I am just a complete idiot.
Yes, I said it.
Somehow I managed to top off a most excellent evening with the most catastophic of naivities.
F*CK.
So I dash out of Kings Cross Tube, sprinting past a timetable board and slide to a halt. Obviously I’ve missed my train by two minutes, what else.
Being marooned out in the sticks, as I am, it’s an hour until the next train. Delirious as always.
Oh well, there’s always Burger King, eh? Yes there is..
I throw the remnants of my extortionate yet uninspiring double ‘Angus’ burger in the trash, and head on outside with half an hour to spare. Tap out a quick tweet (little was I to know) and winefully stash my iPhizzle in my jacket pocket. Whip out the Marlboro’s, pat all pockets until I locate a clipper, find some shelter and the flint ignites the gas.
Everything is going well.
Next thing, two apparently swaying French dudes stumble by… Ahh, monsiuer, cava? Alright?
*offered a rapper-like hand-shake*
Being the welcoming British gent I am, of course I offer my hand in response… F*cking half-wit. Blah blah blah. *Shakes hand again*.
This is a bit off-key, I’m thinking… But, whatever, I’m past tipsy and what do I care?
They happily wave goodbye, and I’m indifferent, thinking that it was a bit pointless…
Ten seconds for each bottle of wine later and I’m thinking… Hold up. Frantically bash my hands over all pockets, twice, and realise I’ve been done like a dreamy stoner on a basketball court. Yes. Stolen. The iPhone.
Ohhh…. You didn’t…….
So I shook my brain into shape, kicked my legs into gear and sprinted in their direction. One step ahead - clearly - they were at the top of the road. Swung a left and watched them accelerate away towards freedom.
This is Kings Cross, I thought. No stranger to crime. I really ought to be able to hail police cars like cabs round here.
U-turn. There’s a police van! Get in. Yo, yo…. “Hi. You busy? Look.. I just had my phone jacked. I’ve seen the guys. I know what they look like. They went thatta way…”
“Yeah, what you need to do is call your nearest Met Police…”. *walks off cursing*.
Awesome.
Try again.. Spot next patrol car.. A mini-van. That’s it. *wind-down window gesture*. “Hi, yes.. I’ve just had my phone nicked, literally 5 minutes ago, I followed them and I know the direction they went”.
“What do they look like?”
“Err… One’s bigger than the other, both wearing hats and dark jackets…?”
“Right, get in”.
Excellent. That’s a start, at least. Sirens? Nope. Shall we navigate chaffeur-like through the one-way systems until we’re not even in the vicinity? Yes, let’s.
Ahh, brilliant. So we did try… For which I was grateful. I was itching to pop open the sliding door and plant my boot firmly in the imitating-bastards face. Oh my god.. the thought still lingers. Needless to say it was a brief and futile hunt.
WHAT AN ABSOLUTE MORON.
First note on tomorrow task list - re-hang punch bag before I beat my own head in.
So I already called O2.. Sim blocked, and they can even block the IMEI, bless ‘em! Satisfied in the knowledge that literally from today, my iPhone is demoted to an iTouch at best.
I’m home now, and straight on the blower to the po-po. “They will be in touch in the next 2-3 days depending on their workload”.
“Err… but my insurance company wants a crime reference number within 24 hours…”
“Yes, but more often than not your insurance company will accept an incident number and..”
“More often than NOT? What happens in the case of *not*.. I’ve been here before, and in my experience mobile phone companies happily make a habit of assholism….”
“Oh, well I’ve never experienced anyone call me back and say that their insurance company hasn’t accepted the incident number.”
“Right, but if I called this number back I’m unlikely to get directly through to you, now am I?”
“*Pause*, that’s true, you’d probably get through to one of my colleagues…”
“And if I hadn’t made this call, but instead walked into your station tomorrow, reported this crime, I could receive a crime reference number on the spot?”
“Well…. Now that it is reported electronically…”
Why the *$&%£”! hell did I bother, then? Thanks a million, constabulary.This had bloody better work out or I’m calling war on the MET. If these backyard bleary headed bomb-constructing b*stards can pull the wool over your eyes, you’d better be damn sure that I can. Unfortunately I’m far too law-abiding. Damn-it.
Well anyway, there you go. An off the no-handcuff tale. I hope you found it as entertaining I as I didn’t.
I’m pouring another drink.
Tschus.
C.
