Burglars in the house

A couple of weeks ago we had a card through our door from the police, saying that there have been burglaries in the area.

And not of the kind where you’re out, either. These are the creeping in at night whilst you’re tucked up in bed variety.

I haven’t been able to step properly since.

I know what it’s like to wake up and see a stranger silhouetted in the doorway of your room. The confusion, the terror, the elevated heartbeat that’s so loud it feels your chest might burst. When the Other Half and I were in Budapest, we stayed in a hotel and didn’t realise the doors weren’t of the automatically locking variety. Waking suddenly, I looked up and through my fuzzy no-glasses-on eyes saw the blurry figure of a man standing just inside our room.

He muttered something about mistaking us for friends, then bolted.

A few seconds later, the Other Half realised his wallet and phone were gone.

I was just relieved that nothing worse had happened – it’s terrifying to think that someone can be poking around right next to you whilst you lie there oblivious,

So no wonder I can’t sleep.

I just console myself with the fact that if someone did try to break in, the house is pretty effectively booby trapped – the kids have seen to that with their random toy strewn-aboutness and magnetically attracted muck.

So at least that’s something. A good excuse not to tidy the house…