Please forgive this indulgence with a lot of first person ranting but I’m afraid there is not going to be a post about The Madhouse tonight because it feels rather odd writing about a fictional madhouse when it feels like you are living in one.
After a hard day at work I returned to the station tonight to discover that my bike had been stolen. Although Brockley station bike shed is it covered by CCTV nobody at the station apparently watches it, so £225 worth of bike and accessories just disappeared while I was at work. Sometimes it is safer to live in a world of fiction and keep away from the real world.
I still feel angry and although it might be incredibly naïve it just seems so unfair that you slog your guts out doing a job that some days you can’t stand to earn the money to pay for things like a bike – which every Londoner is being told to use – and then some little scroat, for either drug money or just for a laugh, decides to take it from you. This loss will cause disruption and grief until I sort out a replacement but it will also produce a sense of suspicion and unease that will take a lot longer - perhaps it’s permanent - about that area in London and might make me change my commute.