I get a little bit mugged.

So I was mugged last night. It was all a bit strange - followed from Blackheath station, but blithely unaware until the vomit of footsteps coming rapidly up behind me and pushing me into the road just round the corner from my house. A fall to the ground, a blow to the face and just like that my bag is gone and the functionality of my life with it. I remained strangely calm throughout the whole episode - "it was all quite civilised, really", quoth I to an incredulous but soothing policeman. Two of them arrived within an hour of making a call to the Metropolitan Police. A side of me would like to think that London cared what damage it had wrought upon my friendly and impressionable visage, but the other side - the weary, pollution-saturated, spends-too-much-time-on-the-train, seen-it-all and now quite bruised side - the other side thinks that violent robberies mean bad statistics.

I got a bit punched in the face - I gave up my bag quite quickly in case they had a knife, because you never know these days, I'm apparently just another victim of a heartless recession. I blame the Government, really. I don't know whether robberies at knife-point end up in you being punched in the face, though. I'm not that keen to find out.

I lost a load of crap I quite liked having around - my phone, cash cards, diary - all that jazz. I had some stuff in there I was working on for my blog and my website, so who knows who is reading right now? Hello criminals. If you could give me back the stuff you don't need, because I do. Actually, I've been wondering today what it takes in someone's mind for them to think that it's OK to attack them and steal their possessions. To cowardly follow them, run up behind and then run away. How unimaginably hollow and dark those people must be, who think that it's somehow acceptable to do these things. I feel no ill will, though - that would only waste my time, and I need that for sitting around waiting in branches of Barclay's bank. More on that soon...

For now, though, an early night to rest my weary limbs - I've turned into an 85-year-old man overnight, all stiff deliberate movements, hoisting myself on and off of things, groaning like a stressed beam when trying to pull my jumper off. Good times, I love it.