Crime of the century? Er, not quite
I wasn’t actually witness to this. But I was the victim, and I'm using rachelswipe's tactic of filing this under the 'whatever' category...

When I moved in with the sweary one, there were some logistical problems to overcome. I moved at extremely short notice – we got back from holiday and I found out that a completion date on selling my house had been agreed without actually consulting me, which gave me three days to pack and move or the deal would fall through. This I had to do pretty much on my own – I couldn’t get a removal company at such short notice, so did pretty much the lot in the back of a Citroen Saxo. Which was fun. We did manage to get a transit van for the bigger stuff, like my sofa. Oh, and the Dalek… Possibly the most stressed I’d ever been during a move (and, bear in mind that when I actually bought the property I was going through a marriage break up, my mother-in-law was dying, my sister had decided to get married that weekend, and my brother decided to have my niece Christened then as well). However, in comparison to this occasion, that time was a picnic.

Anyway, the logistical problems were down to the need to clear space at her’s, but compounded by the fact that we were getting a new carpet for the living room, so it seemed a bit pointless in installing my personal bits and bobs – books, DVDs, CDs etc until this had been done and we’d got the new bookcases installed. Not to mention all the other stuff. So a lot of it stayed in the lobby downstairs. However, despite filling the lobby with boxes, and also spilling into her son’s bedroom (resulting in him having to spend a few nights at his grandparents while we got the place sorted), space was still at a premium. And so, we found ourselves having to store stuff outside in the porch. Like my very expensive cabinet aquarium, for example. Or a box of pans worth around £150 that I’d inherited. And loads of other stuff as well, all in boxes. We basically didn’t have any choice, but were reasonably happy that the stuff would be safe as it was pretty much out of site to anyone.

What about the crime, you ask? Patience, I’m coming to it.

Couple of weeks later, we went off with some mates to a bikers gathering (we’re not bikers, we were there purely for the bands and the beer). A combination of torrential rain and several thousand people had turned the fields into the usual British festival quagmire, and my regulation Caterpillar boots ended up being, well, completely ‘shitted up’, to coin a phrase. To the point where I ended up being a good two inches taller than I actually am, thanks to the addition of a layer of compacted clay onto the soles of said boots. When we got home the next day, I decided to take my boots off outside and leave them in the porch until the mud had dried, after which I would clean them up.

Now, I can be a bit of a procrastinator (oh, alright then, a lazy bastard) sometimes, and two weeks later, the boots were still there, nestled in among the rest of the stuff in the porch that was still waiting to be re-homed in the flat – it was proving to be something of a long process. Having gone downstairs in the morning for a smoke, I glanced at my faithful old boots and made a mental note to fetch the boot polish, and a cloth, and get them spruced up again. Plus, I was starting to miss their comfort. So, about an hour later, I popped back downstairs again with the intention of carrying out this monumental task…

They were gone. No where to be seen, anywhere. You know that moment of sheer disbelief when you find yourself looking for something in places where you know something definitely isn’t because you can’t quite believe what your eyes are telling you? Well, that was me. I looked in the bins, in the shed (which I had to move a load of stuff to do), on the shed roof… I even tried going back inside and coming out again (I kid you not). Nope. Gone. Vanished.

Nicked. From a porch that contained an aquarium worth around £450, a box of high-tech pans worth £150, plus various other boxes containing all sorts of useful paraphernalia – extension leads, cutlery, crockery… And the thief decides to nick a pair of battered old Caterpillar boots that were utterly caked in mud and had a hole in the sole.

I hope they were too small for the bastard and made his feet hurt.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 18 Feb 2008, 13:12, 10 replies)

Good story, but earns the click for the Dalek!
This sort of stuff happens. I know of a similar thing which happened to one of my accordion-playing friends (of which I have many, being on the Scottish trad music scene!)

The thief took the accordion out, left it in the house, and stole the case, obviously unaware that accordions cost thousands of pounds and even a good flight case is only a couple of hundred.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 18 Feb 2008, 13:18, closed)

Bizarrely enough
the same thing happened to me with a pair of hiking sandals I had worn to Glasto, which looked like they'd been carved out of fossilised shit. And they got pinched too. All I can think is that there's some kind of vile subcultural filthy-boot fetish going on in our cities...
(jennymnemonic, Mon 18 Feb 2008, 13:30, closed)

a friend of mine
had the foulest smelling pair of trainers ever spawned stolen from a beach in newquay

rather than any of our other clothes, wallets etc....

it does make you wonder
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Mon 18 Feb 2008, 13:51, closed)

ooooh It's like we're parted twins or something!
Well not really, that would be fit for the previous-but-one question.

Can just empathise with the shoes to an uncanny degree. I too have a beloved pair of caterpillar boots. They're just the bloke-shoe of all time. They've been 'shitted up' with all kinds of unmentionables but can always be redeemed with a quick scrape and a lick of polish.

Some baggage monkey in heathrow nicked my trainers from our case a couple of years ago (think I may have posted before). They were about a year old, skanky & scuffed pair of size 11 reeboks that I'd only paid £30 for new. I agree that it must be fetishists.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 18 Feb 2008, 14:08, closed)

I once had
a SINGLE shoe stolen from my doorstep.

Not a pair - just fucking one. And they weren't even anything special either, old, full of holes, and cost like 20 quid (when new)


Fucking morons
(bamboozled Can hear you getting fatter, Mon 18 Feb 2008, 14:53, closed)

Caterpillar Boots Owners Club
The gentlemans choice. Comfy, virtually indestructible, and capable of inflicting serious trauma when you have one of those 'red mist' moments.

Mine are over 10 years old and still going strong with no real wear which suggests there may be a portrait of a pair of Cat workboots somewhere in absolute rag order.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Mon 18 Feb 2008, 15:36, closed)

What is it with footwear theft?
Is there a hidden subculture or something?

The number of stray trainers I find at the beach beggars belief. Which reminds me of a story - we took the dog to the beach one time, and she found a dead trainer. Which she proceeded to play with by grabbing it in her mouth and shaking it vigourously - unfortunately this resulted in the poor mutt inadvertantly kicking herself in the head with said trainer. Several times.

You had to be there really, but it did look funny...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 18 Feb 2008, 15:39, closed)

Click for the Dalek!
Wow, having your boots nicked- that sucks!
( uberdeity Wondered why Owen Lars knew of the term "hell" on, Mon 18 Feb 2008, 15:48, closed)

Haha, Dalek
when I moved I had to get a van big enough to hold my Stormtrooper :/
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 18 Feb 2008, 18:29, closed)

^^
Cool.

I saw a life-size Predator for sale in a geek shop in the States once. It was bloody awesome (and also about 7 feet high).
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 18 Feb 2008, 18:57, closed)