I have a rather unusual profession which makes it awkward to answer when I am asked during casual conversation with strangers what I do for a living. I am a professional pickpocket — always returning what I steal — plying my trade as an entertainer on stages as diverse as Las Vegas multi-million-dollar revues to international corporate events. I have performed my unique craft for 35 years in over 80 countries. Until now, I had never had my own pockets picked even though I have strolled often through so- called ultimate pocket-picking grounds in Cartegena, the shouks in Cairo, and Las Ramblas esplanade in Barcelona. I've been pushed and shoved using public transportation like the Star ferry in Hong Kong, and rush-hour subways in Tokyo, London, and New York; yet I've never been a victim.

As a young magician I became interested in con-games and pickpocketing, and in my early twenties, I hitchhiked through Europe, from capital to capital, performing in some and studying the subcultures of street crime in others. As my show presentation improved my travel destinations became more exotic, and I came to understand the methods and the universal philosophy of all pickpockets. The most important aspect always preceding a dip is the diversion strategy. I became a fanatic collector of set-up ploys, always on the look-out for the perfect sting. And yet, after 35 years of researching the most diabolical ruses ever used to lure the sap into a false sense of security, no pickpocket had ever attempted to hustle me.

Finally my luck turned — I'm not sure for the good or bad — during a recent visit to Naples. I had accepted a two-month cruise engagement together with my wife onboard the Song of Norway, calling on ports in the Mediterranean and the Baltic Sea. After three consecutive years in a Las Vegas showroom we wanted some travel excitement and a change of scenery. Our port lecturer warned about slick pickpockets in Rome and particularly about the infamous scippatori of Napoli. Little did I know that I myself would finally become a statistic in what must be one of the world's highest concentrations of muggings and pickpocketings in an area spanning less than half a square mile: Quartieri Spagnoli, a section of Naples even the police avoid.

I had known for years that marauding teams of Vespa-riding pirates — borseggiatori — plied their vicious bag-snatching chicanery on unsuspecting tourists in Italy, and in Naples particularly. Handbags and gold chains were being plucked off as easy as ripe oranges by back-seat riders in daring dash-and-grab capers. It doesn't exactly qualify as pickpocketing, but the end result is more or less the same. It was therefore with extreme caution that

They caught us completely off-guard. With silence their foil, they had rolled down the hill, all three on a Vespa scooter, its engine off. One guy remained on the scooter, ready to bolt; another held me with my arms pinned to my sides, and the third tried to rip the watch off my wrist. It was sudden, quick and silent. No shouts or vulgar threats. Because my reflexes never got into gear, I never had a chance to coil my muscles into a protective stance.

It's a joke, I thought for an instant, expecting a friend or a colleague to say "Gottcha!" I'm quite often grabbed by people who've seen me perform; they like to make me faux-victim in a sort of role reversal. Although this vice-grip felt deadly serious, my thought process, instant and automatic, cost me several seconds.

Fortunately, pickpockets are generally petty criminals who can easily be scared off. They prefer wit, diversion, and speed to violence as their modus operandi. As soon as my adrenalin kicked in, I yelled at the top of my voice "Polizia, polizia." Years of stage speaking certainly helped me to project my voice. Instant reaction! They scrambled away as fast as they had appeared.

We walked away, lucky but shaken. The watch strap didn't give despite considerable force applied in attempting to snap its pin. All I had lost was my my own track record. I could no longer claim that pickpockets had never tried to steal from me.

The proof of my own stupidity, namely wearing a Rolex in Naples, was a scratched up wrist. I should have known better. First rule for avoiding pickpockets: don't attract them. Don't signal you're worth their while. Second rule: it can happen to any tourist in southern Europe, be it Spain, France or Italy. Police in every major European city have extensive files on pickpockets — the best of whom travel all over Europe, especially during the summer holiday season. So don't think you're safe in Helsinki just because there's hardly any street crime there.