I was relaxing last night, having had an easy run up to Leeds, and a slightly less easy run back (rain, spray and lorries).
Number One Son is safely in his riverside apartment with half my kitchen equipment (Julia decided I didn’t need things if I hadn’t used them for a few months, though I notice her breadmaker is still here).
Julia was rattling round the kitchen, newly released from jury duty, and all was well with the world. Apart from famine, poverty and the shadow of Armageddon, but I normally manage to ignore that.
Then I get a phone call.
It’s from the owner of the shop.
He had left it till the end of my day off, but was just ringing to warn me the shop was in a bit of a mess after a break in.
A pair of robbers, who I sincerely hope will be afflicted by scabies and erectile dysfunction for the rest of their miserable lives, smashed their way in through two front doors and grabbed (a) the box of 50p pieces and (b) a random selection of coins.
The box of 50p coins probably contains £100 of coins. The random selection contains a rare 50p, and other coins to a value of about £5,000. We think they were after the 50p rather than the other coins.
Of course, to do this, they had to smash the counters rather than reaching in through to open backs.
Considering all the effort he has put in to expanding the business, this is a real slap in the face.
Much worse than a car rolling away.
Sometimes you wonder why you even bother trying. A lifetime building up and two scrotes with a hammer can cost you thousands in five minutes.
The police have said they will get there as soon as possible.