One of my favourite books as a kid was Burglar Bill, a Janet and Allan Ahlberg classic, with colourful, cosy illustrations and very likeable protagonists.The Ahlberg duo made me – an anxious child – less scared of burglars, and even rather fond of witches, with their relatable and heart-warming little books.
I never get tired of reading Burglar Bill. It’s a wonderful tale of a man who (spoiler alert!) is on the wrong side of the law, steals one unattended thing too many and realises it was love that he was missing after all. Nice. Burglar Bill has a catchphrase; when he spies something desirable, a swanky pen, for example, he says “That’s a nice pen. I’ll ‘ave that”, and so on and so forth until he has collected all he has seen and liked, stuffed it in his swag bag and gone home to bed at dawn, with a blissful lack of conscience.
I think, dear reader, that I may have read that book one too many times to a certain Little Seymour, for I swear that I am living with an incarnation of the fictional legend, Burglar Bill, in Seymour form.
I won’t mention names, as it is getting more and more contentious to do so, but the child in question is male, just like Burglar Bill. He is very personable, just like Burglar Bill, and he nicks stuff, just like bloody Burglar Bill. In a child’s story, it’s cute and interesting. But in my own home, the thieving is getting tedious, and I need to take action.
Alas, Burglar Seymour is proficient at his craft. He does not waver nor question his actions. He just goes for it, stealthily, and that is why he is successful. Like Bill, he has convinced himself that if an item is left unattended and not chained down, it is his for the taking. If it’s nice, he’ll ‘ave it.
In fact, Burglar Seymour has helped himself to so many things, that I have started to lose track and so I am here to make an inventory, and try to use this post as a list, to tick off once I have managed to reclaim my stuff.
In recent times, Boy Burglar Seymour has helped himself to:
- A pair of brown fleece-lined Crocs that I bought for myself in a charity shop in August and put away safely in my cupboard for when I wanted to benefit from them in the winter
- 2 (Duracell no less!) batteries that I bought especially for my fairy lights, to cheer up the living room during these cold winter nights. He actually took them out of the fairy lights to put in his Xbox controller
- A smart TV that I had in the kitchen, that he fancied installing in his bedroom
- My podcasting microphone (ok, ok, I have only cast one pod, but that is not the point!) and stashed it away in his Turquoise Trunk of Treasures with God knows what else
- Chocolate bars – I wouldn’t mind but he leaves the evidence in my newly-planted hyacinth tanks
- Big Seymour’s bottle of Jean Paul Gaultier perfume, which was subsequently dropped and is no more
- My pink pen knife (worrying)
- My decent, special, adult toothpaste.
- The dustpan and brush from the kitchen to use in his aviary (nice)
- His sister’s rollerboot (just the one)
- The remote controls for the big telly (for megalomaniac purposes)
I can almost hear the words forming in his mind as he spies something he wants; “That’s a nice rollerboot, I’ll ‘ave that!” and away it is whisked. Luckily, though, Burglar Seymour has not taken money. He knows that would be crossing a line. His idol, Bill, never took money, either. There are criminals and there are criminals.
To be fair, he is not the only one. In this house, as in many homes these days, phone chargers are taken with gay abandon, extension leads are pilfered from one electrical priority to a more pressing one, and the throws on my sofas have been commandeered by another Little Seymour and squirrelled into her room so many times that I think they are hers now, by default. Wheelbarrows, brooms and stainless steel tables have all mysteriously gone walkabout here. It’s a bit of a free-for-all. The thing that drives me nuts is the Crocs, though, and not just the aforementioned brown pair. Crocs breed in this house, and then they lay prostrate on the coir mat, oddly matched and abandoned, until someone wants to go outside, and picks the closest – not necessarily their own – pair to tramp mud in, prompting Big Seymour to yell “Where are my slippers” when he struggles to find his Crocbands later that evening, or can’t use them as “slippers” because they’ve had an all-terrain experience on someone else’s feet.
Other Little Seymours have dabbled in pilfering during their younger days. Shiny things appeared courtesy of little fingers under buggies, cuddly toys were smuggled out of friends’ houses and then there was the episode at The Donkey Sanctuary which I am not allowed to discuss. I myself recall a crime of my own, committed with such brazen confidence that at the age of six, I feared for my own future.
All of the above is petty theft and a far cry from the pandemic that is cybercrime, I guess. And if I am to put a positive spin on it, at least it proves that Boy Burglar Seymour is emulating one of his literary heroes, and is highly suggestible.
I just need to make sure he doesn’t find a copy of We Need to Talk About Kevin.
Great book! Read it!
0 Comments