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It was about this time that I did something stupid that turned out, through no fault of my own, to be a brilliant masterstroke.
One day I parked on a back street to avoid the pay stations in Piccadilly and it was dark when I returned to my car. As I approached it, I noticed a young man watching me. He was wearing a Hoodie and a flat cap. As I extracted my car key from my pocket he advanced on me menacingly, took hold of the lapels of my suit jacket, and rammed me against the side of my car.
“Give me your wallet, Granddad,” he hissed. “Now!”
A few months previously I would have meekly handed over the wallet and anything else he might have asked for. But I’d changed. I now had an alter ego who killed people. The Skull Crusher. He wasn’t about to be scared into submission by a young pu
