Being mugged changes you forever. My encounter with highwaymen occurred three decades ago in a south London street, in the early evening as I emerged from a corner-shop. I was transferring some coins from one hand to the other when four men pounced on me from behind, tipped me over and dragged me down a lane between a derelict pub and a car park. I lay there surrounded, waiting for the inevitable violence, but my attackers grabbed the cash that had fallen from my hands and melted away into the night.
I always avoid high-risk areas: towpaths, churchyards, parks at dusk – anywhere without cameras
I was left feeling shocked, humiliated and grateful I’d escaped with my life. Sadism was part of their motive, I expect. They wanted to enjoy the thrill of wielding absolute power over a random stranger. Ever since, I’ve lived my life as a high-wire act. It could happen again, at any time.
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