Welcome to Sarajevo

BEDFORD CITY: It's a little known fact, but London is actually an intricately constructed simulacrum designed to acclimatise foreign correspondents for the pressure cooker environment of war. My proof: on Friday we were standing around drinking cider having just polished off a couple of tasty plates of homemade hamburgers when Chris came home.

"Rob, your not going to be able to put a parking ticket on your car. There putting up a police cordon in the next street," he said.

Then Donna came home and added: "There's police everywhere. They've got one street blocked off, another car with a pile of clothes on the footpath taped. And there was a belt in the middle on Bedford Road."

Me and Rob both said we had to see this so with a parking permit as an excuse we marched down the street. And the top of the next street down their were two laconic coppers leaning against a police car, sending text messages and idling out the friday afternoon.

"Mate, I've got to change a parking permit. It's parked up the street," Rob said.

"No worry's mate. She'll be finished in a second."

"What was going on?"

"There was a stabbing. It was fatal. Actually it wasn't. It was at first but now it's not."

"True?"

"Yeah mate she should be finished soon and you can change the parking permit."

"At least it keeps the property prices stable," I chip in.

Further down the street there is indeed another car blocked off, a random pile of clothes strewn all over the footpath and, as Donna said, a random, seemingly unconnected silver belt.

But there's been absolutely nothing in the news. We did find a stabbing in Brixton in a local newspaper that happened around the same time. Except that was on Monday. And our stabbing was last Friday. And the next day when I went back to take pictures of the blood stain it was all but scrubbed off.