I just realise how strange blogging is. I mean, it's an opening to a whole new world of story telling. I could be here, sitting at my dining room table, typing on my gold-encrusted laptop, and you could be there, somewhere else, reading it. Yet, at the same time, here you are, right here with me, reading my words.
It doesn't matter that you woke up this morning on the other side of the world; it doesn't matter that yesterday I committed a crime. You don't know about it unless I tell you about it, and even if I tell you about it you can choose not to believe it, I mean, it's only a blog after all, right?
I can tell you anything I like, and most likely you'll just brush it off as the creative writings of some unnamed blogger. I could even tell you about that crime last night, the one I mentioned earlier. Well, why not, you won't believe me anyway, and it's not like it was something really bad, like drugs or something.
No, it wasn't, it was grievous bodily harm, and it was much more necessary than you might think - if you can believe that...
It was about nine-thirty yesterday evening, when there's not too many people about on the streets - those who need to be home are home, and those who don't are out in the pubs for a few hours yet - and I was just minding my own business, as you do. And then, on a corner that held no particular difference to all the other corners I could see, there was a man standing over a table. It wasn't that big, but it had a whole load of DVD's on it, so, naturally, I moseyed on over to take a look. Don't judge me for that - I like going to the cinema as much as the next guy, but cheap films are always going to hold a certain allure, or so I thought at the time.
So there I was, browsing happily, noting that a few of the more recent titles had to have been filmed in the cinema itself, when they guy speaks to me. Now, again, I can handle a conversation as much as the next guy, but when you're perusing mildly illegal goods, you don't really want the sleazy guy selling them to strike up a dialogue. But talk to me he does, and I answered with non-committal nods and grunts hoping he'd take the hint, but he keeps going. Something about having more films just down the street. This is the point at which I'm thinking it had been a bad idea to stop and look, but I can't move away simply because my British upbringing tells me I can't ignore the fact that he's talking to me and walk away to leave him trailing a sentence along in the dust behind me. That's something I need to work on, I know. So I hover for a few more minutes until something he says actually grabs my attention. It was something about the new James Bond movie, quantum of something... I forget, but that's not the point, the point is he's saying something about how they filmed some of the film just down the street form here.
Well, being a naturally curious sort of person, and one who appreciates a good Bond movie, I start making this conversation a two-way affair. He gets a little more animated when he realises he's said something interesting, and he offers to show me the spot Daniel Craig was supposed to fall off a building - only it was his stunt double, obviously - and I agree, hoping that once he's done I'll be far enough away from the table to just keep on going and I'll be free.
He leads me through the darkness for a minute or two, no more than about a hundred steps, and then turns into an alleyway. Well I'll tell you, there was no way I was going down a dark alley at night with a stranger - not even for Daniel Craig - so I unceremoniously just kinda kept walking past the turning. Unfortunately the guy comes back out when he realises I'm not following, and not only that, but a beast of a guy steps out in front of me from a concealed doorway. Now I know I'm for it. I knew instantly I'd lost my watch (a present from my mum years ago), all my money, which only totted up to about fifteen quid, and all my cards and stuff...
I was right, the guy in front was not only beastly, but he had a gun... I mean a real, don't mess with me or I'll shoot you dead, gun! I'd never even seen a gun until last night. So, needless to say, when they asked for all my stuff, I handed it over - no smart words, no call for help or running escape attempt, nothing, and no, I didn't think myself a coward - I wasn't even thinking in terms of cowardice or courage, I was stuck on living and dead, and I wanted living thank you very much.
Everything went smoothly, there was no nervous twitching of fingers, no brains all over the floor, and they had everything of value that I'd had a few minutes before. Alas, and yes, this is definitely worthy of an 'alas', they still stood there expecting more. So I told them, that's it guys, there's no more, you've got it all. Only they didn't have it all did they, that's what they said back to me... now you're not going to believe this, but they wanted my clothes as well, boots, trousers, shirt off my back and everything! Well, I don't mind telling you that I hesitated for a few seconds, but only until that gun came back into view, so I stripped. Yeah I stripped - I wasn't about to let a little thing like dignity stand between me and the rest of my life. Then they did have it all, and I mean everything - I was standing starkers in the freezing wind of the night and they just stood there looking at me.
Then it happened. The guy with the gun waved his piece around and told me to hand over the rest. No, I'm telling it like it was. I was there wearing nothing but my hair, and he was there brandishing his weapon telling me I'd better hand the rest of it over, or I could kiss my golden years g'bye. So obviously I tell him, laughing nervously, that they can't be serious, they had everything they could possibly take. And he smiles and throws something on the ground at my feet saying not quite. Now, if you're a bit squeamish you might want to stop reading here, cos when I looked down, there was an ugly looking knife staring right back up at me; it was shining smugly in that horrible yellow glow of the streetlights. First thing I thought was about that film Hard Candy, and I shuddered from something other than the cold, but the DVD guy turns to me and says that they want my skin!!!! Simple as that, he asks me. My skin!! I ask you?? Sick or what? The second thing I thought was that it had to be a joke or something, a disturbed, bully-style humour, black and disgusting joke. But they stood there, stock still, waiting. Not half a smile between them. After a couple of silent beats I kinda felt like I had to make some sort of move, so I got the knife, and I can't even tell you how heavy it felt in my hand. I looked at them again, hoping something would give - something other than me, but it didn't. They just waited.
The whole of what happened next is something of a hazy memory, but I can tell you it was less than a second between me deciding I'd rather go down fighting with a gunshot to the head than peeling the skin off my own bones and me cutting a satisfyingly deep slash into the beastly guy's gun arm. Then I reckon there was half a minute of struggling, which I can't remember at all, and suddenly I had the gun. Well, that was one sweet realisation. I levelled it at chest height and swayed it between the two of them, not caring a jot that there was a growing puddle of blood on the ground. I honestly don't think I'd have cared if that guy had just dropped dead right there in front of me. But he didn't.
I didn't much care about my clothes at that point either, I just started going off at the DVD guy, and you know what he told me? I almost laughed in his face - actually I think I did for a second or two - he told me he was a pirate, what did I expect?
