Walking home from The Gloucester nightclub, with sticky floors, testosterone and lager cocktails spilling over sideways looks from strangers. Chatting idly with Chris I sense a split second something happening out of sight. And then I felt my head crash forward and my glasses fly away into the distance.
There was a momentary darkness.
Seconds later, laid out on the floor, heavy quick feet crash into my face. My hands instinctively covered my head as they (am told 5 prince charmings leapt from a silver car) continue to kick several shades of shit out of me.
I remember moaning “no” and they stopped as quickly as they started. I raised my head slowly and blood gushed from my nose like water from a tap. Shit.
“My glasses, Chris, find my glasses!”
Chris had just managed to get away and quickly returned to give vision back to my bloody bruised face.
Some strangers came by, ” are you ok mate?”
“Ermmmm not really” my nose gushed.
“Could you call the police please?” I politely requested.
The police came and were nice enough, they asked me if I wanted to go to hospital. Yes please I spluttered, and five hours later I got sent home with a very sore head and hands that took a fair while to mend.
The police weren’t particularly interested in investigating, and sadly weeks later another young man was placed in a coma by a gang travelling in a silver car along the same stretch of road. I had to ask repeatedly for a crime number so I could pursue criminal injury compensation. Three years later I received £1500, so I bought a guitar and went to Paris to watch Lochsong and Frankie Dettorie run very very quickly over 6 furlongs.
Two days after my kicking, a lady knocked on the door of the basement flat, with special roots growing through the walls, to ask if I was ok. She was from victim support or whatever it was called in those days. What’s interesting is that following a trauma like a violent crime the support seems to be there and people in their kindness smother you with concern. Can the same be said for traumas of mental health? Even today? 45 years ago my father was left with 3 kids and a notification of change in tax code. Nothing else. People are scared, uncomfortable, it unmasks all of our vulnerability.
Weirdly for a few weeks after my beating, my anxieties took a back seat. I felt a certain calmness as my bruises healed and I accepted the kindness of the people I knew. Much easier to show my broken nose. It all came back as the pace of life and skewed perspectives returned. It was nice to have a break from it but not sure I would volunteer for a repeat performance.
One step forward slowly gently 