Not some surrealist version of a French film, but a true story that happened last night on the way home to Dalston (the posh bit) from Spitalfields. I will let my best friend tell the story:"On bike, nearly home, approaching bridge outside house. Boy - barely in teens - is standing by bridge vaguely fiddling with knob. I'm going pretty slowly and in 7th gear, look at boy, think "is he having wank?". As I go over the bridge he rushes at me, pushes me off bike and grabs bike.
There's an outraged wrestle and some shouting but he runs off with bike. I get up and shout YOU LITTLE CUNT at him. Go round corner and find 2 blokes talking who are sympathetic, but ultimately useless as they don't know him. One of them is holding an albino ferret throughout the conversation. This is not remarked upon.
I limp home and call police. Have a bruised arse and am quite cross but apart from that OK. Wouldn't happen in Highbury."
Well if she WILL insist on cycling rather than getting taxis everywhere like normal people, what do you expect?
6 comments:
Some little cunts threw a brace of apples at me on exactly that journey a bit back.
How long till the Standard runs a 'London Bike-napping Terror' piece? I just hope the little shits don't get the Self, I quite like him
It's all the ferret's fault. He's the key.
I love how the story has to end on a snooty note despite the mugging!
Why must we blame the ferrets? Why?
I love the Self. In fact, I want to be him.
I am snooty because I can be, and I reckon ferrets and weasels would survive nuclear war, so it's OK to have a go at them now.
Innit.
Innit and indeed ting!
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