Tag Archives: crime

Danger! Danger! High voltage

danger! danger! high voltage

WTF? (That was a rhetorical question.)

Apparently it’s not just London that’s gone loopy. Things are c-c-c-crazy in Kent as well.

This is the third or fourth time that I’ve heard of someone being knocked from a platform onto train tracks (deliberately, accidentally or otherwise) in the last month.

Standing on the underground platform listening to music or writing a text message I used to idly wonder what would happen if I were to drop my phone, iPod or other precious and essential item onto the tracks. The silly thought in my quaint little brain was that if there was no train due for two minutes or so, I could probably just jump down and grab it.

That was until I learned the track is ELECTRIFIED! Oh yes. Like greased lightning. Oh no, that’s electrifying.

Like there weren’t enough things in London to induce mild panic attacks on a daily basis (I’ll make a list some time). Now I have to worry about people pushing me onto electrified train tracks.

When did we decide steam engines were a bad idea? I would be okay with going back to those.

Dear London, please stop stabbing each other

Dear London,

I can’t help but notice how many of us have been stabbing each other lately.

Perhaps, as a friend suggested, it is not so much that there is an increase in knife crime, but that the media is increasingly inclined to report on it. I don’t know. Either way, the London stabbings have not been merely brought to my attention; they have been force-fed down my oesophagus like a goose being fattened for foie gras.

Everywhere I go, macabre tallies shriek at me from newspaper headlines.

17 London Teens Stabbed To Death This Year!
No Wait – Make That 18
Oh No, There Goes Another, and Another…

This is getting ridiculous. And, frankly, embarrassing – someone in France called London the ‘City of Blades’ after last week’s tragic fiasco with the two French students who were murdered in their home. “London is a jungle,” people commented on French news sites. “Gangs kill each other with knives, but the English media doesn’t talk about it because these outbreaks of violence are occurring daily so it is no longer shocking.” It’s not that I blame them for having a go, but it’s a bit humiliating to have our civility called into question by the French, of all people.

However, I beg to differ on the English media comment. It seems to me they can’t stop talking about it.

Of course, we can’t prevent the London Lite from dedicating page after page each evening to the most recent stabbing and its fallout (taking up precious print space that could otherwise be occupied by photos of Amy Winehouse falling over), so I feel that we should instead go to the root of the problem – namely, the fact that people keep carrying knives around and stabbing each other with them.

I know it’s not all Londoners who are to blame, but there is a very small minority of us who are ruining it for everyone else. So if you’re reading this, you stab-happy few, I would like to ask you to please stop it. Keep your knives in the kitchen where they belong, and when you leave the house consider replacing your usual weaponry with some nice, useful accessories such as a man bag, a hacky sack, or this cute umbrella.

Naturally I wouldn’t expect you to throw your blades away just because an anonymous blog author asked you to. So allow me to bring your attention to just some of the many mutual benefits of this proposal, for knife-carriers and non-knife-carriers alike.

Knife-Carriers: You will avoid the inconvenience of carrying a heavy, sharp object that you could accidentally hurt yourself or damage your clothing with.

Non-Knife-Carriers: We will avoid death by knife wound.

Knife-Carriers: You will avoid a hefty jail sentence and possible anal rape while imprisoned if (when?) you get caught and charged with murder.

Non-Knife-Carriers: It’s probably worth mentioning the first Non-Knife-Carrier benefit again actually, as I feel it’s an especially good one.

Knife-Carriers: You will avoid ruining your entire life, losing all your friends, having everyone in London hate you and being the subject of a sneering press campaign, not to mention the guilt of knowing you seriously injured another human or ended their life.

Non-Knife-Carriers: We will stop being terrified of London teenagers and return to feeling merely suspicious, disapproving and superior towards them.

I think you’ll agree that this will be a win-win situation for everyone in London. I look forward to your enthusiastic cooperation. If any of the above points need clarification or if you have anything you’d like to add to the proposal, please contact me using the link below.

Yours Optimistically,

Digressica

Slash’n’dash at Camden Town

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.