Taxi Driver

So I'm crossing Drury Lane, right up at the top by the Travelodge where I've just checked in. It's narrow and one-way at that point, no traffic. I walk to the other side, cutting about five or six feet in front of a stationary black cab that is lettting passengers out, taking the money.

Suddenly the driver's foot slips off the clutch and the cab lurches forward, knocks me flying. My hands flail down to break my fall and hit the pavement first. My leg just below the knee smashes against the hard stone edge of the kerb and the side of my face is pressed into a drain.

I lie there, stunned. Am I badly hurt? I'm not sure yet. I didn't hit my head, that's good. My hands, my shoulder, my leg oh god my leg is hurting but I don't think it's broken or anything like that. I'm taking stock.

The cab reverses back, just far enough that he can swing around me as I lie sprawled between the road and the pavement, and accelerate away as the lights turn green. He didn't even get out, ask me if I was ok.

People run out from the electrical shop. They are shocked. Did I get the registration of the taxi? Do you know? I didn't, because I was lying with my face in the drain, actually. They help me to my feet. I feel a bit shaky but obviously not seriously injured. They want to call the police but I can't face an eternity of hanging around and witness statements and all that crap - I just want to sit on my own and calm down.

I'm even prepared to confess I had a little bit of a cry (stunning, I know) - although I'm putting that down to the shock.