Connor popped down the other weekend. He’s having to study hard for the theory side of his aircraft engineering course and Julie and I were suitably impressed at the way he diligently deals with all the mathematics and algebra which he’s got to learn. To me you might as well be talking Japanese trying to understand that mumbo jumbo. I have never been that analytical a case in point being my Maths CSE back in 1981. Defeated by the opening page I walked out after 30 minutes leaving the statement – ‘I’m not bleedin Eistein’ , sprawled over the front.

Needless to say I didn’t pass and should have tried harder, but it’s always been my way – shooting from the hip and asking questions later. Subsequently it’s not always led to the smoothest path in life and over the years I’ve learnt too keep my powder dry. My increased disability should probably incentivise me to take more of a back seat if I’m in dangerous position but if anything it has empowered me to take everything head on, driving me from within if you want.

I don’t really fear anything anymore as strange as that might sound. Living with MS can strip you back to your bare bones and although I might be more choice with my words and actions if anything is kicking off I feel duty bound to get involved.

Fulham is a sanguine part of town. Parsons Green where I reside has a nice village feel to it, people are out there walking their dogs, going about their business some with smiles on their faces but underneath it does not take much to upset the apple cart.

Case in point was after Con and I had gone for a walk. We’d stopped at the White Horse for a pint of cider in the spring sunshine when we saw an altercation kicking off between two guys by an adjoining side road. Both were black, one short and fat (the van driver) the other tall and thin dressed in a Chelsea jacket and matching hat. The van driver had taken exception to be being called a ‘fucking idiot’ when he tried to enter a one way street by the Chelsea boy and left  his van remonstrating pointing his finger and screaming at the other chap who by his stage was being forced back but giving a good account of himself considering the size difference.

The shouting intensified as bystanders stopped and gawked videoing the escalating situation on their phones. The two suddenly started to grapple with each other throwing one another against the pub wall, reminding me of a Terminator movie as Arnie and another cyborg fought it out. Before long the van drivers shirt had been ripped from his back, leaving the crack of his ass mooning the audience from his scruffy blue jeans.

There was a good crowd watching from the pub and another dozen or so on Parsons Green lane by now, clearly with no interest getting involved as the half naked van driver disengaged from his wrestling match and ran back to the back of his van. Opening the door, he grabbed a heavy duty motor bike lock which he brandished with menace. Moving back across the road he grabbed the other guy round the throat with his spare hand threatening him with the weapon as gasps of astonishment rippled from the watching crowd.

I’d seen enough at this stage and wheeled off not to get a better view but to sort it out. The argument had moved up a level and someone was going to get hurt if no-one intervened. There was a bit of an adverse camber on the pavement but leaning into it allowed me to take It smoothly and reach the warring factions quickly. In a calm voice wheeling up to both of them I said, ‘What’s going on lads’. At first the van driver turned aggressively but instantly calmed seeing my wheelchair and that I was no threat. Connor reckoned it was his presence standing behind me, towering above everyone. Either way we had the situation in control.

More people then decided to join us and we were able to separate the two. Having worked in a disabled charity for many years I sensed the guy dressed in the Chelsea gear had some form of mental health issue so I worked on the other guy who had clearly had a bad day persuading him to get back in his van and depart before the police turned up. Once he’d departed without his shirt, I checked on the other chap who appeared none for the worse and then returned to the pub to finish my cider.

As the crowd dispersed, Con and I shook our heads at peoples inability or fear to get involved and nip these things in the bud. A fleet of police cars arrived as we took our last lugs from our glasses as police officers took statements from eager witnesses who’d sat and watched the melee. We didn’t bother – what was the point. Even though we had been in the thick of it, the confrontation had been sorted and no-one had been hurt, apart from societies inability to help itself.