Unstoppable urban theft

If thieves think that they can act with impunity with no chance of being caught or punished, naturally they will continue and up their game. To help tackle the problem of increasing street crime, several of my friends have invested in the trendy new key tag doing the rounds on social media that has a loud bleeper alarm and flashing light. It’s an inspired invention and might at least encourage would-be thieves to leave the crime scene quickly.

Unstoppable theft is happening in cities across the UK although the new trend is for gangs to enter supermarkets and clothes shops and just help themselves to merchandise while security guards look on. It does beg the question why security guards are even employed if they are impotent to stop crime. All the same, I don’t blame them for their inertia. If faced with a gang of thugs wielding machetes and other weapons, why on earth would you put your own life at risk when paid a paltry salary and your bosses will likely claim back on insurance?

I don’t think any would-be thief would find me a thrilling catch. I have some beautiful Swiss watches but haven’t worn them for years. Instead, I wear the ubiquitous Fitbit and am jewellery-free aside from the odd UNOde50 purchase. Last time I visited London, people kept complimenting me on a £5 pair of Accessorise earrings which sort of proved my point about how wearing flash jewellery is a waste of time. All my good jewellery is rarely worn as I simply don’t have cause these days.

Living the rural life is all about comfy and practical attire and not looking like a pretentious idiot in front of your Mallorcan country neighbours. Sometimes, I’ll dip into my jewellery box, dust a piece down and wear it for a special event but it’s a rarity. My hens and ducks don’t seem bothered by my sloppy attire and haven’t once asked me why I’m not wearing my Jaeger LeCoultre Reverso to clean them out. So, until that happens, I’ll keep up the status quo, knowing that when I return to London next month, any sane robber will give me a wide berth.

Hancock’s Humiliation

It was hugely satisfying to see Matt Hancock cut down to size by 16-year-old pupil, Peter Rees Mogg, during a lecture given by the erstwhile Health Secretary at Eton. Characteristically clueless, Hancock hadn’t checked in advance to find out who might be attending his talk. To his chagrin, he discovered way too later that Peter was none other than Sir Jacob Rees Mogg’s eldest son. Having insulted the boy’s father during his lecture, describing him as ‘not a good politician’, young Mogg sat seething in disdain until questions were permitted. Then he bravely stood up and declared that he was wrong, and that Sir Jacob was a great man who remained loyal to his wife. A brilliantly stinging riposte which referred to Hancock’s adultery and illicit suction-kiss with political aide Gina Coladangelo during the period of the pandemic. Of course, he and his lover went on to leave their respective spouses and children. Whether Hancock was right about Sir Jacob is a matter of opinion. I always imagine the deeply religious Mogg Senior running a Victorian cotton mill with his fragrant wife skipping around in a frilly bonnet. I love the anachronistic names for their children which are truly hard to beat. His eldest is Peter Theodore Alphlege and so it’s just as well he is being educated at Eton. At the local comp they’d beat him to a pulp.

A black day for Slave play

A new West End show called Slave Play is holding black-only nights in order to make black people feel safe away from ‘the white gaze’. Aside from this being potentially illegal in a ‘multicultural Britain’ (although the government has said nowt but given a whimper of discontent) producers are likely to see ticket sales plummet as whites take their business elsewhere. I don’t think it’s a particularly bright strategy especially when seats ludicrously cost £125. The irony is that the lead actor is white and a Netflix stud who played Kit Harrington in Game of Thrones. Go figure. However, my favourite comment came from the writer who said black theatregoers would feel safer if they were surrounded by other black people. I’m not sure if he’s seen a typical theatregoer in the UK but most are 50 plus, effete, mild mannered and averse to confrontation. At the Chichester festival, the majority have walking sticks or arrive on motorised scooters. Scary stuff.

Three cheers for Coco the cat

Following the horrific fire in an apartment block in Valencia, in which ten people died, including countless pets, a small light-filled story emerged. One of the surviving families had been mourning the loss of their beloved tabby cat,Coco, believed to have perished in the flames. But hark the lark! Firemen doing a routine check through the high-rise on the 13th floor, noticed a cat’s tail hanging from a fire hydrant and discovered that clever Coco had hidden in a niche inside. The pet was returned to tearful owner, Andrea Rubio, in an emotional reunion with firefighters. In these grim times, these small uplifting stories of survival against the odds give one hope and cheer the spirits. Long live Coco, the cat with perhaps more than nine lives.