Pickpocketed in London

This week I have been the victim of street crime. I was pickpocketed in London. I lost my entire wallet: credit cards, eftpos cards, driver’s licence. Fortunately, I still have my passport, so I was able to go to the bank the next day, and prove I am the owner of that account -- yes that one -- the one with no money in it.I am never giving anyone directions again. And -- I am also never hugging anyone on the street again. And -- mark my words -- I am definitely not dancing with anyone on the street either. Here’s what happened. It was about 2am on Saturday. I was walking home, intoxicated. (If anything, this is the moral choice.) To help me find my way, I was using a compass. I bought this a week ago in Paris, to solve this problem I have, emerging from underground train stations, and not knowing which way is north. A man with an Italian accent asked me for directions. I thought, I must really look like I know my way. I told him to bear north-northwest. I admit, it pleased me to have superior geography to someone else. And then -- he hugged me. I didn’t want to reject him. I didn’t want to offend his Continental notions of personal space. The hug took quite a while. But he was not finished thanking me. I realise, as I recount this, I probably still had my wallet at that point. Because now, he beckoned me into a Greek-style man-dance, where he stood by my side, and put an arm over my shoulder. He lifted one of his legs, and implied, by demonstrating, that I do the same, and entwine one of my legs with his, in a three-legged can-can hop. Man. I thought I was drunk. This guy is wasted. Maybe it’s my open-mindedness, or my dance training, but I obliged. What can I say -- he led well. And that was that. It wasn’t til the next day I noticed my wallet was missing. I didn’t suspect the Italian guy. He was lost. Wouldn’t he have taken my compass instead? Still, better pickpocketed than being mugged. If I’d been mugged, I’d have felt traumatised. This way, I just felt over-charmed.