C.S.I. Mile End

I was on my way home last night from the gym, when I spotted a policeman walking down the middle of Grove Road. He stopped cars heading towards Roman Road (and where I live), spoke hurriedly to the drivers, then watched them make a U-turn and return from where they came.

Getting close to the railway bridge that runs over Grove Road, I saw police cars flashing lights in the distance. There weren't many people on the sidewalk; the ones that walked past me seemed to look at me with startled eyes (or were they trying to judge my reaction to so many policemen around?)

Right outside Britannia Fish and Chippie Shop and the Victoria Pub (where only white people dare to venture inside) a crime scene cordon had been erected, stretching from lamp post to lamp post, surrounding an empty smashed-up car. The front windshield looked like it had been hit by a rock... or bullet. The passenger window was missing. A few rags lay on the concrete, either part of the scene or just randomly there.

Just as I got to the crime scene tape, a policeman arrived on a motorbike. He lifted the tape over his head and motorbike but forgot the antenna poking behind; when he drove on, his bike pulled the tape and ripped it apart. A policeman approached him and said out loud: "well done, Sarge."

Nothing on the internet as to what might have happened.

Because Poopy the Fairy Told Me So

I found a hardcover copy of Robert Holdstock's Mythago Wood at a nearby Borders. £15, but worth every penny. I never buy books anyways, so this is a lovely weekend treat.

We also had lunch at Wagamama's and read today's Guardian in a tiny cafe in Highbury/Islington. On the way home, I bought tons of fruit. They are nature's candy, you know.