soc
Turns out I've managed to damage some of the fascia supporting that fleshy bit inbetween my nostrils and my top lip, which explains why I can't quite pronounce my fricatives as normal. I've got to go back to Guy's tomorrow for an operation to put a couple of stitches in to hold it all together, although the long-term damage won't be discernible for another three to six months, apparently. Which is nice.

On the way back from this morning's pre-op assessment I decided to get off the bus at Burgess Park and return to the scene of the crime. It was a sunny hazy day and there were plenty of people around as usual during daylight hours. I'm typing this in now just for my own recollection really, but if you want a geeky level of detail, read on...

I was first surprised by the amount of blood but, following its trail, I remembered a little more about my actions immediately after the attack: from the point of impact I managed to ride about 55 yards onwards, a few drips in a straight line at first and then a couple of neat cornering-induced curves of drips as I must have wobbled and swayed from left side to right then back again; a cluster of drops at the left side of the path as I remember initially stopping and realising I was bleeding. I then remembered I'd tried to get back on the bike and ride away; the drops were wide-spaced at first and then closer together as I slowed down to stop about 15 yards on and this is when I remember looking behind me and trying to see whether anyone was coming after me out of the darkness. There's a fair old cluster or small puddle of drops there, then a steady trail of about 20 per yard for the next 155 yards or so as I was walk/running with the bike to the gate at the end. Finally there's a patch spattered on the ground there as I was standing still leaning on a post (partly as support, partly to keep my bleeding nose from dribbling down my clothes!) while the blood flow eased.

I then walked back down the path, looking at the verges either side to see if I could find what I was hit with, out of interest more than any forensic reason. The park's very popular with dog-walkers so there were plenty of sticks around but, carefully laid in some long grass parallel to a wire fence just near where I was hit, I think I found the weapon: a two-foot length of scaffold pole. As well as the usual cement and paint splotches, there was a faint ominous dark spray around a section about four inches from one end. I carried the bar over to a fenced area of builders' stuff and blue tubes to the north (it weighed a solid-feeling 6 or 7kg) and threw it under a fence, thinking it was at least out of the way if anyone planned on coming back to where they'd hidden it to use it again.

On my way out of the park, I saw a couple of policemen on mountain bikes and had a chat with them about it all. They weren't at all surprised about the incident, it's "far too common" along that path, apparently. They said there wasn't much point in doing anything about the scaffold pole except what I'd already done: it wouldn't be a good surface for fingerprints, five days exposed to the weather in long grass would have removed pretty much all DNA and if I couldn't identify the attackers at the time there's unlikely to be any way of finding them - even if they're caught in the act doing it again in the same spot, that doesn't conclusively link them to my attack.

So, as predicted, I'm a statistic. I didn't expect any other outcome, but there's an interesting sense of completeness now at least I know what was used to hit my face and I've stopped that particular thing being used again.

Ouch...