Salocin

I was driving back from a dinner with friends this evening, a few minutes after midnight. I came back via Portobello Road because it's one of my favourite streets in London, and it leads me right to my home.

As I drove up, a little way past the Westway, I saw two people fighting on the pavement. I slowed down, and eventually stopped, in the hope of causing the fight to break up - nobody likes a witness. The fight went on for a few blows, a youth swinging a twisted piece of metal at an older, hispanic (I'm guessing now) man. The man was getting the youth to keep his distance by using big swinging kicks with his legs. He looked frightened.

When they noticed me stopped in the middle of the road, the youth took a couple of steps back, but it seemed like it was more to take stock of the situation than because he was intimidated. The older man started asking if I could call the police, in a fairly heavily accented English. I pulled out my telephone, but the youth had gone behind the car, and I didn't want to take my eyes of the mirrors.

I asked the older man if he was Ok, and he looked a little shaken when he said he wasn't really Ok, he was frightened, and he'd be grateful if I could drive him a little ways away, such that he could get away from the youth. I told him to get in, and he walked around the car and got in the passenger seat.

He had just closed the door and I was about to pull away when a foot slammed into the passenger-side window hard enough to rock the car back and forth on its suspension. Miraculously (or perhaps thanks to the guys at Mazda), the little convertible MX-5's window didn't break, despite it being a convertible, and the window not being particularly well supported around its top edge. He then grabbed the door and opened it, but by then I was already letting the clutch up and the little sports car didn't hang around (although there was that uncomfortable clutch-judder moment that plagues MX-5s that almost stalled me).

I floored it and was two blocks away in no time. I drove the guy to his home - he was having trouble speaking and his hands were shaking. He didn't live far.

I'm usually good at coming up with a phlegmatic and at least pseudo-insightful social observation when things like this happen, but at the moment, I'm just grateful - on two counts. I'm grateful that I was there, because I don't want to see another black and yellow police sign asking for witnesses when I go to the market on Saturday. I'm also grateful that the Mazda stood up to that kick - there isn't a scratch on the door, but he kicked it hard enough to set the car rocking. I'd be even more grateful if Mazda could acknowledge that their cars have a clutch judder problem by design, and that they should be fixing it.

It's now a quarter to one, and while I was tired when I was driving, I'm now buzzing enough to know that I won't be asleep for at least another hour. Tomorrow's going to be a difficult day at the office...