage containing various identical incidents of knife crime around (semi-near) the places I like to wander in the hours of the feral/mad/drunk/crack-head/insomniac/dogwalker, and being the stoic lefty of a passive household; I believed Michael Moore, the Guardian, Obama, Starsky and David Milliband when they said 'crime doesn't exist.' Knowing that I have, on occaision, been attacked in various indie cred-shops with language or bottles still made no weight with me as I have always put it down to my dislikeable face.

This all changed when I encountered fear in the shape of a kitchen knife weilding skin head engineering my robbery with the elite grasp of the English language -

CH: 'Gis is Yer Stuff....'

Me: 'Ok...'

It was the easiest pickpocketing he'll ever do, but when he had my bag and wallet he was sure to have left the most disappointed. Around 5am on a Sunday morning I thought I heard his very sigh.

As I didn't initially report the crime I'll never add to that 20 odd percent who claim to be a victim of knife crime. I'm sure it can be traumatic and I'm sure that losing that laptop covered in your house insurance is agitating but.... druggies need to pay for their shit too. I mean who would supply London with its cold stream of white talc if these people weren't funding it by robbing weedy fucks like me....

I was dressed like this