JENNI MURRAY: Alone and terrified, but the police refused to come when I was burgled
If you’ve never been burgled, you are very lucky, and it appears you’re pretty rare — 192,060 domestic burglaries were reported over the past year in England and Wales, with just 3.5 per cent resulting in a prosecution. Most frightening statistically are the almost 800 burglaries per day that go unsolved.
If you are one of the lucky ones, you can’t possibly know how becoming a victim of burglary affects the rest of your life. It makes you feel unsafe all the time. It destroys the trust you have in other people and it ruins any pleasure you might have had in the comfort of your own home. Ninety seven per cent of victims say their lives were affected. I know all this to be true because it’s happened to me — twice.
The first time I was in my 50s and during the week lived alone in a London basement flat I called Wuthering Depths. I was returning to work after a short period of recovery from a hip replacement.
My husband was with me to make sure I managed OK and we were shocked to find the front window was smashed. Even with David in attendance, I was terrified at what we might find inside.
A young man desperately trying to tidy my bed — he’d just got up — and pack his bag was what I found. We called the police immediately and, while we waited for four of the Met’s burliest best to turn up, I discovered the young man was Polish, had realised the flat was unoccupied, needed somewhere to sleep and had been there for a couple of nights.
It’s a bit of a relief to know that police chiefs are promising they will now send someone if a break-in has occurred, as reported in this paper yesterday, writes JENNI MURRAY (pictured)
There was no theft apart from several bottles of wine he’d drunk and food from the freezer. He obeyed my demand to do the washing up he’d piled in the sink and clean up the broken glass from the window.
The police took him away, he was charged with breaking and entering and punished. The coppers seemed quite impressed at the way I’d dealt with him and laughingly said they didn’t think I’d need Victim Support.
On reflection, they were wrong. I hadn’t been hurt, nothing of value had been taken, but my sense of safety in my cosy little flat had been destroyed.
I knew how simple it had been to break in and, no matter how often I washed the sheets on the bed he’d dared to occupy, I never slept easy there again.
Some five years later I came home — this time alone — around 11pm after a visit to the theatre to find the front door open — it had been kicked in, despite what I’d thought were effective locks.
I knew I shouldn’t go in, but I plucked up my courage, determined to find out what was going on. There was no one there, but my home had been ransacked.
Chairs and tables were overturned. Every drawer had been opened, emptied and used as a toilet. There must have been several of them for that much faeces to have been left behind.
Nothing much had been stolen, after all the flat was only used as a pied-a-terre for when I was working, so any valuables I had were in the family home up North. But most upsetting, they had taken my little laptop on which I’d been writing a memoir. I could not believe that anyone could be so disgusting as to treat someone else’s property in the way they had mine. What sort of people could they be? Might they ever come back?
Burglars have had it too easy. The cops need to get tough — see and be seen — and catch them before they invade anybody’s much-loved home (File image)
Of course, I called the police immediately and fully expected they’d be round like a shot. I made it clear that I was alone and was frightened they may come back.
‘No need to worry about that,’ said the officer. ‘They won’t be back if there’s nothing of value to be nicked. Get that front door fixed, get somebody to help you clean up and I’ll give you a crime number so you can claim on the insurance.’
I begged him to send someone round and look for evidence that might identify the burglars. ‘These people need to be caught,’ I cried.
‘Not much chance of that,’ I was told. ‘They’ll be well away.’ And that was that.
I spent the whole night cleaning up. The next morning, I called out someone to fix the door — very expensive — and determined to move out and find somewhere else to live. I would never again feel safe in that flat.
Even in my new house I have never felt truly safe. I have a burglar alarm. I have the best kind of locks on the doors. Every window is locked. If anyone stays, they are told never to leave a window open.
I have dogs and I know they would bark if they ever heard anyone trying to come in at night. I wake at every sound and I would never feel confident that the police would rush round to protect me.
It’s a bit of a relief to know that police chiefs are promising they will now send someone if a break-in has occurred, as reported in this paper yesterday.
Maybe, though, prevention would be better than cure. How about a couple of bobbies on the beat, regularly patrolling every street day and night?
Burglars have had it too easy. The cops need to get tough — see and be seen — and catch them before they invade anybody’s much-loved home.
Well done, Girls Aloud — Kimberley, Nicola, Nadine and Cheryl — for posing in matching nightwear to raise money for research into breast cancer in women from 29 to 40. It’s a year since bandmate Sarah Harding died from the disease. She was only 39.
In Breast Cancer Awareness Month, all of you, whatever age, male or female, should check yourselves. It could save your life.
Well done, Girls Aloud — Kimberley, Nicola, Nadine and Cheryl (pictured) — for posing in matching nightwear to raise money for research into breast cancer in women from 29 to 40
Wonky carrots made me cook again
A tip from a friend — get Oddbox once a week. On a Sunday night for just over ten quid, a box of fruit and veg is delivered. The produce is from farms where it would otherwise be wasted simply because the supermarkets don’t always want wonky carrots or bendy cucumbers. My first box inspired me to start cooking again. Star turn was chicken soup with squash, red pepper and green beans. Grapes and sharon fruit for dessert. Healthy food and saving the planet. Feeling virtuous.
Fourth Covid jab knocked me for six
I am not, it appears, alone in feeling like death warmed up for nearly a week after my fourth jab, which was the new Moderna. Lots of my contemporaries have been knocked for six by it. My only comfort is I’d rather feel awful for a week than risk getting a bad dose of Covid. No anti-vax sentiment in my house.
Bella Hadid caused a stir at Paris Fashion Week, walking on to the runway wearing nothing but a G-string before being sprayed with what seemed to be white paint
Bella Hadid caused a stir at Paris Fashion Week, walking on to the runway wearing nothing but a G-string before being sprayed with what seemed to be white paint. It became a frock. Genius. The figure-hugging result took me right back to the days when I had the body to wear something so flattering and tight. My mother would say, ‘Good grief, you’re not going out in that are you? It looks as if it’s been sprayed on you.’
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