I received a call from my landlord this afternoon which was 95% incomprehensible. I understood that someone was coming to my flat at 7pm. On returning home I found the lock on my apartment door had been prised off and entry effected, effectively. I went in, in shock. You've seen it on the telly but in your own flat it's just horrible. They took all my jewellery that my daughter had bought me and that I had bought me, over the last ten or so years, and my dad's watch, and my camera. Fortunately my computer is a fat fuck and they left it.
They have been in my knickers, on my bed, in all my private things.
Whoever got in managed it without forcing the street door, which is worrying. It means they could come back and do it again. It also means that my little nest, halfway up a building, which felt so safe, is nothing like it. My only refuge has been broken into and pawed over by ugly, vile people. I will have to move, to somewhere safer, wherever that might be. If indeed there is anywhere. (Ironically, London was safe compared to this.) Somewhere with codes, big keys, ferocious salivating hounds of hell. How I'm going to sleep until that time, I don't know. I'm going down the cellar to find something to jam against the door at night. I have a new door lock, that was what was coming at 7pm.
I'm taking a big fucking knife to bed.