The Curmudgeon

As I reported last week, the Dale has been hit by a series of burglaries or attempted burglaries but, until Wednesday, we thought we had got off quite lightly: only Maggots Money-Grubber had lost a TV and video from his kitchen. Attempted raids at the post office and Jetset's barn conversion had failed.

On Sunday, however, Victor Volvo-Estate arrived to open up his holiday home for Easter - and was instantly seen running down The Lane shouting: "I've been robbed - I've been robbed."

This turned out to be a much more serious affair. Victor took a long time to do a proper inventory but missing items included a portable TV (very portable, it would appear) a radio, a microwave oven, and several small antique bits and pieces collected over the years.

Even more ominously, his "visitors" had made themselves at home: they had helped themselves to several bottles of Victor's vintage wines and had totally polished off his brandy

In the fireplace, they left a number of butt ends and in the kitchen, they had helped themselves to a fair selection of tinned foods.

Now this added further speculation to last week's mystery: although the would-be thieves were disturbed in their nefarious acts at the post office and at Jetset's, no-one saw or heard a vehicle entering or leaving the village.

This is difficult to understand because all roads in and out climb steeply and a moving car or truck can be seen for miles - if it has its lights on, that is.

But even without lights, the sound of an engine carries the length of the Dale.

Our detective came again - he is getting to be a bit of a fixture these days - and stirred up even more gossip when, having sniffed at one of the dog ends left in Victor's grate, and asked: "Tell me, sir, do you come here regularly? Every weekend, for instance?"

"Not, not really, not in winter that is," said Victor with a frown.

"Now the kids are teenagers, they get a bit bored up here - and my wife would rather stay in her garden at home. But why do you ask - is it important?"

"Could be, sir," said the officer. "Does everyone round here know that this is a weekend cottage - that is un-occupied most of the time?"

Victor frowned: "I suppose virtually all the locals know that - but there's no-one in the Dale who would do this sort of thing."

"That's as maybe, sir," said the detective. "But whoever did this place over was in no hurry. They didn't expect to be disturbed."

"How do you know that?" demanded Victor somewhat truculently.

"Those butts in the fireplace, sir. They're not tobacco - they're cannabis. Now a lot of young thieves rob to buy cannabis and worse but they don't usually take time off to sit down and have a drink and a joint whilst they are actually doing a job."

"Oh," said Victor lamely.

"In fact, I would think that they have been in and out of here more than once. Used it as a sort of meeting place, I'd say. And that suggests that they had some sort of local knowledge."

Now that's a thought that has set the village reeling.

And we wait in trepidation for more of the weekenders to arrive this holiday - to discover if their second homes have also become rent-free drug dens.

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.