Our quiet corner of Lincoln, a short road of mostly 1950s houses, this week became a fully paid-up member of the 21st century: knife crime has, at last, arrived.

“By eck, it’s getting more like the Bronx* every day,” we chuckled (hollowly).

On Wednesday evening, though, we still didn’t know exactly what had happened. We simply saw several police cars turning up at the local old folks’ residence, and started making wild, but fun, assumptions.

“Those old people can be proper terrors,” I said. “You can never be sure if that sweet little elderly gent is carrying a walking stick or if it is really a swordstick. With a little engineering ingenuity, it’s probably easy enough to convert a zimmer frame into a four-barrelled poacher’s sidearm. Still, at least it looks like the local constabulary has rumbled them at last.”

The truth, according to the local papers, was more prosaic . A man in his mid-twenties had been ambushed by four assailants and had suffered multiple stab wounds. It all happened in the alley that we regularly use as a shortcut to the shops.

The most surprising thing, I guess, is that we were at all surprised that something like this could happen. This particular alley may be a pleasant, tree-lined walk, but there are always plenty of empty booze bottles and cans strewn among the undergrowth, and council workmen recently erected heavy-duty security fencing along the other side, which backs onto the elderly residents’ apartments. Evidently, one or two (maybe even more) villains and ne’er-do-wells like to hang around there late at night.

Maybe it’s not so bad after all, though. Our quiet corner still has no CCTV cameras staring down at us. Hmm, is it just me, or has anyone else (e.g., four local muggers) spotted that little omission?

* Best Kept Village, 1989.