Just got a phone call from a delivery company – they have a package from me but just wanted to check whether my Bolton St was the one in town or the one out at Petone (Heaven forbid!). When I said there wouldn’t be anyone home and they could just leave the package by the front door, I could hear the delivery man in the background going “really??” – and well he might: our house got broken into over the weekend!
Luckily we were up in Waikanae at the time – probably not a coincidence. No burglar wants to confront either a pack of yapping dogs or a big scary German. No one in the history of the Earth has ever been afraid of a petite female anaesthetist, to my certain knowledge. Luckily I had remembered to set the alarm when we left on Friday, even though there is some dispute as to whether I remembered to lock all the doors. From the alarm records, the bad guys turned off the power at the outside fuse box at 3 am, waited a couple of hours and then broke in. The alarm went off, and they immediately fled out the front door, taking nothing with them as far as we can tell (if they’ve made off with my newly purchased French figurines I will be very upset).
It’s quite disturbing. My daughter has decided to sleep with a sharp knife in her room (be warned). My husband rang the police, and apparently they were quite interested, asking lots of questions, without actually going to the extent of coming round to the scene of the crime. I would be terrified to be a woman on my own. Clearly living in a salubrious suburb is no protection either. Thank goodness for man’s best friend, is all I can say. As well as monitored alarms.