SINCE moving to Shelton from Paignton in Devon in 2004, there have been a lot of times that I haven't felt safe but I never expected to be attacked while walking to work yesterday morning.

I've always been nervous of swaying drunks and gangs of squealing youths when making my way home late at night through dimly-lit alleyways but it was a sunny summer morning and the towpath down by Etruria Locks seemed peaceful.

When I've walked along the canal in the past the banks had always been inhabited by mild-mannered old ladies walking their dogs, joggers that seemed way too happy about their level of fitness and presumably permanent anglers who never seemed to move no matter the lack of bites.

My first sign that something was wrong yesterday was when I saw the dripping wet, rotting mess of a carcass in front of me on the tow path.

Two youths, one propped up against the lock with a fishing rod in hand, shouted across: "You seen that rabbit carcass? It's disgusting."

Stepping round it I agreed with them and made my way past the shaven-headed duo who were clad in grey and black hoodies.

I thought that engaging in conversation with these two would be a bad idea and tried to avoid making eye contact when I passed.

One of them shouted after me, asking for the time and foolishly I slipped my phone out of my trouser pocket and shouted back that it was quarter to nine. Now they knew I had a phone on me and they knew where it was.

I, however, was oblivious to what was about to happen – instead concerning my thoughts with making it into work early and that first cuppa of the day.

I was now a fair stretch away from where the exchange had taken place and was just about to pass under the bridge that leads to the Etruria Industrial Museum.

Consumed with my own thoughts I had almost put the two youths and their dead rabbit from my mind when I heard a noise behind me. I barely had time to turn around before I was trapped in a headlock and forced to the ground, cutting my head on the way down.

The pair had returned, this time with their hoods up, and while one held me down the other tried to prise my left hand from my pocket where it was desperately clinging to my wallet and phone.

My right hand was busy trying to keep hold of my glasses, which one of the youths seemed intent on prising from my face, maybe in an attempt to make identification difficult. After a brief struggle, and knowing that I'd never get out of this otherwise, I surrendered my wallet and phone and in an instant they were gone, briefly pausing to whip the bag I was carrying from my shoulder.

Picking myself up off the ground I was just in time to see the two cycling like crazy across the bridge above me, on bikes they must have stashed in the bushes beforehand.

Shaken and bleeding I continued on my way to work.

What was most frightening about the attack was how unexpected it was.

I never thought I'd be mugged in an area which holds no fear for anglers, joggers and dog-walkers.

While I got off lightly with a minor head wound, which was later glued shut at Haywood Hospital, a graze to the knee and a couple of bruises, it could have been a lot worse.

With the fishing rod prop and the stashed bikes it seemed like the two young people had practiced this routine and I got the feeling that anyone who didn't give up their stuff so easily could have been in for a beating.

There was even a second when I was pinned to the ground when I imagined being stabbed.

In a material sense I haven't lost much – an all but empty bag, a wallet filled only with vouchers and store cards and a phone that I replaced that afternoon. But it was an experience that will always be with me.

I certainly won't be walking that way to work ever again and I'll be apprehensive about using the tow paths at the weekend.

I feel guilty I didn't pay more attention to the two youths and was unable to give the police a useful description.

In the afternoon I was constantly looking behind myself in town and eyeing everyone up as a potential mugger.

If they were a young man in a hoodie, I gave them a nervous second glance because I'll never truly know if it was them who attacked me.