The year we lost the kids
When the angry young man kicked me, I couldn't help but think of the irony.
His mate was busy punching my cameraman as others stamped on and smashed up his equipment. But despite the panic and the pain, the situation felt otherworldly: a curious, dramatic postscript on the story I was writing - how we have become frightened of our children.
The incident comes to mind as I reflect on the events of 2008. The last year, among other things, may well be remembered for exposing deep and dangerous contradictions in the relationship between generations in Britain.
The attack happened last March at the scene of a fatal teenage stabbing in North London. I had gone there to illustrate a television report on young people. Time magazine had just produced a front cover proclaiming that Brits were scared of their kids.
As the flashing fury in my assailant's face exploded in spittle-laden expletives, I understood the fear.
I had inadvertently trespassed into a gang's private mourning. A public street was their private territory. One of the "crew" had died from a blade less than 24 hours before.
Tearful young women comforted each other beside fresh flowers laid at the spot. Brooding men sat on a wall, shock and bewilderment in their eyes.
I should have realised before stumbling in. I was alien. From another world. And like the immune system fighting infection, they rose up to defend themselves.
It was a metaphor for the disconnect I see between young and adult in this country: a generational segregation that breeds distrust and fear. Children are taught to see every adult as a potential abuser. Adults are encouraged to see every teenager as a potential mugger.
We gasp with horror at the abuse and torture of a small boy in North London. We wring our hands at the violence of teenage gangsters in South London. Perhaps the two are related.
As I look back on the past twelve months, our contradictory responses to children are exemplified by those two moral panics - knife crime and child abuse. Bad kids and evil parents.
The United Nations this year identified a . The Time magazine headline read: "Unhappy, Unloved and Out of Control - an epidemic of violence, crime and drunkenness has made Britain scared of its young".
"Compared to other cultures", the article suggested, "British kids are less integrated into the adult world and spend more time with their peers. Some children are bound to be left in the cold".
A fortnight before that report came out, I read an inspection report from .
"The scale of the centre's difficulties," inspectors said, "was illustrated most starkly by the staggering levels of use of force by staff". Over nine months, force was used on children 757 times. On 500 occasions, this involved the highest level of restraint requiring at least three members of staff, with one holding the child's head.
Teachers working inside the centre were said to be "frightened and intimidated" in an "embattled" atmosphere. The inspectors suggested that the centre be closed down.
It was just a nib of a story: it didn't attract much attention. But it is indicative of a breakdown in relations between adults and children in this country.
Apart from increasing the use of physical force, we seem to have run out of ideas on what to do.
From Shannon Matthews to Baby P, we despair at the cruelty to children, but then casually describe young people as behaving like animals, as vermin which infests our streets.
As the young man's swinging foot connected with my leg, I winced. He had hurt me. But not nearly as much as our society hurts some of its children.
I'm 
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