‘We don’t do burglary’

I like my Vespa. In fact, I can’t think of anything that has improved the quality of my life in London more in the last couple of years than my slightly retro 49cc ‘Chelsea blue’ Piaggio ET2. Getting around town takes half as long as it once did by bus, car or taxi; scooters are exempt from Ken’s congestion charge; and it is a cheap way to travel. A full tank of petrol costs £5.50 and lasts at least two weeks.

The trouble is that other people like my Vespa, too. Three scumbags have taken it on themselves to steal or vandalise my bike when my back has been turned for more than five minutes – which it was the other Monday.

I had just returned from a quick sortie to the shops, and because I was intending to use the bike again within the hour it never occurred to me to put it in the shed at the side of the house or attach a variety of anti-theft devices to the back and front wheels. The sun was shining, the wistaria was quietly on the climb, and the Roman Catholic priests who live in my street were coming and going just as they do every day of the year.

There was a knock on the door. Two South African decorators with blobs of red paint on their T-shirts told me that they had seen my bike being wheeled down the street by three kids – two white, one black – who were probably no more than 15 years old. They were heading for the Surrey Estate, a Battersea hellhole not far from where a popular young estate agent was shot dead last year. His only offence was to have parked his BMW outside his flat on a Sunday night.