I sit on the proverbial fence on many controversial issues – like global warming and GM food - but one of the few about which I am unequivocal, is burglary. I’m not keen on it to put it frankly. Indeed, let me leap off this morally rocky barrier and land squarely on the side marked ‘Against’. I should make it quite clear that the reason for my atypical clarity of mind is not so much that I think burglary is a scourge of society and should continue to be outlawed, but more that it just doesn’t work for me.
I imagine you have need of further explanation. I accept there is a modicum of justification in this insistence and I will therefore explain myself.
Some months ago I discovered, much to my disquiet, that I was bereft of funds. My parents had the incredulous notion I should make my own way in the world and cease my reliance on their generosity to fund the hedonistic lifestyle to which they considered I had become accustomed.
Naturally I ignored this preposterous suggestion – up to the point my allowance dried up – at which time my churlish bank manager suggested it might be better for all concerned if I considered depositing slightly more into my current account than I was withdrawing. Inconceivably it seems this policy is widespread across the entire banking fraternity and takes little account of one’s standing in society.
Contemplating my options I determined that, although I had limited funds available to me, there were many who had more than they reasonably needed. The most prudent course of action therefore was to transfer a measure of these surplus funds to me. It quickly became apparent there might be an irksome reluctance on the part of those holding the aforementioned resources to release them willingly, and I had to consider this irritation and how best to respond to it. This dilemma was new to me. My family had been, until now, content, and indeed eager to fund my lifestyle - more I suspect to keep me out of their busy lives than as a measure of their parental love. They seemed to believe that their responsibility for my wellbeing should cease, merely because I have reached three score and one years.
Consequently, after a good deal of research revealed a distinct lack of an alternative revenue stream, it became clear that I would have to exercise my initiative to fund any future projects, such as the purchase of food and accommodation. As if I needed any additional inducement to generate capital, it was suggested that I might care to vacate the family residence. Is there no end to their parsimony? My current wife was not amused, but her processor was smugly sympathetic.
My enquiries let me to reject the adage that ‘crime doesn’t pay’. It appeared to me that crime is essentially the most highly paid profession available, and one that grows in profitability by the day. Yes – I am aware prisons are fully occupied and the courts are overstretched. This surely confirms my theory that, as within most professions, there are stupid and inept criminals who boast no clear career paths or ultimate goals, and live to bemoan their woeful tales at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Conversely, there are those focused individuals who work hard to research and assess their market and plan their activities to ensure that success inevitably results. I would be one of the latter.
I determined that my range of personal attributes boded well for a life of criminal success. I am of course highly educated, intelligent, personable and in possession of a quick wit that has proved invaluable over the years. I concluded that I first should devise a plan. It would necessitate a plan so astute that it would take someone of equal brilliance to thwart it. I concluded that such a brain within the local constabulary was not in evidence and therefore I was in no doubt that I would avoid the fate of many of my less intellectually gifted, criminal colleagues.
I decided that burglary would be my forte. I knew that a careful study of reluctant contributors to my dwindling funds was required and deduced that the municipal housing estate would not reap the rewards that I so required. This left the prestigious properties at the other end of the borough as my quarry. After many nights of careful appraisal I selected a house that was set well back from the road.
I knew I had to dress appropriately for the occasion and selected a rather dashing dress suit that I last wore at my Grandmother’s funeral in ’02 and in which I would surely blend seamlessly into the surroundings. The top hat was lined and would ensure I lost no warmth from my head.
My research had cautioned me to the fact that the authorities have a devious method of identifying potential suspects by their fingerprints and, thus forewarned, I had already purchased some heavy-duty garden gloves at a DIY store. The bright tan colour was not really to my liking but practicalities were such that I had to abandon my usual fashion sense.
I suspected that lightness of foot was a further, obvious requirement in this type of endeavour and I congratulated myself on the procurement of a pair of striking Nike trainers. I had been made aware, by the odious, spotty sales assistant, that the reflective strips on this footwear would prevent a careless motorist causing me a nasty injury by illuminating at least part of my form while I wended my way to my ‘mark’.
Every worker needs his tools of the trade and burglary is no exception. Thus, my financial investment was not restricted to clothing. Forward thinking led me to search for what is colloquially called a ‘holdall’ – an essential item for those in the profession. In this would be held the valuables that I would be relocating from the property. I procured a rather fetching Louis Vuitton case from Harrods that I considered would be fit for this purpose. It was well made, expandable and would last out my career if well cared for.
Seemingly most burglaries are performed during the hours of darkness and, consequently I had to find a way to see at night because it became apparent, from conversations to old ‘lags’, that the occupants of most homes do not leave on lights to welcome uninvited quests. Accordingly I purchased a rather useful little headset light, similar to those used by miners and pot holers when underground.
The next prerequisite would be tools that would facilitate entry into the property and this quandary was solved with the acquisition of a hammer, a chisel, and a screwdriver. These I managed to find as a set, encased in a rather fetching calf-skin case, also from Harrods.
I was now prepared for my initial foray into involuntary wealth distribution.
Caged as I am in this chilly and depressing cell I take time out to puzzle why I find myself in this predicament. I had prepared adequately – or so I thought – and had endeavoured to cover all possible scenarios. Perhaps it was fate – or just sheer bad luck - that a patrol car was cruising in that particular street at 2.30am on that Sunday morning. I wonder what alerted them? Further reflection is needed to solve that riddle, but surely the treatment I received during my arrest was indefensible. I could have been severely injured. Surely, in a civilized society this is no way to treat your future monarch.
End
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