Week 58: I’m A Good Burglar, Which Is Tough To Brag About

Friday, 8 February 2019

Reading time 03 minutes 57 seconds 

I’m not bad I’m just drawn that way – Jessica Rabbit.

I’m in! Yes! I’ll reposition the items I knocked over and no one will know I’ve been here. Breaking into the house was exhilarating. Don’t get angry, it was my best mates house and I didn’t steal anything. We were there for Cartoons and Sandwiches.

We decided to bunk off from school. What were we learning anyway? Some nonsense about triangles that I’ve never used to this day? It’s one of the shapes I’ve never had much use for unless playing trivial pursuit or eating cheap cheese. Life skills would have been a better lesson. Being a 47 year old man surrounded by friends and loved ones who are going through the menopause and understanding how tough it is and all you can do is act with love and compassion would have come in useful, but no, the three side shape was the preferred subject matter.

The owner of the house was called mum by my pal. I don’t believe that was her real name. She only tolerated my existence and didn’t like me, probably because I was always in trouble with her son. I don’t want to sound childish but he started it. 

His dad was the opposite and showed me love, compassion and encouraged me to pursue a career in being funny. I should have listened to him rather than break into his house to eat Breville toasted baked bean sandwiches.

My first breaking and entering “job” was my own home conveniently located on the street I lived on. I was 6 years old when given my first key of the door. Historically it was when you turned 18 but I couldn’t be standing around waiting for my independence for 12 years, I wasn’t a country in the commonwealth, I had things to do dammit. The punishment for a lost door key was two weeks pocket money withheld plus I had to stand outside until dad got home. No mobile phones back then so no parent to wine too about what an idiot you were and how it was all their fault.

A few weeks after being given my independence I lost the key. I could and would not miss my cartoons. That day I learnt the meaning of the phrase “Necessity is the mother of invention”.

It was a standard two storey house. I’m sure it had more tales to tell but who would listen.

My dad had left the top front bedroom window opened a smidge. That was my entry point. Sure it was perilous but I was six and had no comprehension of that. I’d like to say Danger was my middle name but it was David, which was part of the way there. 

I started the climb then slipped and fell from 5 foot up which is not high unless your only 2.5 foot tall. That scared me a bit so I mopped about for a bit and revaluated the situation. 

I believe that this is where my problem solving skills started to develop. I‘d have a career in IT later in life that relied on these and it was all thanks to Tom & Jerry cartoons.

How to get in? Then I spied what had always been there. It was as if I seeing it for the first time. The chute! It was an old house and this was where coal was delivered too back in the day and it lead into our cellar.

I was tiny compared to everyone I knew, I still am. Could I fit down that tunnel?

I lifted the lid and jumped back. Cobwebs. Millions of them. Spiders, why did it have to be spiders? It looked dark, very dark. I’d have to go through an arachnid city by the looks of it. How bad did I want to watch cartoons? 

Into the belly of the beast I went.

I shimmied down the filthy slope. I moved slowly along bumping into things, bruising ankles, I was petrified.

My only experience of the cellar was putting 10 pence into the electric metre which my Dad had rigged up so it fell back out again for free electricity. I wasn’t until I was much older that I learnt that my dad was as dodgy as Roger the dodger from the Beano.

I made it to the bottom, hold your nerve and walk Matty. Yes I made it to the cellar stairs! I climbed them very slowly then pushed open the door to bright light. I was inside and home.

Back outside I went to cover my tracks and make it look like I hadn’t broken in and voila, the perfect crime. I was becoming as dodgy as a the old man. The apple had not fallen from the tree but what fruit ever does?

So back to my mates house . No coal chute this time and the years had added an extra foot to my height so I scaled the front of his house and luckily didn’t fall. Neighbourhood watch hadn’t been invented yet so that was handy.

I went up like Spiderman and through the window. I replaced the items on the dresser, ran down stairs to let my mate in. We hung out ate Breville Baked Bean sandwiches, then sneaked out, the perfect crime and a full belly. Result.

In a scene similar to the one in the film Misery he was questioned that evening by his Mum [not her real name]. An ornament or two on her dresser were facing the wrong way and one was on the floor. My mate was as bold as brass and denied everything. His innocent face was believed so Mum [not her real name] phoned the police. 

They had been burgled she proclaimed. Finger prints were taken. I was a criminal. Damm. If my dabs were ever taken and matched to this caper I’d go down for sure. Mum [not her real name] had a mothers intuition that I was somehow involved but she never said anything. 

Me and this friend are still close, we reminisce a lot about what idiots we were and still are. I don’t believe he’s ever fessed up to this.

My prints are probably still on a police database and I cite that as one of the reasons I’ve kept out of trouble with the law.

The 15 second video is me performing a joke that the funny and talented one in the family my sister said whilst we watched football together on Monday night.