Posted by BE on November 1st, 2014
Our house in Herne Bay was burgled some years ago. We were woken in the middle of the night by crashing sounds from downstairs. It requires a really brave person to investigate strange noises in the night. So down Judy went. She returned to say all was well. Nothing out of the ordinary to be seen. Must have been the cats.
Daylight revealed that my office window had been partially jemmied open. The thieves had managed to get their hands through the gap and make off with my laptop. There were bits of cable still caught in the window. Judy turning the lights on and bellowing had obviously scared them off.
The police were helpful, but your chances of recovering stolen property really are slim.
There’s a near universal theme in people’s storise about having been burgled: it’s less the loss of property than the sense of personal invasion. You could perhaps describe the feeling as akin to grief. Nothing is ever quite the same again. And some things are irreplaceable. I didn’t mourn for my laptop, but for the hundreds of personal photographs that were stored on it. The worst type of theft is the theft of memories. Read the rest of this entry »