"I came to sitting in a black cab, feeling very drowsy. I looked around me and believed the cab was driving down Tottenham Court Road. I noticed a squad car behind the cab. I realized my black leather shoulder bag and a plastic bag I had had with me all day were missing. I asked the cab driver where we were going; he told me we were heading for King’s Cross station. I asked him where my bags were. He became abusive and told me I had brought no bags with me. He drew the cab up. I saw that the police car had also drawn up some yards behind us. The cab driver got out of the cab, as did I. Two policemen had already got out of their car and walked towards me. The one on my right pointed a hand at me and said ‘Fuck off Sir’. Both then turned around and walked back to their vehicle. This in itself is extraordinary behaviour. I got back into the cab and continued the journey."
The fact that the author seems to be an eminently respectable (and rather tedious) toff rather than the usual internet nutter makes the tale more intriguing and /boo/-worthy.
>>2212 He certainly has an annoying pompous and aristocratic manner of blogging but it's an interesting story of obvious spookery and plausible denial. I've no real idea why he's moaning so much, he didn't exactly get the North Face bag or satsuma in gob treatment.
It just sounds like he's had his drink spiked and gone on a bit of a drugged up rampage. His friend probably had to leave as suddenly as he did because he too was feeling a bit woozy from whatever whoever had put in their drinks.