Wednesday, 14 April 2010


There was a letter from Lancashire Constabulary on my doormat this evening when I returned from work. My heart started racing trying to recall any misdemeanours that may have caught up with me. Like driving through Morecambe dressed as the Village People with fake gay biker moustaches and asking stopping to ask an older gentleman for directions... or filling my bag with shampoo and shower gel from the Chester Grosvenor Hotel... 

Unfortunately, the letter stated there had been a burglary at my neighbour's house yesterday morning and went on to detail the modus operandi used. It then occurred to me that there was a suspicious car parked across my drive yesterday morning so I did the good citizen part and rang the police. I wished I hadn't... 

The police lady said that the details I had provided were likely to be the car used in the robbery. I was asked about registration numbers (erm.. sorry) and whether my house has cctv (erm...sorry). She went on to disclose that the burglary took place on a house occupied by a single lady and that the lady in question was in the house when it  happened. My legs turned to jelly at this point. Once I was thanked for my citizen of the year actions (it probably crossed her mind that I was a curtain twitcher bloody nosy parker which incidentally, I'm not), I then went into Hurricane FishFingerButty mode ie. battening down the hatches, securing everything with a window lock, padlock or electric fence. By midnight, I should have completed phase one of the FishFingerButty Towers moat. My ears (well, one good ear) are on heightened alert listening for burglar noises around my property. In fact, they are twitching like an antelope at a waterhole.  I'm cursing selling my baseball bat at last year's car boot fiasco and instead I arm myself with a bread knife and a hairdryer with the word 'TASER' tippexed down the side. Mind you, one look at my pyjamas and bed hair would probably frighten off any burglar from entering the inner sanctum. My house from the outside resembles something from the middle ages alerting townsfolk of the black plague contained within. Blinds are shut and voile curtains are closed. There's a X painted on my front door. I keep stubbing my toes because I can't see a bloody thing in my darkened lounge and it's only 6.30pm. 

This has happened in a 'good area'. Call it luck or good fortune, but I've heard of no problems in the 10 years of living here.  The ironic thing is that the stolen goods will no doubt be on ebay tonight or on next weekend's car boot sale. For the poor lady whose house has been burgled, it's now weeks and months of fear it will happen again and no doubt, many sleepless nights. For everyone else, it's a case of switching on the burglar alarms, never leaving downstairs windows open and constantly checking doors are locked. A lovely cul-de-sac where people say hello and kids play has now been sullied. 

Damn these lazy people. Go and get a job and work for a living. Work hard for the nice things in life. Be part of society and participate and contribute to it.  Make your parents and your children be proud of you and for your achievements. 

Or then again, break into someone's home and steal their cherished property before selling it for next to nothing in order to clothe your back with 'designer' labels or feed your habits. Easy money.....  


  1. crikey helen - thats the last thing i would have expected in your street - not nice at all - was it my old place ? - and maybe connected to the precious residents ?


  2. Hi DP,
    No, it wasn't your old place. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised as no street is exempt these days but it's sad all the same. The access way to the pond perhaps needs looking at and I'm thinking of writing to the local council to review it in light of recent events.
    I'll tell you more when I see you or chat.