Tag Archives: Camden

Gasp and be gobsmacked, friends, for I have been a victim of crime.

Well, the crime didn’t actually happen, per se. Unless vandalism of personal property is a crime. But I think that’s just rude rather than illegal.

Allow me to paint you a picture: It’s Monday evening, 11 pm. I leave the Odeon cinema in Camden as the credits for Prince Caspian roll (preachy flick but nice special effects; more on that later). I stand at the bus stop waiting for the number 31 to take me home to Pretentious Hill – sorry, Primrose Hill. A dodgy-looking dude stands close to me… a little too close. Close enough to make me take a fairly substantial step away.

Then I realise… it’s cool. He’s standing there with (I presume) his girlfriend. Dudes with girlfriends are usually fairly innocuous, I think sensibly. She asks me the time.

“Eleven o’clock,” I say, looking at my watch and smiling. It’s a lie. The time is eleven-oh-three. I feel bad for not telling the truth… maybe she was on her way to something really important, something she couldn’t afford to be three minutes late for. I almost correct myself, but then I remember – I don’t like talking to people.

The bus comes. I get on it. It turns off Camden High Street and up Adelaide Road. It arrives outside my building. I get off, go up to my flat, chat to my housemate V, then go to my room to try on the purchases I made at the Gap earlier this evening. And that’s when I notice it…

My Gap bag has been slashed open.

Dun dun dunnnnnn.

At first I think perhaps I snagged it on something… but I haven’t come into contact with anything that could have made such a long, clean cut. I show V, and she confirms it – you’ve been the victim of a slash’n’dash.

But surely not, I say, still in feeble denial – nothing’s been taken. My new black top and brown cardi are still in the bag.

He probably slashed it and felt around in case you had a wallet or something in there, V tells me sagely. That’s why his girlfriend asked you the time – they do that to distract you while the other one tries to rob you.

Hmm, I say. Well, no harm done. I still have my wallet.

Then it hits me – what exactly is he trying to say by not taking the clothes I just bought? Was it a deliberate choice? Did he not like the feel of the fabrics? The colours? I know they were just wardrobe basics, but still. Did he pull it out, hold it up against himself and check his reflection in a shop window before putting it back? Did he look at the price tag and think, hmmm, summer sales – must be last season’s leftovers? Should I be worried when a would-be thief in a tracksuit and bandana won’t even steal my clothes from me? Maybe he didn’t think his girlfriend would like them.

Well, I’m glad I told that bitch the wrong time. She’ll never get those three minutes back, and I hope she really fucking needed them.