November 3rd, 2017



Yesterday was an all-round unimpressive day which culminated in my motorbike getting stolen from outside my karate class.

Scooter theft in London is rife; I thought I was safe with a big, ugly, awkward machine, but apparently not.

Obviously nobody died and it’s only a possession. But it was my possession and I loved it very much. I’d had it five years, done 85,000 miles (I was hoping to get 100k out of it) and ridden it all over Europe. I have a lot of emotions and memories tied up in that thing. (I woke up in the night and got unreasonably angry about the loss of my favourite pair of gloves, left in the top box, and the mints in the aeroplane tin under the seat.)

The horrible thing is that it was taken from a place where I park it, carefully out of sight of the main road, every week, and it was taken as soon as the clocks went back. So it was likely premeditated and I will never feel safe there again.

My karate instructor drove me home, one of the guys in the class works at the police vehicle pound and took my number so he can call me if it turns up, and a colleague immediately offered to lend me her moped so I can get to work. So the 99% of people who aren’t thieving bastards continue to be lovely, at least.
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