I love London. I have talked a lot about London, both as a destination for family visits, and also my adventures. There is nothing I don’t love about London.

Well. There wasn’t. Until last Saturday.

As my regular readers know, I go to London a lot. Since my change in attitude and style, London has become like a fairytale land that I love to visit. I feel happy,  safe and invincible when I travel in the City. I know my way around very well, where to go and not go and also what precautions to take.

But I am still strangely very naive. As with most people, I never imagine that bad things will/can happen to me. Given the work that I do, and some of the examples of how society can be, I guess I should have known better.

Saturday for me was a happy event. I joined up with a lot of my other curvy cuties, and ventured off to Hackney for The Curvy Convention 2016.

Spending time with friends is always great, and when you have the added bonus of lovely clothing and catwalks, well it can’t be bad.

We spent time in the gardens of the location, in the sun, eating ice cream and having a general giggle. All was right with the World.

And then we left the venue.

Leaving Hackney wasn’t a problem. The tube from Highbury and Islington was a little more problematic. In all the time I have been travelling solo across the City, I have never had a bad experience. I know I am a large lady, and I know I dress differently to most people. But I have only ever been met with positivity.

People have stopped me, told me that I look lovely, or they admire my style. That my dress is nice, or how stylish my handbag is. This happens every time, without fail. It doesn’t matter where I am in London, or what I am wearing. But it always happens.

This time, my 4 friends and I were met with sniggers, stares, laughing and prodding. This was by a group of 5 teenage boys, who I estimated to be around 15 or 16. The kept looking and blatantly laughing. Trying to get pictures of the group, and generally making me really uncomfortable and self conscious. This is not something I had experienced previously, and I didn’t like it very much at all.

Little did I know, the evening was going to get worse. Arriving in Kings Cross, there was a heavy contingent of football fans, due to a big match that had taken place earlier. And where a lot of alcohol had been consumed. This never makes for a good combination, and it certainly gave a lot of Dutch courage.

Now, I am pretty sure that the man who came up to us and shouted right in one of the groups faces, “F***ing Hell what are the size of your Tits” would NEVER dream of doing that to a woman when he was sober. Well, although I can’t say that for definite, (he could have been a disgusting pig who does it all the time) but I would hedge my bets.

He probably went home, possibly to a lovely partner, maybe even children and didn’t think about it again. Sober in the morning, he probably didn’t even remember doing it.

He didn’t see the effect that this may have had on any of the party. Didn’t see what the behaviour has done to the confidence of one in particular, Me.

We went into a pub, one I have been in probably 20 times or so. I love it there and have spent some happy times, eating and drinking in there. And again, we were accosted by a drunk male. Who was very leery and kept coming over to our table, jumping in our pictures and making inappropriate comments

Feeling very shaken by the negativity and sheer ridicule that we had faced, I started to question my safety and confidence. Only that afternoon I had shared with my friends that I always get the First Class train back home from London.

Very smugly I pronounced that I felt so much safer and secure in First Class, as it isn’t usually filled with drunken sports fans, you have a guaranteed seat, and there is an attendant on duty. As a woman travelling alone, I had made the decision to always travel this way, for my own peace of mind.

So how did it come to be, that as I was standing by the door to depart the train, an unknown male felt it perfectly within his rights to fondle my bottom, giving it a couple of squeezes and a stroke?

In my head, I always felt that if I was ever put in this situation, I would swing my hand round, connecting with the persons face, whilst loudly proclaiming “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?”

In reality, I just froze. I stood there, thinking, did that just happen? Then the second squeeze came and I knew It hadn’t been a mistake. Yet still I was frozen.

Thankfully in the split second of this happening, the door opened and I jumped off the train. My husband was waiting at the station to drive me home, so I knew I would be OK.

Getting into the car, did I tell him it had happened? No, again I didn’t. Mainly because I was concerned that he would go and punch his lights out, and I didn’t want him to get into trouble. But I should have.

I went home, and went to bed. But when I woke up, it was still playing on my mind. I don’t particularly mean the bottom fondling, but the whole evening. Why didn’t I speak up for myself, or make a complaint about the things that had happened?

Speaking to a very good Police Officer friend, he was disgusted by what had happened. He was also quite angry that I hadn’t reported the fact that a male had “felt me up”. To him, it was totally unacceptable, and that a crime had been committed against me. Why hadn’t I told anyone? What if this person did it to others?

To many, they would have the same response as him. Anger and disgust that all of this had possibly happened, in this day and age. The sheer amazement and these people behaved in this way.

His advice was right. As silly as it may sounds, that man HAD done something that was illegal, and very much unwarranted. But I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. I didn’t know the man. I didn’t know if he got off at the same station as me. Probably wouldn’t recognise him again.

Given my job role, I know how stretched the Police are. What exactly was I going to tell them? An unknown male who I probably wouldn’t ever see again in my life, had fondled my bottom? They really have far better things to do that deal with that.

For me, that isn’t (although it should be) the effect that it has had on me. Far worse things happen to people every single day of the week, and this was mainly words and attitudes.

The effect that it has had though, it is even more far reaching.

My confidence has taken a hit. A big one. I don’t feel as comfortable in my skin as I was a week ago. The blase attitude and carefree way I had of popping to the City, whenever the feeling took me has been shattered.

At this point in time, I don’t know if I will go back to London on my own. With events and activities planned, London is a necessary part of that. But I don’t know if I want to face that.

Will I face more negativity and ridicule? It has never happened before, but perhaps the honeymoon period is over. I do know that I am not willing to test that out quite just yet.

People have said that I shouldn’t let these events affect me, and I have had far more positive experiences in London, and they should outweigh the bad ones.

But, when I started changing my style and clothing, the biggest thing that frightened me, was the thought of people laughing and mocking me. Finally, my biggest fear came true.

And it was everything I worried about and more.

My love affair with London is on the rocks, but I am not just quite ready to give up on her yet………