I’d hoped to have some news for you by now about our horrible robbery. Hell, I hoped I’d have some news for me. But unfortunately the wheels of justice turn slowly. I suppose it’s just as well – no one wants any mistakes to be made.
It’s not letting too many cats out of too many bags to say that the police have been called in. I’ve been surprised and touched at how seriously our little larceny is being taken. Although the theft, unfortunately, does add up to quite a figure, no one’s died or even been harmed (physically at least) so I would have thought it would be low priority, particularly in a pullulating hotbed of crime statistics like Lewisham. But it seems not.
So at the end of last week I played hostess to a member of the constabulary, who was extremely sympathetic as his own mother has just been robbed. It sounds as though her burglars made a much more unpleasantly thorough job of it, compared to the insidious, cruel sneakiness of our particular snake in the grass. While we went through all the sad details of which bits and pieces my late grandmother had given to whom, and how much they might add up to in cold hard cash as opposed to memories of tea and cakes and love and support, his police radio kept burbling on. At one point, in a litany of shoplifters, suspected drug deals and so on, I was pretty sure I heard the words, ‘Bassett hound.’
For about one minute I pretended I wasn’t eavesdropping. But it was no good. I’ve always had a weakness for winsome ears and soulful eyes (check photos of husbands for confirmation) and I just had to ask. ‘Um, was that something to do with a … Bassett hound?’
We both gave up on the sordid details of my nasty little sneak thief for a while and followed the wagging tail of the Bassett hound running wild in Lewisham town centre. All too soon the dog was ‘secured’ and it was back to humdrum evil. But I’m glad that dog had its day.
