Antony Peyton Writer and Journalist

Antony Peyton

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The new blog was started in 2011 after a lengthy absence abroad. It covers journalism, current affairs, culture, travel and anything else of interest.

From 2006 to 2011 the previous blog Seahorse-Shaped described life and adventures in Japan.


17 September 2017. If you read the British newspapers you may be forgiven for thinking that violent crime is lurking on every street corner. While the chances of such an event happening to you are rare, the reality is still very unpleasant. Since living in London since 2011, I have noticed the fear, aggression and tension in people. Everyone’s on edge – and the threat of terrorism is certainly not helping as well. What’s happened is that crime of any shape or form has become commonplace and acceptable. Trust, morality and decency are dying very quickly.

Acid attack? Big deal. Just another crime. Some teenager killed in a knife attack? Just another name that will soon be forgotten. Street robbery? Whatever. Not even worth mentioning. London is home to a disgusting and savage society, and nobody seems able to change it. More police and tougher sentencing are possibly the only solutions – but no one has the money or guts to make those changes.

On that happy note, here’s my take on what might be a typical day in the life of a British criminal.

12pm. Wake up. Had a fucking cracking night. Three guys stabbed and one street robbery. Gang wars are fucking mental but I fucking love them. We hit their territory and fucked them right over. Wankers. The street robbery was a fucking bonus. Just saw the dickhead walking around. Hit the guy with a fucking hammer. No doubt it will be described as “life changing injuries”. Whatever. If I do get caught, I won’t be getting a life changing sentence. Would be out in 18 months. Like last fucking time. Love it.

12.15pm. Shave and shower, and off down the fucking shop to get cigarettes. Can you fucking believe it? Had to punch some old woman who tried to reach around me to get a fucking newspaper. You fucking bitch. Show some respect you fucking old hag. As I leave, shopkeeper shouts out that it was all on CCTV. Whatever you fucking mug. I have punched about ten people for doing that. Never been caught. My face will be in the paper – just another “thug”. You think the police fucking care? They rely on the public to do the detective work for them. Police haven’t got fucking time for that shit. You fucking mug.

2pm. After grabbing some food, have a meeting with my probation officer. What a soppy bastard. This guy is one fucking useless sack of shit. I just call him “sir” and he falls for this shit every fucking time. Can’t he see I’m acting? This is too fucking easy. I tell him what I’m doing, all this bullshit about helping my mother and brothers, and how I’m turning my life around. I pretend to nearly break down in tears, telling him how the police harass me and won’t leave me alone. Put all the blame on those wankers. Of course, the fucking moron laps all this up. Comes out with “police brutality” and all that shit. Says I should be given a “second chance”. Yeah mate. You still haven’t twigged that I’ve had 50 “second chances”. You fucking wanker.

3.30pm. After getting away from that soppy bastard – meet up with my mates for some robbery time. Need more money and need the fucking buzz. We nick a few mopeds and ride the fucking streets. Love it. Threw acid in one guy’s face. You should’ve heard the fucking screams. Fuck me – guy howled like a baby. A fucking delight to hear. Love it. Take his money and bike. And fuck me – police do turn up. Hardly ever see the wankers. But we speed off – riding as dangerously as possible. The wankers have to back off. Instructions from their superiors – don’t cause unnecessary accidents. Yeah – you jog on wankers. I love London. This is the fucking life.

7pm. Get something to eat and relax for a bit. Tonight is special – meeting up with a BBC TV crew. These soppy wankers are doing some fucking documentary on gangs and street crime. They arrive about 8pm. These wankers look half petrified, half thrilled. Fucking morons. They’re getting a real buzz out of this. Me and the gang have a fucking ball winding these idiots up. One gang member pretends to threaten them with a knife. Of course, I step in to protect them and get their trust. Fuck me this is too easy. I am half tempted to cut them up myself. Give them some scars and memories to remember. I hate these wankers. But we love watching these documentaries. Very fucking entertaining.

We take them around a bit, show them the sights – not the real ones – just in case. We come out with the old bullshit about police harassing us and how no one in the community helps us. Where are the facilities? What can young people do? Life is unfair. The usual shit. Like that soppy probation officer, these morons fucking fall for it. If they’d done any fucking research, they’d see it was me that burned down the community centre last year. Went to court and judge gave me a warning, but said I’d had a hard life and needed to be given a chance. Cheers wanker. He also criticised the police for the way they arrested me. Something about “excessive force”. You fucking mug. I was pretending it hurt you fucking wanker.

Back to the BBC dickheads. The fucking wankers are too wrapped up in their little world and fucking agenda. They fall for it, every fucking time. You fucking mugs. Two weeks ago, I had Channel 4 doing the same kind of TV documentary. Same kind of wankers as BBC. Just paid less.

11pm. Once the BBC wankers had fucked off back to their comfortable homes and dull fucking lives, me and the gang got on with the real business. Another fucking beauty of a night. I love stabbing people and fighting. Fucking love it. I’ll sleep well tonight. But you fucking won’t. You fucking mugs.


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