The man they cannot mug (From Times Series)

The man they cannot mug

3:44pm Wednesday 2nd September 2009

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One of my favourite comedians of the glory, glory days of music hall was a fellow named Billy Russell, whose billing proclaimed "On behalf of the working classes". I'm beginning to think I should devise a (not-so-humorous) 2009 follow up version "On behalf of the Barnet council taxpayer".

Our species is assailed on all sides, from coughing up cash (along with other Londoners in fairness) towards the 2012 Olympics to funding train robber Ronnie Biggs in a Barnet care home.

What next? As I walked out of Mr Khan's store alongside the Times group offices in Church Road, Hendon,the other day a quite well dressed chap accosted me.

"Can you give me 40p for a phone call?" he asked. I was clutching a carrier bag containing the milk and bread that Mrs S had allocated as my mission for the morning and I replied that I had put these items on the bill and was carrying no money.

Readers of this blog, like football writers the length and breadth of the country and my Barnet FC travelling companions, know I am, like Royalty, and never (or rarely) carry money.

The last time I used a public telephone box it cost, from memory, tuppence to make a call; perhaps with this in mind I advised my friend on the pavement: "Perhaps you should shop around for something cheaper than a 40p call".

Which brings me to the last couple of times when I was asked for money when I was out and about. A good few years back I was walking in Central Park in New York with a 6ft 2ins tall former US Marine - a relative of Mrs S - when a chap confronted us and demanded in Stand and Deliver style: "Give us your money".

Central Park, as I was aware from my days in New York in the Sixties with West Ham United, who trained there, was notorious as a haunt for muggers.

But, as befits a man who represented the British Raj on the Afghanistan border in the Forties, I pulled myself up to my full height and replied: " ---- off. I'm English".

The chap immediately turned on his heels and scuttled off. My Marine mate looked goggle - eyed before he dissolved into fits of laughter. He never stopped recounting the tale of Signy versus the Mugger over the years.

The other story concerns two muggers. I went to Wembley Stadium - the twin towered Wembley that is - to watch England v Germany and, as I arrived early to attend a football writers' meeting at tea times. I parked in the accomodation road alongside Empire Way.

After the game I attended a reception at the Conference Centre and returned to my car - the only one still parked there - at midnight.

As I approached the car I became aware of two men standing by, one white, one black. "Give us your money", said the white gentleman.

I was wearing a beige trenchcoat as beloved by the CID at the time and, perhaps thinking they were seeking cash for a couple of cups of coffee, I found myself saying: "On what authority are you asking me for money?".

The response made it clear that they were looking for more than coffee. "Don't ---- around", said the white man. "Give us your money".

I realised the game was up and put my right hand towards my back pocket, realising as I did so that I was carrying a £5 note and a £1 note.

I pulled the money out and offered it to the men, saying as I did so: "Any chance of me keeping the pound? I've got twin daughters and they need that for dinner money at school tomorrow".

The white man narrowed his eyes and looked at the £6. "Is that all you've got?" he asked. "Yes", I responded, thinking about the inadvisability of saying they were lucky to cacth me on a day when I had that amount on me.

"---- off", he said ... and the pair of them turned away and headed into the night.I laughed and laughed all the way home. Mrs S was watching TV in bed as I recounted how I was too poor to be mugged.

The lady was not amused. "People get killed these days for £6", she said.

40p for a phone call? Do me a favour. What with the Olympics and Ronnie Biggs I'm not made of money.