It’s funny how statistics don’t mean much until someone you love becomes one.
Yesterday, my 23-year-old brother finished Uni for the day and went to get some lunch.
He was stopped in a car park with his window down, when a man approached his car.
The man was clearly in a rage. He started yelling about his own car, which had been parked down the street.
He yelled: “Was it you who damaged my car?”
And before my brother could finish his sentence – “I didn’t do…” – the man punched him square in the face.
My brother looked down, shocked, at the blood that was pouring all over his jumper and jeans.
He ended up spending the afternoon in hospital, getting stitches in his busted lip. To make matters worse, the cut was such that it made more sense for the doctor to perform the stitches with no anesthetic.