51:32:35 l0:03:22

TGI Paul

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Pride All Week.... Now's the Fall

Well, I've been bragging my little ass off for the last week about getting this and winning that and it peaked yesterday with the news of my promotion and my first restaurant, so I guess the balance had to be reset sooner or later.

After leaving work last night soon after 6, I decided a solo celebration in Soho was too sad and it would probably end up in tears. So I did the sensible thing and headed home.

At Finchley Road, I changed lines to the Ghetto Express and, as I had a twenty minute wait, went into a bar for a quick half. Back on the platform, in the cold rain, with my coat wrapped round me and no-one waiting at home to warm me up, the tears came anyway. Who needed Soho, eh?

Pulling myself together, I boarded the train and just kept reminding myself of all the great stuff, of the family that love me, the friends I value so much, the flat and the new job. As we pulled into Camden Road station, I decided I would go and have a few drinks at the Black Cap. I just didn't want to go home and sit alone all evening I guess.

Anyway, one turned to three, then to five etc etc. I was getting hassled by some German guy who was very sweet to begin with, telling me what gorgeous soft skin I had. Then he began bragging to me that he has been here just three years but, because he used to be a herione addict, he's managed to get a council flat and full benefits, and he's now working two other jobs on the side.

This really pissed me off; I fucking hate freeloaders, especially ones who are so proud of it. When I was diagnosed 10 years ago, I could've got the lot, by pleading that my family had disowned me or that I was suffering depression or whatever, but I didn't; I buckled down and accepted nothing. The flat that I now own and the job that I've earnt are mine through hard work, however he just didn't understand my point of view.

"What's the point in earning money," he asked "if I can't use it for fun?"

"Just piss off!" was all I could muster.

Anyway, enough of this rambling; I think the scene is now set to get to the point of this post which, in short, was that I was mugged when I left the bar, just after 2am. I had £250 on me which I had drawn out of one account yesterday to pay into another but then decided I would pay it over the counter today instead of into a machine. It's so unusual I should carry this much cash, I hardly ever do, so it's almost inevitable that my good luck should run out at this point.

I was approached in the street as I was waiting for a night bus home. A young guy asked me for some money, he said he wanted some 'smoke', I said no, but he kept on. then he said he'd give me a blow job if I gave him the money . Please don't ask me why, but drunk, stupid, alone, whatever, I eventually said yes!

We walked away from the bus stop and there was another guy following us. He said we needed to go round the corner to get away from the other guy. I realise now they were probably accomplices. I started getting suspicious so I said I didn't want to go any further. He then started asking me for more money, saying that if I gave him another £20 he could get some coke.

I refused to start with, but he kept insisting and I began to get scared of what would happen if I didn't give it to him. I went to my bag and tried to carefully sneak £20 out of the envelope that had the £250 in it without him seeing it all; I just wanted to get rid of him now. He caught what I was doing though and snatched the envelope out of my hand, pushing my shoulder back against the wall. Running away from me he took the cash out of the envelope, crumpled it up and threw it back at me as he disappeared around the corner.

Straight away I got on the phone to 999 and followed round the corner to see him, with about 6 other guys, all laughing and play fighting over the cash. He ran away from them, protecting his treasure, and back past me shouting "I hope you're not phoning the police!"

I hung up and buried the phone in my pocket.

He shouted back at his mates, "He wanted me to suck his cock, the pervert!"

I didn't know if they would all start on me now, but I stood my ground and waited for the police to find me. I got a call straight back, "It's ok, we can see you. A car is on its way. Stay right there, the place is riddled with CCTV's"

It didn't take long for the police to arrive and I got into a car with two of them, while another two went off on foot to look round the area. We drove around for a while looking for him, but it was no good. It was obvious to the cops that I was drunk, and now I was scared I was going to get in trouble for trying to buy sex or something. They assured me I was the victim, not the perpetrator, so I started to calm down. Eventually, after giving statements, checking the details, giving full descriptions and signing all the documents, they dropped me at a cab shop to get home so they could carry on looking.

Now I'm hungover, ashamed, a little bruised and £250 lighter. And this afternoon I have a dentists appointment.

The ying and yang is suitably redressed, methinks.


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