OK… so this has been a bit of a long day, and I don’t want to drag it out for those involved, but I am going to blog it partly by way of explanation to those concerned by my unhappy tweet earlier. (Context: I came back home yesterday, after an occasionally stressful final week of term which nevertheless also produced a wonderful Christmas trip to Pizza Express and a couple of other really good nights with everyone.)

Basically, the core of the story is that my parents were out for a walk when a guy armed with a knife tried to get my mum’s handbag. Conflict ensued, and my dad ended up with several cuts to his head and one of his fingers. The first I heard of this was at home, halfway through mock-interviewing Tasha’s friend Sarah in preparation for her Oxford interview, when my mum popped her head through the door of the dining room, a police officer visible behind her, to quickly explain what had happened before going off to the hospital to rejoin dad. (My reaction, by the way, was to ask how he was and then shut the door again and carry on with the interview, which I hope doesn’t seem uncaring: my brain was just determined to finish what it was doing first, thank you very much.)

Later on, on my own, the house became a bit oppressive so I hopped across to the absolutely lovely next door neighbours, by which time I had heard more and knew that dad was going to be fine. So my fears shifted from ’emergency!’ to a desperate fear of fear of crime, because what scares me most of all is how easy it is to be shaken into fearing our own streets. But when everyone finally got home tonight I knew we weren’t going to let this happen. We’re all going to be OK, and although my parents were obviously lucky that it didn’t end much more tragically, they are – and have always been – fantastically good at setting an example in picking yourself up, counting your blessings and moving on. (Aren’t you glad at this very moment that we don’t all walk around with guns, for example? And live in the days of A&E departments?) And even after the attack, my mum remained cool \ bloody minded enough to hang on to most of her stuff, because it clearly hadn’t been a great day so far and no way in hell was she going to lose all of her bag in the process. So, in time, I’m sure both of my parents will emerge from the story looking actually pretty damn cool (but sshh!)

(I hope this doesn’t seem like I’m trying to downplay it all too much – I’m sure it was utterly horrible for them, and my afternoon worrying wasn’t particularly pleasant either. But we’ll survive!)

Thanks to everyone who tweeted, texted, phoned, Facebooked or made me cups of coffee – it was very good to speak to each and everyone of you

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