I hate burglars, me.
My parents were burgled a few times when I was younger, once with my sister in the house. So naturally, I quite hate the thieving bastards and would like nothing better than to get my hands on one.

Now I am big and grown up with my own house, and sometime last year I was just dozing off when I swear I heard something downstairs. I keep a baseball bat sized Maglite by my bed, just in case, you know, of power cuts. I grabbed this and tippy toed in the dark to the top of my stairs, heart going like a jack hammer. I stared down into the shadows and swear blind that I saw someone standing there, rather than a folded pram, coats, golf clubs and other things that at the right angle, and in the wrong shadows might just kind of look like one.

I shouted out a challenge, and when no response came ('he' just stood there, not moving staring back up at me), I'll admit, I was scared, but started down the stairs anyway. I got about halfway down before the sheet that had been drying over the banister brushed my shoulder. Shit, there's two of them - attack! Attack! Protect the children!

Adrenaline took over and I started swinging the Maglite like a beserker, breaking and damamging quite a few objets d'Ikea before I fell over the pram and quite damaged myself too. Silence.

I have no idea why I didn't just turn the bloody torch on, or any other light for that matter, or how much I had been drinking, but I do know that if the buggers ever came back, I'm ready.

Length? It's more the power of the beam.
(Hampton St.Roker (has probably had your mum), Wed 28 Feb 2007, 11:39, Reply)