Of course, having chained up my bike in front of the CCTV, and having gone to mash some heads in a martial art class, I was totally unprepared to be mugged. I walked outside the sports centre. I was alone, still feeling high from adrenaline, ahead of all of my fellow hardpeople.
I looked at the metal railing where my bike had been chained. That was the perfect time to mug me as I stood there, slightly confused and trying to remember if I really had left my trusty, rugged and beloved bike there just three hours before. I went back inside, asking if the staff had seen anyone nicking by sturdy steed.
“Nah – it happens all the time”
“Perhaps the theft is on the CCTV camera footage?” I venture
“Nah – they don’t work too well in the dark – look” The muppet behind the desk shows me a shot from the camera – pitch black. “So if it happens all the time, and the camera doesn’t work in the dark, do you think it might be an idea to get a camera that works in the dark, you moronic aunt?” I didn’t reply.
Having gone through denial, I was now firmly into anger, as I stormed out of the sports centre. All psyched up about my loss of transport, I stalked the mean streets of Hammersmith, staring at any kids on bikes, looking for any sign of my beloved Raleigh Outback, thinking of all of the kung fu movies I’d seen, and what kind of damage getting kicked off a moving bicycle might inflict on a thief. Of course, I forgot that I can’t kick higher than my knees yet. The thought that a misplaced kick at a bike thief might leave my foot caught in the spokes of my own bike didn’t really enter my mind. 131,000 bikes were stolen in the UK last year. And the fact that one of them was mine might be a down payment on some of my karmic debt.