My Mayday! Mayday! calls via Twitter

What do you do when your dream machine is stolen the moment your back is turned – within minutes of walking away from the bike stand where your machine is locked, more securely you thought than leaving it within Fort Knox?

 There I was popping into Henry the 8th’s favourite haunt, locking the bike among other seemingly

securely-locked cycles, and a few minutes later there it wasn’t.

It was the first brand new bike I ever owned. Surely that should have put more onus on Lady Luck to take the greatest of care with it.

Good grief, this is Britain, not Bedlam. Surely we don’t have to stand guarding the possessions we treasure.

 Seemingly yes, seemingly we do.

Guardians of  the people

And when I went to the station of the guardians of the people, not one of the gentlemen was available to report it to.

A fellow in uniform did appear from the back office, but that was to let me know he was busy with a case. I’d have to wait. Fair enough. Wilco. Then, as mentioned yesterday, after studying the walls for a time, I saw a poster about what to do in a police station. Leave it and get online to report the crime.

 However, reported and now presumably saved in some machine or internet cloud somewhere, there’s nothing the police on that recommended - or only - route can do about it.

My memory may be slipping a little, but I don’t think that’s quite the way crime used to be answered.

 So back online to ask via a number of tweets if anyone saw the robbery, if anyone has seen the bike, and if they do see the bike, could they let me know, please.

 They'd shame chapels of rest

 Modern-life has changed radically the look of Saturday night police stations. Back in ancient days of reporting for a newspaper, stations were a constant source of news. They were noisy, crowded places, filled with road accident victims, drunks collared, mugger victims in tears and worse, and almost always punch-ups to be separated.

Now it seems they’d outmatch library reading rooms for silence and shame chapels of rest. We need signs that our crazy world does have a serene and calm side but we do need action, too. And selfishly, oh, I would like my wonderful bicycle back.

Continues on the blogs for my ocean travel book, Sailing to Purgatory, at SailingToPurgatory.com