High life
On being mugged
Taki
Last Thursday evening, having attend- ed a couple of book parties, I went to San Lorenzo where I dined as guest of the owner along with Charles Glass. I only drank beer, as I was nursing a hangover, and was out of the restaurant by 9.45. As it was early I walked Charlie part of the way to his house, somewhere in Chelsea, then turned from the King's Road into Sydney Street, past St Luke's church and into Cale Street. I was heading for Cado- gan Square, walking very slowly. It was a beautiful night, almost full moon and balmy.
Passing the Wellesley Arms pub, I noticed three black men coming down the street on the opposite side. I didn't give it another thought as they were laughing and horsing around. Two or three minutes later, while in Cale Street and about to reach Astell Street, S.W.3., I heard someone jogging, then running, then suddenly sprinting. Just as I turned to see what was going on, I was hit vio- lently from behind by the runner, a black, in his early 20s, about six foot or slightly shorter, of muscular build and wearing a red jumper, blue jeans and trainers. The funny thing is that just as I got hit, my only thought was to get his descrip- tion. Fear either makes one fight better, or more often than not it simply paralyses the victim. In my case, I had no time to be scared. His two buddies both came at me kicking and punching. I couldn't describe them, except for the fact they were black, wore trainers, and were of the same build, one being shorter than the other. All three wore jeans.
Now, despite the fact that I've been practising martial arts for over 30 years, I'd be fibbing if I said I held my own. While fighting off the first mugger who had me by the neck, I was hit rather hard on the nose by the second, while the third was tackling me. While we rolled on the ground, my only thought was to try and avoid being knifed, so I held the first one tightly and tried to ward the other two off with kicks. 'Keep your f mouth shut,' one of them kept saying, despite the fact that I hadn't uttered a sound.
At least two of them knew what they were doing because one was trying to get his thumb into my eye, a favourite martial art technique for rendering an adversary helpless. They did not succeed. Then someone saw what was happening, ran into a pub to call the fuzz, and the three black cowards took off. Some of my pock- ets had been ripped out, but I still had my keys and some loose change. My family signet ring was missing, but it could have been ripped off my finger during the struggle. The cops arrived in less than three minutes but the muggers were long gone.
Apart from a sore nose, throat and rib, I was fine. But angry as hell.
There have been countless such mug- gings throughout Knightsbridge and Chelsea, all of them involving black toughs coming over the bridge and attack- ing soft targets. Twice since, I have gone to Cale Street and walked towards Cado- gan Square — these times keeping my eyes and ears open — at the same time of night, and the streets are totally deserted, an open invitation to the muggers. People who live around here do not only pay high rates, they also pay high taxes, so the authorities should provide better protec- tion by putting decoys on the streets. Bet- ter yet, the Government should focus on cutting welfare and boosting the resources of the police. It's doing the opposite. Welfare has never turned out a single Christian gentleman, but has turned out a hell of a lot of criminals. If I had a weapon on me that night I would have happily killed the muggers. And be back in gaol a la Patel as I write this.
In Paris, when police see criminal types hanging around a ritzy neighbourhood, they are told to scram. Here charges of racism have tied the hands of those who protect society, leaving Chelsea old ladies to face black toughs all alone. Surely something must be done.
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