I’m in the neighbourhood dumping ground. It’s a large pit that backs onto people’s houses that used to be an embankment containing an old railway tunnel. It’s full to the brim with kitchen sinks and shopping trollies, and on this occasion, large boxes wrapped in red tissue paper. They’re about the size of what you’d store a Christmas Tree in, and they’ve even got labels on. I rip one open and stuff a hand inside. I pull out something green and viny. I suddenly realise that it's a trap. Someone has filled the boxes with Japanese knotweed. Within seconds, I feel my wrists tightening. I look down and green veins have started sprouting all around my wrists and a purple pansy appears like a 3-d tattoo. My whole arm is paralysed. I need medical help. The fastest way for me to get help is to pass through a block housing estate to get to a doctor’s surgery. At a footbridge, I’m approached by two youths. One of them stabs me in the left side of my chest with a small blade.
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