And then real life happens.

Last night my grandmother was the victim of an attempted burglary. Fortunately she wasn't in at the time. And even better, a neighbour saw the crime in process, and called the police, who arrived just as the perps were attempting to liberate the television from its prison of my grandmother's living room.

In the ensuing chase, one of those involved in the burglary was hit by a car. He is currently being treated in hospital, having had both his legs broken. To say this was a development that did not please me would be a lie. In fact if this man - allegedly well known to the local constabulary - has trouble walking for the rest of his life, then it'll be no more than he deserves.

My grandmother, although still indomitable at the age of 88, is understandably quite shaken. And although it presently appears that little, if anything, of either financial or emotional value will be lost, it will probably be a long time before she feels completely safe in her home of more than 30 years.

This sounds like a very conservative thing for me to say (Big C or little, you choose), but I hope those responsible get a good long period of social rehabilitation at Her Majesty's Pleasure. Nobody fucks with my Nanny without being made to pay.