Every time that we returned to our house there was further evidence of attempted break-ins. We knew that it was only a matter of time before we would come home to a crime scene.
The day finally arrived when we found smashed glass on the ground outside our front door. The burglars had climbed up to the roof and broken in through an attic window to steal our bikes (but nothing else – not even a wad of £50 notes).
We assumed that they had left by the time that we returned home, but a fat middle-aged man holding a baby confronted me as I stepped inside. He announced himself as ‘Mr Almond’ and explained that he needed to avenge an insult that I had levelled at him in the 1980s.
I feared for my life as he lunged at me, while his dark-haired accomplice – in the same green spotty dress and black hat that I wore to W and R’s wedding in 1988 – looked on.