Friday night we were in the pub; Kath decided to move her handbag from a hook at the end of the bar to a hook in the middle where it would be safer!! In Thirsk I thought it unlikely it would disappear, London definitely.

Unfortunately this act brought back memories of my apprehending of handbag thieves when I was in “have a go” mode some years. At the time I was in Town, working in Waterloo and walking home to Pimlico on autopilot most nights after a post work seminar.

One night as I got to Belgrave Road I saw a lady being chased by a swarthy gentleman and right in front of me he caught her and grabbed her handbag. Without a moments hesitation I waded in and thumped him but I couldn’t get her handbag off him. All he kept shouting was “Me Saudi”.  Knowing my route, I knew Rochester Row Police station was nearby so I decided to take him there.

I told him this and at the mention of the word Police he tried to kiss me, now bag snatchers are one thing; gay bag snatchers are another so he got another thump.. Fortunately around the corner came PC Plod, just out of school and on his first lone outing, I explained the situation to him and was relieved when he took control.

He tried to get her handbag of him and firmly told him “give the lady her handbag”. When this didn’t work he tried harder and louder “give the lady her handbag” but all he got in reply was “me Saudi”. For the third time he exercised his command of Arabic even louder “give the lady her handbag” . “Me Saudi” came the response.

Since this didn’t work he tried a different approach, he grabbed the Saudi by his lapels and nutted him with his helmet so hard I could see the crest imprinted on the Saudi’s forehead. This worked, he let go of the bag and Plod handed it to the lady. Then he said “I’ve smelt your breath and I am arresting you for being drunk and disorderly” and started dragging the semi conscious Saudi off to Rochester Row.

Feeling rather pleased with myself for upholding the forces of good over evil I popped into the Constitution for a last one. As I had my pint I thought a bit more about what had happened and noted some inconsistencies. Firstly the “lady” had not cried out for help. Secondly she nipped off pretty quickly as soon as she’d got her handbag without thanking me or Plod for rescuing a fair damsel. Thirdly, maybe the Saudi thought I was a Policeman and wasn’t gay. Fourthly he wasn’t drunk and surely the charge should have been robbery with violence.

I went down to Rochester Row and asked if a drunken Saudi had been brought in. Can’t you hear him, they said, we’re waiting for a translator. From the basement I hear him screaming “Me Saudi”. I’m asked to make a statement about the events to a mounting tide of mirth in the nick. The translator turns up and the mirth mounts even more.

Me Saudi had met “lady” in bar and taken her back to his hotel; when he’d got his trousers around his ankles she’d grabbed his wallet and legged it. I imagined Me Saudi sitting around a camel dung fire back home telling his mates - “I’d just caught the bitch when her pimp jumped me……”

I didn’t learn from this and got involved in another bag snatching a couple of weeks later. This time I’d only just passed Vincent Square and said goodnight to the policeman who was always there on the corner. As I walked past a pub a chap jumped out with a ladies handbag right in front of me. He opened the handbag, removed the purse, and then ran straight into me. Usual routine, he got a thump and I hauled him round the corner to where the Policeman was.

As I’m taking this fairly stunned Jock towards the Policeman things start to go awry. It is quite noticeable that the copper isn’t really interested in assisting me with my catch, Jock realises this and starts to struggle more. As I drag him a bit further it is clear that the copper is definitely not going to help and Jock has recovered enough that clearly things are going to get quite serious. I’m dumfounded and decide discretion is called for and let him struggle free and off he runs. 

I’m really miffed so I go up to the copper for an explanation. “Sorry mate, I’m an armed guard for this MP’s house and I can’t leave the post”. “You could have shot the bastard was my reply”. Anyway he says he’s part of a bunch of Jocks doing a squat round here, they’re all known to us.

Disgusted, I carry on home and as I get to the pub again it erupts with angry Jocks. A woman picks up her handbag and screams “the bastard’s pinched me night’s takings”. I helpfully explain that I saw it all and he ran off that way. Knives are produced and they set off in pursuit. I got my hotel thinking I’ll mind my own business in future.

Still, on the bright side, I almost certainly met the current Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police at some point.