Two out of three...

So yeah. In the continuing saga of Nicole’s shit life, my house was broken into last weekend.

My flatmates arrived home about 11pm to find the house ransacked, and promptly (and intelligently) went back outside to call and wait (and wait and wait and wait and wait) for the police.

It took some 12 hours before we managed to get a cop on-scene, so we spent the night sitting up in the living room, watching DVDs to distract us. Our rooms were off-limits to “preserve evidence.” And given every drawer in my room was pulled out and turned over, and all the clothing and whatnot flung from my wardrobe shelves, there wasn’t much that wasn’t potentially fingerprint splattered.

The first cops that showed up on scene weren’t even responding to our emergency call. They came to our house because some dude got pulled over for not having a properly registered car (no tax disc, for you Brits) and clearly had a big pile of stolen property in his back seat – so yes, they managed to arrest the mofo before we even managed to file a report. That’s simultaneously pathetic and fantastic.

Anyway, we need to wait for the trial date to get our stuff back, as it’s evidence. They didn’t manage to find any fingerprints, so the fucker’ll likely just get put away for possession of stolen property – worth a few months – before getting deported back to his native… Mexico. Go figure.

So, not unlike the cycling accident, though it does suck, it could have been much worse. But between the break-in, and multiple root canals, and mary visiting (and having her purse stolen), it's been an eventful week. It's a long weekend here, so we (Mary and I) are heading to Lyme on the south coast for the weekend, with a few Jane-Austen-related stops (not a surprise) along the way.

If the bad trend does continue -- it always travels in threes, right? -- and I get swept off the Cobb out to sea, or am attacked by Jane's zombie, or get lost in some old house with fake doors and die of starvation, well... blame Mary.