Randomeanderings: Useful and useless things, random assorted ideas and general waffle
Randomeanderings: Useful and useless things, random assorted ideas and general waffle
- clinestar
- Part time poet, full time librarian, student of the delights of milk chocolate. Likes books, milk, paddling, poetry, scribbling, chocolate, notebooks, sea, piers. Not necessarily in that order. All work copyright cih.
Friday 18 March 2011
Rights
Today I am frustrated. Fed up. Tired. Grumpy. Not from any specific reason, more a multitude of reasons that have been lying in wait and have all decided to wait until today to gang up on me. Yes, I know I was upset by the burglary. Today tho, for reasons that I am not going to list here, I'm just rather, well, miserable I suppose. Which is awful as I've got Comic Relief on in the background and seeing people on the information pieces with terrible lives is making me guilty for just being fed up when I have a comparatively luxurious lifestyle. I don't have that right. I want something I can't have. They need something they can't have. Their need is greater than mine.
Wait
Cliche-like the fine drizzle soaked into her hair, beads of water immediately flattening, disappearing into her general miasma of misery. She stood. Waited. In the distance the lights flickered. On. Off. On. Off. On. She watched disinterestedly, as the rain made halos round them. The lights grew brighter, brighter still. Died. The sudden dark made the noises round her seem louder somehow. A twig snapped behind her and she flinched, instinctively whirling round, hand to her bag. Defensive. The rabbit that appeared from the hedgerow looked as surprised as she.
The drizzle turned to rain and was now falling continuously. Now she could barely see out through the wet curtain of her hair. Her coat provided no protection - the layers of drenched wool giving of an acrid aroma of stale cigarettes, reminding her of empty bars and empty days.
Ominous rumble. Flash. Rumble. The street lights back on now. The rumble grew nearer. Nearer still. She looked skywards.
Beep, beep, beep. Loud. Impatient.
"Do you want to catch the bus or not?"
The drizzle turned to rain and was now falling continuously. Now she could barely see out through the wet curtain of her hair. Her coat provided no protection - the layers of drenched wool giving of an acrid aroma of stale cigarettes, reminding her of empty bars and empty days.
Ominous rumble. Flash. Rumble. The street lights back on now. The rumble grew nearer. Nearer still. She looked skywards.
Beep, beep, beep. Loud. Impatient.
"Do you want to catch the bus or not?"
Monday 14 March 2011
Stolen peace of mind
I got home on Thursday and found our flat had been burgled. I had my keys in my hand, ready to unlock the door when I realised, almost in slow motion, that the door was already open, swinging gently to and fro. The lock lying splintered on the floor of the hallway on top of the pile of post.
I called my Dad on my mobile. Well, actually I walked in, a la any stupid female character from a horror film, doing the same thing that I always tell the characters off for doing. Watching any film I always wonder why the vulnerable female lead walks into the empty house. You do though. I don't know why. I even called and asked if anyone was there. I'm not sure if I expected any remaining burglar to answer me and what I was planning on doing if they did so. It was then, walking up the steps to the living room, standing staring at the contents of the cupboard, ransacked, lying scattered on the floor, that I spoke to my Dad and told him I'd been burgled.
In the living room I looked at a pile of scattered children's clothes and couldn't understand why they were there. In retrospect, once I could think logically again, the children's things weren't that odd - one of my flatmates is a primary schoolteacher and all the items were from a recent school trip. However in that moment I just couldn't comprehend them. It was only promptings from my Dad on the other end of the phone that prompted me to check my bedroom. At first I thought the lock was stiff. Then I realised it was jammed because someone had broken it. Once I managed to get the door open, the lock fell apart and landed on the floor.
Now I know I am very lucky. Nobody hurt me. Nobody crapped on my bed (or worse). No-one smashed my mirrors. Property is replaceable. I am healthy. However everything they took from me had been a present. That I find upsetting. My camera, iPod touch, video camera, polaroid printer - all presents from my family and all gone. Other things may have gone too but as yet I haven't found out. I think my room got off more lightly than those of my flatmates because I am chronically tidy. I could only have made life easier for the burglars if I had actually labelled each drawer with a list of what was inside. As it was I did everything but. Camera was on the desk, iPod was in the docking station, everything else was immediately obvious in my desk. The burglars went through my clothes drawers and bedside cabinet but didn't ransack them in quite the same way they did the other rooms. Presumably because by the time they got that far they'd already got a fairly good haul. My clothes drawers were disarranged with one T-shirt randomly lying on the floor. Odd, that. Ditto my bedside cabinet - someone had gone through it and removed stuff, but left some things lying on the floor. My jewellery was all tipped out of the boxes and dumped on the floor, but as none of it is worth serious money, it was all left. I'm not the sort of person that has diamonds - and let's face it, if I did, I'd be wearing them.
So I told my Dad what was missing. I then rang 999 and managed to hold it mostly together enough to sound like a grown up (calm and collected) while I spoke to the police, then reported it to the lettings agent and requested a locksmith. Then I called my flatmates and told them to come home. They were upset on the phone, then hysterical in person.
The police took ages to arrive - we obviously weren't a priority (fair enough, it wasn't in progress and they couldn't find the flat), then the locksmith turned up hours and hours after that - following several chase calls because he couldn't find us either. It would have been so much simpler if the burglars hadn't found us either. He patched up the front door but recommended we got a new one. Unfortunately he wasn't allowed to fix either my or my flatmate's bedroom doors - both of which had had the locks broken. She got her boyfriend to stay over that night. I slept with my bedroom chair against the door.
Scene of crimes came the next day and took fingerprints - or would have done but the burglars wore gloves. So we were left with lots of futile shiny powder everywhere.
I'm currently left wondering why I feel cross with my flatmates and have come to the conclusion that it is because they expected me to deal with everything for them. I am not the oldest in the flat. I was just the first home. Today I was first home again. I have been sitting here typing this on and off for the last couple of hours and no-one else is back yet. Every noise in the house is making me jump. However I am determined that I won't bow down to nerves because that way I'll turn into Penelope Pitstop, wandering round having screaming hysterics for no reason. I'm not the type of person - maybe I should have run out of the house screaming when I discovered the burglary, but my upbringing taught me to phone the police. I never was meant to be the female lead in a film, more the sensible side kick that never wins the man.
I called my Dad on my mobile. Well, actually I walked in, a la any stupid female character from a horror film, doing the same thing that I always tell the characters off for doing. Watching any film I always wonder why the vulnerable female lead walks into the empty house. You do though. I don't know why. I even called and asked if anyone was there. I'm not sure if I expected any remaining burglar to answer me and what I was planning on doing if they did so. It was then, walking up the steps to the living room, standing staring at the contents of the cupboard, ransacked, lying scattered on the floor, that I spoke to my Dad and told him I'd been burgled.
In the living room I looked at a pile of scattered children's clothes and couldn't understand why they were there. In retrospect, once I could think logically again, the children's things weren't that odd - one of my flatmates is a primary schoolteacher and all the items were from a recent school trip. However in that moment I just couldn't comprehend them. It was only promptings from my Dad on the other end of the phone that prompted me to check my bedroom. At first I thought the lock was stiff. Then I realised it was jammed because someone had broken it. Once I managed to get the door open, the lock fell apart and landed on the floor.
Now I know I am very lucky. Nobody hurt me. Nobody crapped on my bed (or worse). No-one smashed my mirrors. Property is replaceable. I am healthy. However everything they took from me had been a present. That I find upsetting. My camera, iPod touch, video camera, polaroid printer - all presents from my family and all gone. Other things may have gone too but as yet I haven't found out. I think my room got off more lightly than those of my flatmates because I am chronically tidy. I could only have made life easier for the burglars if I had actually labelled each drawer with a list of what was inside. As it was I did everything but. Camera was on the desk, iPod was in the docking station, everything else was immediately obvious in my desk. The burglars went through my clothes drawers and bedside cabinet but didn't ransack them in quite the same way they did the other rooms. Presumably because by the time they got that far they'd already got a fairly good haul. My clothes drawers were disarranged with one T-shirt randomly lying on the floor. Odd, that. Ditto my bedside cabinet - someone had gone through it and removed stuff, but left some things lying on the floor. My jewellery was all tipped out of the boxes and dumped on the floor, but as none of it is worth serious money, it was all left. I'm not the sort of person that has diamonds - and let's face it, if I did, I'd be wearing them.
So I told my Dad what was missing. I then rang 999 and managed to hold it mostly together enough to sound like a grown up (calm and collected) while I spoke to the police, then reported it to the lettings agent and requested a locksmith. Then I called my flatmates and told them to come home. They were upset on the phone, then hysterical in person.
The police took ages to arrive - we obviously weren't a priority (fair enough, it wasn't in progress and they couldn't find the flat), then the locksmith turned up hours and hours after that - following several chase calls because he couldn't find us either. It would have been so much simpler if the burglars hadn't found us either. He patched up the front door but recommended we got a new one. Unfortunately he wasn't allowed to fix either my or my flatmate's bedroom doors - both of which had had the locks broken. She got her boyfriend to stay over that night. I slept with my bedroom chair against the door.
Scene of crimes came the next day and took fingerprints - or would have done but the burglars wore gloves. So we were left with lots of futile shiny powder everywhere.
I'm currently left wondering why I feel cross with my flatmates and have come to the conclusion that it is because they expected me to deal with everything for them. I am not the oldest in the flat. I was just the first home. Today I was first home again. I have been sitting here typing this on and off for the last couple of hours and no-one else is back yet. Every noise in the house is making me jump. However I am determined that I won't bow down to nerves because that way I'll turn into Penelope Pitstop, wandering round having screaming hysterics for no reason. I'm not the type of person - maybe I should have run out of the house screaming when I discovered the burglary, but my upbringing taught me to phone the police. I never was meant to be the female lead in a film, more the sensible side kick that never wins the man.
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