On the one hand Bidisha admired the burglar's skills, but on the other she wanted to beat him to death with her bare hands
David Cameron's big society can claim one victory. With its stress on collective action, self-help and shared regional skills, Cameron should be delighted that Cheltenham police have reported a 66% increase in burglaries. A local rozzer commented: "We've got a number of individuals who have reached that peak age for being productive burglars." Just like their counterparts at Cheltenham Ladies' College, the town burglars are ready to debut.
But burglary is a terrible crime. A Guardian colleague was once relieved of some Le Creuset pans and a cafetiere and could never make a light continental supper again. The first time it happened to us, a huge man jimmied an entire bolted security door off its hinges with a small screwdriver. He was faced down by my mother – 4ft 11in of pure steel – and fled, leaving a woolly glove behind. Out of politeness, we left it on the gatepost for him to find next time he was, er, out.
The second time, I set the alarm, went to the dentist and came back 20 minutes later to find that someone had sprung over the fence, slithered through a 6in kitchen ventilation window 10ft up, vaulted over the tea things on the other side and stolen a laptop with a dreadful novel on it.
He was so spry that the only thing he upset was a teaspoon caddy. He left behind the sweet smell of cheap deodorant. I was impressed despite my sense of violation. What suppleness. What speed. What dexterity. He was truly the Baryshnikov of burgling, the Nijinsky of nicking. I imagined, despite my admiration, hunting him down like an animal and beating him to death with my bare hands. But I figured that reading my novel was punishment enough.