The lockup in Camden now has a lock on it that will most likely withstand nuclear attack. It cost £360. It’s integral to the door and Mister PissyPiss will have to ram-raid us to get in, which he can’t do if his car isn’t working.
Why did I replace the lock? Because the same fucker got in again. I suspected they would though. Mister PissyPiss. I was reasonably careful about what I put in there because of him. And I set a trap for him.
Once again he absolutely trashed it in feverish and haphazard search for GOLD.
I couldn’t assess what had been taken until the cops had dusted it all for prints. Last time, Mel and I spent a day resetting it and making it nice, and even though we isolated all the handled things and handled them only with gloves they refused to come. This time we had to leave it. It had been screwed shut anyway by a concerned neighbour who found it open.
When I discovered it with the bolt cut again I just walked away. I didn’t want to think about what had been taken. It was with a heavy heart that I went back today to find out.
My top hats were in there. One of the fly heads. The costume. The items with sentimental value… All there.
They literally took nothing that I cared about. Phew.
What did they take? Some old dead laptops. Some old dead consoles. Two television sets, one with all wires and remote worth about £40 – £60 on eBay if you’re patient, one that I had picked up off Tite Street with no wires or remote but for an investment of about £30 you would yield about £180. I hadn’t got round to it. The tools that were too shit to take the first time they broke in. An Apollo Tuck folding bike with two flat tyres and no seat. For an investment of between £30 and £80 and quite a lot of time you could yield about £120 – £150. A couple of figurines just over the edge of being crap. And I think they took Staffordshire Prince Albert, a lovely bit of set dressing but you’d struggle to get a tenner. And parian Victoria the same. These were my “later” projects, or they were set dressing. They were things where the work of selling them only just balanced the profit.
Of course they pissed on some of what they couldn’t carry. This guy has likely constructed reasons to hate me so he can justify his hateful behaviour. He didn’t have enough discernment to piss on anything valuable, and didn’t have enough piss to do much damage. Just a faint whiff in some of the old sheets, now thrown away. Whoever nailed it shut forgot about a pigeon that was in there, so there was a dead pigeon by the door but even the necrosis was not too smelly.
And they fell into my cunning trap…
A long time ago when I had the Audi, I filled a green petrol can with diesel to keep in the back in case of emergency. I never used it and I was aware of the danger, as green is for petrol. I put that can right by the door in the lockup where it couldn’t be missed and for good measure I wrote “Petrol” on the side of it with a sharpie. “They might break in again,” I rationalised. “If they do, maybe they’ve got a car…”
Chances are they don’t have a car. But if they do I’ve given them every chance of pouring diesel into the petrol engine.
Intriguingly there were still a few things stealthily in there with real cash value. They passed them through their hands. They didn’t know. I’ve rescued them now.
What a fucker. I hope they find him just because of the piss. If it was merely theft I might be able to marshal my compassion, check my privilege and accept that he was probably desperate even if it was an addiction that had got him there. But he pissed on my stuff out of spite, and a pigeon died because of him. So I hope he sold that diesel to a gang leader with anger issues who then put the stuff into a Maserati and now they’re misfiring and refusing to start, and they are angry and have come looking for Mister Pissypiss. “Try pissing when I’m done with you!”
It’s not set back. I haven’t the energy I had in November to clear up after some total wazzock does that. We made it so nice… What a goitre.
