Shitterday night

Let me tell you about my day yesterday.

It starts off okay. Shower. Coffee. An impromptu cleaning of the fridge. Some washing. Sorting out finances. I'm doing stuff, boring stuff, but it feels good to get it done.

I text my friend Jen, to see if she wants to come with me to see the Scissor Sisters tonight in Trafalgar Square. I'd asked her the day before but she'd told me she'd promised to go to a party tonight with her new boyfriend to meet his friends, in exchange for him coming to a party next weekend to meet her friends. But she'd said she'd think about it. She'd thought about it and decided to go to the party. Fair enough, I think.

I text my friend Sarah. Her Dad died recently and I think it might go some way to cheering her up. But she is still in Brighton looking after her Mum. Fair enough, I think.

I ask my housemate Steven. He's made dinner arrangements with his new boyfriend. I'm starting to get a bit annoyed. I wonder whether I'm happy that I'm single and can do what I want when I want, or whether I'm jealous I don't have one particular person to do things with. I decide that, right now, with two Scissor Sisters tickets, it's a little of the latter, but usually more of the former.

Steven suggests our old housemate Ildiko. She's going travelling and saving money so she won't be up to anything. I call her. She's well up for it. Nice one. We arrange to meet later.

I put some stuff on eBay. I go to get measured up for my usher's suit for my friends Emma and Justin's wedding at a Moss Bros shop in Victoria. The man needs to know which branch Justin placed the order in. I call him. It's Richmond. I go back in. The man phones Richmond. They have no record of a booking for a Hodges wedding. I call Justin. He apologises and says he'll call them. I go home.

I make dinner. Pasta and meat sauce and vegetables. It's okay. I forgot to drain the meat juice off so it's a little greasy. I shower again. It's been a hot day. People keep calling me when I'm in the shower. Justin. My Mum. My sister. Ildiko texts me to say she's running a bit late and can we meet half an hour later. I reply and say yes, but we have to be in there by eight o'clock as they're apparently not letting anyone in after that. I decide to call the others on the way to the Tube. I need to get out asap so I can pick up the tickets from my friend Andy. He's just been made redundant from his job as a radio producer, a scapegoat for someone higher up. He's nabbed a load of these tickets from work and has promised me a pair. I'm happy as I wasn't able to get any through work myself. Anyway.

My housemate Paul arrives home from his holiday in Newquay. He's proud that he has more of a tan than I got in Kenya. I'm also quite impressed, inwardly cursing that I'm not one of these people who tans easily. I leave the house and walk towards the station.

I phone my sister. We have a quick chat. I hang up. I call my Mum. Something touches my ear. My phone seems to evaporate from my hand. I squeal, Oh my God. I see a man on a mountain bike speed past me. All I see is that he's wearing a grey hoodie with the hood up as he disappears into the people walking up the street. My cheeks flush red with embarrasment at my reaction. Part of my brain is impressed with the speed with which the guy snatched my phone. No part of my brain is scared or worried. I'm more concerned with my girlish reaction. I pull myself together, realising what a pain in the arse this is going to be. Luckily it's a work phone, not my own, so getting a replacement will be easy. I head back to the house to get my own old mobile which I hardly ever use. Thank Christ I kept it. I curse myself for being stupid enough to walk down Stockwell Road talking on my phone.

I run in and shout to Paul what's happened. He's on his phone in the kitchen, quickly tells whoever he's speaking to he's got to go. He offers me his phone to call Orange. He also offers to make me a cup of tea. I decline. "Was he black?" Paul asks. It's more of a rhetorical question on Paul's part, but I tell him I don't know, I didn't see his face. I call Orange. I need a crime reference number. I call the police. I'm embarrassed and frustrated that I can give very little description of the thief. The lady asks me if I've been hurt. For some reason I'm shocked that I could have been, it never even crossed my mind. She tells me there's officers in the area who have been alerted and will have a look for the guy on the bike. I think to myself, they'd be bloody lucky to find him with that description. Paul makes me a cup of tea.

The police come to the house. They're in plain clothes. They look like criminals themselves, maybe bouncers at a push - shaved heads, barrell chests. Part of my brain notes that they're both very sexy. I laugh inwardly at my libido's resilience. Another part of my brain wonders if I should ask for ID. But one has a wire going from his ear down his back. And, I don't know, they just exude the fact that they're policemen. They invite me to get in the car and have a drive around to see if we can spot the guy on the bike. Part of my brain notes how exciting I will find this in hindsight. At the moment it's annoying and stressful because I need to go and get the tickets and meet Ildiko by eight. We drive around.

One of the policemen asks me the same questions the lady on the phone asked me. Again I'm frustrated I can't give them more detail about the guy. I get the feeling they're going through the motions with this one because of the lack of description. Fair enough, I think. While in one of the estates, we see a guy with a grey hoodie on a bike. The driver backs up but we lose him.

The other one asks me details about myself. I tell him I'm a journalist. I inwardly cringe. I wonder if they're thinking, not very observant for a journalist. He asks more details about the phone. Again I cringe. Robbie Williams wallpaper on the screen. Shiny, colourful sticker on the side (put there by my housemate Jess, I want to add, but don't). There's no judgement in his voice. I'm impressed.

We drive past a group of black kids on the estate. They stare over at the car with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. I can't stare back. We pass them again, this time a lad with a grey hoodie on a bike rides up to them. He has a bag slung around his body. The driver asks me if I remember seeing a strap on the thief's back. I don't. Again I inwardly curse myself. We go back to my house.

They tell me they will be patrolling the area stopping and searching people, that's what they do. And that they might be lucky enough to catch someone with my phone. But they might not, it's 50/50. I give them the phone's IMEI number. Luckily I wrote it down. If they find someone with the phone they'd be able to nick him because that would confirm it's mine. I thank them and go back inside. Paul has drunk the cup of tea.

I call Orange. They say they'll send me a new phone in three working days. I call Andy. He says he'll meet me in town with the tickets. He tells me not to beat myself up for using my phone, that's what they're for, and not to stress, I will still get to the gig in time. I call my sister, my Mum demands to speak to me after hearing my sister's half of the conversation. I reassure her I'm okay. Again I note that it didn't cross my mind I might have been hurt. I leave the house, pulling out my phone to text Ildiko. I realise I might be about to make the same mistake twice and go back to my house to text her.

I walk down the street. I'm pissed off that this road I use every day has suddenly become unsafe. This is my home. Andy's right, why the fuck should I not use my phone where I want? I refuse to become paranoid. I refuse to look at every black person as if they might try and steal something from me. But it's hard. A group of lads on bikes ride past me on the road. One has a grey hoodie. It's the one who had the bag slung over his body from earlier. They seem to slow down as they pass me. One pulls out a phone and looks at it, puts it back in his pocket. Part me wonders if it's mine. Another part says stop being paranoid. The grey hoodie guy speeds off down the road and comes back up doing a wheelie. Part of me wonders if he's discreetly proclaiming his victory in getting my phone. Another part says stop being paranoid. I get on the Tube.

I call Ildiko when I get off, leave her a voicemail explaing why I'm a little late. Even here in the centre of London I'm wary of using my phone. But as I look around I see many people talking into their phones. I remind myself that this is what mobile phones are for. I meet Andy, kiss him on the cheek, tell him he's too good to me and run off to meet Ildiko. I check in the bar, she's not there. I wait outside. And wait. I try calling her. I get voicemail again. I wait some more. It's now eight o'clock. I call Steven and leave him a message asking him to send me Ildiko's number. Maybe I've got the wrong one. He texts it to me. It's the same. I try again. I wait a bit more. I start to think that I'm not destined to go to this gig. I text Steven, tell him to try calling Ildiko as I'm worried about her. I call Andy to see if he's still in the pub. He's in a restaurant. I tell him to call me when's finished. I need a drink.

Steven replies. He says he's sent Ildiko my number and that she said she'll call me. I'm very confused. I go and buy a beer from an off-license, sit in Leicester Square. I text Andy to ask if he's going straight back home after the restaurant. He lives in the same direction as my friend's 30th birthday party which I was due to go to after the gig. I figure I can get on the Tube with him. I finish the beer. Andy texts. He's already at home. I text back - I thought he was in a restaurant. I tell him I've been sat here waiting for him to finish. He says he didn't hear me properly on the phone and apologises. I give up.

I realise I can't face the party, where I only know the birthday girl and her boyfriend, in the mood I'm in. I text and apologise. At home Paul has a friend over, Trevor. Trevor seems wasted. Paul tells me he's going to put Kasabian on very loudly, and do I mind? Sounds good to me. I tell him Ildiko's gone AWOL and I didn't bother with the gig. Trevor realises I still have the tickets and demands Paul to go with him. It's half nine. The gig finishes at 10. Paul asks me if I want some money for the tickets. I laugh and say no, noting inwardly how sweet he's been this evening. After a bit of a row about how to get there they head off to catch the end of the gig. I have no idea if they make it.

I eat chocolate. I watch Friends. I feel better.

I've had better Saturday nights.