Eight visitors

“Knock! Knock!”

Two Police Community Support Officers. They ask how we’re coping with the burglary, and offer some advice. One Crime Prevention Audit later, a few stern glares at the entry point, and they’re away.

“Knock! Knock!”

Two Scenes of Crime Officers. They dust for fingerprints, take photographs of footprints in the snow. They smile a lot, then they go.

“Knock! Knock!”

Two locksmiths. They refuse a brew – which makes me doubt their working class credentials somewhat. They repair the lock in the patio doors, and fit extra bolts, in plastic to its frame. I sign, they leave.

“Knock! Knock!”

One of the PCSO’s is back. He offers us light timers, and stickers claiming that we have Smart Water property marking, which we don’t. I smile and nod as the same advice I’ve been given five times already is propounded once more. I smile. He goes.

“Knock! Knock!”

It’s the lady from two doors down. She’d like to have a look at the extra plastic bolts that we’ve had fitted. I show her them. “Ooooh,” she says, “can I have their number?” I slept terribly, and I’m exhausted. I feel my lifeforce slowly seeping out through my shoe as I get the number for her. She goes. I smile.

“Knock! Knock!”

It’s a combat cop, eight feet tall and black as death at midnight. He comes to explain the progress on the investigation. None. “Even the CSI guys found nothing,” he says.

I find myself thinking, are they really called the CSI guys? No, they’re called Scenes of Crime Officers, so that’s a bit unprofessional. Or is my mind playing tricks on me? I wonder how tired I am. Can it be measured?

He’s still talking, but I’ve zoned out. I shrug my shoulders. He shrugs his. I shake my head. He nods. We seem to be agreeing on something. And then he goes too.