Author: Mother

I raise this issue, not in jest.  Do you remember a time when burglars were just that – burglars.  They didn’t hurt folk, they didn’t damage the environment; they simply nicked your stuff.  They had a code of conduct and there was an unwritten agreement that they entered your property when you were out, took jewellery, money and possibly even the television, before exiting.  You, the homeowner, then returned full of horror and indignation, phoned the police, were reimbursed by your insurance company, paid higher premiums and that was that.  Do you remember those good old days?  Well, let me tell you that they are well and truly gone and, like everything else nostalgic, what a crying shame that we can’t bring them back.

Our home was burgled a few weeks ago.  Not only did these thieving eejits take the washing machine, they also took the washing powder and every other cleaning product in the place.  They took the copper pipework from the kitchen and the bathroom, they ripped out the copper cold water cylinder (ruining the kitchen ceiling in the process), wrecked the carpet from the hall, stairs and landing and that was just the start.  Not content with stealing porcelain, two wall clocks, an antique mirror and all the cereal, they stole ice-cream, precious children’s toys and a beautiful Welsh dresser.  I kid you not. They ripped the alarm sensors off the walls and cut the wiring in four places, helped themselves to a spinning wheel (with lamp attached) and made off with a drying maiden.  I could go on…

To be honest, I felt insulted when I saw the things which hadn’t been taken.  Did they think that my taste had wavered?

The piece de resistance, though, was the fact that they sledgehammered their way through a wall in my home to enter my neighbours’, from which they stole all the copper piping and a combi boiler.

So, instead of re-purchasing a few bits and bobs, my kitchen has to be taken back to brick, as does my bathroom and the carpet fitters will be in business for days.

Is it any small wonder that I hark back to the good old days when burglars were burglars rather than vandals, demolition crews, pedlars of complete misery and conscience-less scoundrels?

It seemed as though it was yesterday that we were all together, living in London and celebrating Tena’s Eightieth.  Ten years on and so much has changed.  The venue was Northern Ireland, none of us live in London anymore and Tena’s three siblings – all of whom thoroughly enjoyed her reign as an octogenarian – have passed onto Glory.  Recessions, food banks and spiralling fuel costs have morphed into normal everyday life.  Children have grown up, passed through university and embarked on careers.  Petrified marriages have been laid to rest and wonderfully vibrant relationships have replaced them.  All in all, what a difference a decade has made – that is, except to Christena Henrietta.

Tena danced the night away, circulated like the gracious lady whom she always has been and, at the conclusion of the evening (11.30pm), announced that she was not tired and wanted “to go clubbing”!  Aghast, I refused to entertain such a notion, only to be reprimanded with, “You young ones have no stamina”!

In the presence of such an unequalled, formidable and incorrigible nonagenarian, I admit defeat and defy anyone to keep up with her.  What a lady!