8:04 pm.

It was cold, and wet. It had been raining all day. Typical for an English summer really. I normally don’t walk the streets alone at this time, especially with the recently reported murder spree, but I was on my way to my favourite bar to meet Jacqui, who I was trying for.

From behind me, a deep voice, “Excuse me?”

I turned around and nearly shit myself! One of the hairiest men I’ve ever seen, and very disheveled and threatening-looking too. He offered me a flyer from a Chinese restaurant and asked if I knew where it was, saying he was desperate for some chow mein. I don’t know if I knew where it was or not, but I didn’t know the name, so I apologised and said no, to be away from him promptly.

Later, at the bar, I was a bit un-nerved to see another, similarly hairy man, but this one looked like he’d come straight from the hairdresser. He winked at me and smiled as he cradled his pina colada in his hand.

I don’t think I’ll walk alone at night in London again. It really doesn’t feel safe.