Kicking

There is a gang of bored chavs who hang around in the car park of the local Aldi.  Their favourite activity is to yell abuse at passers by.  I consider them an irritant and wonder why they don’t spend their time doing something a bit more constructive.

Anyway, I went out to a birthday drink yesterday after work and was on my way from saud drink to the train station at about 9:30 when the rowdy gang started yelling at this bloke in front of me from across the road and then me as I passed.  Not to be outdone I decided that I would join in the fun game and return their abuse with a few choice hand signals.  There is something about these people that annoys me.  Only in a gang of a half dozen or more are they able to get away with what is essentially anti-social behaviour.

I passed the group and was 100 yards down the road when I was suddenly jumped on from behind and punched and kicked.  I remember sinking my teeth into the leg of one of my attackers and hearing him yell in pain.  The whole thing was probably over in a few seconds because the police arrived and the gang ran off.  The police called an ambulance and they insisted I go to hospital to get checked out.  Probably because my memories of the actual attack are so sparse and the injuries are mainly about my head.  I couldn’t identify my attackers because I didn’t really pay much attention to them.  If I’d known they were going to jump me I’d have commited their faces to memory, but I didn’t.  Instead of getting home safely at 10pm I finally got home at 2am.  Poor Hildy was very worried.

I am left with minor injuries: a few cuts and bruises, two black eyes, some aching ribs, a foot print on my side, and a very swollen nose.  I’m also very angry.  It has taken me back to my school days in Reading where I would be jumped and attacked on a regular basis for no reason at all.  I always fought back but I never really won.  It isn’t a fight when you have six to one odds, it’s a kicking.  And that’s what I got on Friday.

Bastards.