My phone was stolen – what came next was somehow worse

The day had started pretty much like any other. I had just finished my three and a half hour breakfast show at the Talk studios in London Bridge – predictably punctuated with dozens of references to WardrobeGate, Lord Waheed Alli and the dire state of the Starmer administration – and I was making my way home, about to plan the rest of my day.

Emerging from Bermondsey tube station in south east London I noticed that the temperature had dropped considerably. It was around 10.40 in the morning as I crossed a road – like most main roads in London – where the cars were squeezed into one lane going each way on what used to be a dual carriageway.

I was heading for the bus stop and contemplating what I might make for breakfast when I noticed that the illuminated sign was out of order. It was the departure board for the various buses on that route – and enabled us weary travellers to judge how far away the next bus would be.

As I reached into my jacket pocket for my phone so that I could check the bus app for the same information I had no idea that what would happen in the next 60 seconds would provide me with eight hours of mental pain and anguish.

Only last week I had been warning visitors to the capital city to be very much on their guard in what has become a very crime ridden place. I told them to be alert to pickpockets, especially in the West End, I told them to watch out for watch gangs scoping out what they might be wearing on their wrists and I said in no uncertain terms do not take your phone out of your pocket, especially if you’re standing next to a road.

And the reason why I issued these dire warnings? I knew so many friends and colleagues who had been the victims of crime this year alone – and who were already talking about leaving town as a result.

My advice was also handed down to my two teenage sons who come to London from time to time with their mates for a mooch around.

My bus stop was one of those now common structures planted on a traffic island in the middle of the road. A bus lane in front, a two-laned cycle path to the rear. I held the phone in my right hand as I turned with my back to the traffic to check the app. No surpise. That wasn’t working either.

As I turned back around to see if there was any sign of a bus, I was aware of the proximity of a hand. It happened so quickly I had no time to react.

Once before at an almost identical spot, two muggers had tried to grab my phone out of my hand but I gripped its tightly, shouted at them and they left empty handed.

This time was different. The assailant had grabbed the phone and was speeding off with it in his hand. He was on a moped. In 10 seconds he was gone. He had literally grabbed it on the run without even stopping.

A woman, who had seen what happened, shouted at a passing police van that I’d just had my phone stolen. It was a surreal scene. I was more in shock than angry. It had all happened so quickly. I crossed the street to talk to the police officer. He said he was very sorry. He said it was happening all the time.

He even confessed that he had had his own phone stolen last week while he was in uniform. He didn’t even attempt to ask me for a description. Or promise to chase up the crime. His advice was to report it online. It was depressingly unhelpful.

I shrugged my shoulders and waited for the next bus. After all, it could have been so much worse. His touch was so deft that I’d barely felt anything. I figured I’d get home, report the theft and get a new phone ordered.

But oh no. It wasn’t that simple. Without a phone I couldn’t receive text messages to prove who I was for security. I couldn’t access my bank account without the correct passwords online. And I couldn’t call them because I had no phone.

The only thing I could do – thankfully – was track the phone as the moped thief drove it around south east London. First to Deptford, then to Goldsmith’s College and on to Stepney before settling in Whitechapel. And I was able to wipe the data and shut it down before he could access any of my apps.

It took two trips to the phone shop, several hours of waiting on hold, and countless security checks before I was finally back in the real virtual world again.

By seven o’clock in the evening – some nine hours later – I only had 10 more hours to wait for everything to download from the cloud. At several points I actually thought of giving up altogether.

I was fortunate. I wasn’t stabbed, I wasn’t slashed, I wasn’t punched or kicked. But my stomach felt as if I had been. The Mayor of London Sadiq Khan makes out that London is still the best city in the world, a magnet for tourists.

But it is also a magnet for criminals. Right now it is as dangerous as it has ever been – and I speak as someone who was born here more than 60 years ago.

Last year 52,000 mobile phones were stolen in London – that’s 1,000 each week. And this year that number will likely double. These miraculous must have gadgets are now worth over £1,000 each. And everyone wants one.

Having my phone stolen was a horrible experience. And the aftermath was even worse. But it won’t make me leave town, not just yet anyway.

Mike Graham hosts Morning Glory weekdays on Talk