Friends returned from holiday a couple of weeks ago to find they had been burgled.
The alleged thief was subsequently apprehended because of a DNA sample on a carton of fruit juice he allegedly drank from.
The most impressive thing about this story is the fact that the alleged intruder had the presence of mind to put the empty carton in the recycling bin.
Twenty-five years ago I returned to my house in Camberwell to find two policemen at the door and several more inside.
"Who are you?" they asked, as I attempted to gain entry.
"I live here," I said. "What's going on?"
"We received a report that someone was breaking in to this house and we have reason to believe he may still be inside."
I had to wait outside for ten or 15 minutes until they were satisfied no-one was there. Then they let me in.
A police officer wearing a rather grim expression approached and said, "They've left one of the bedrooms in a bit of a mess, I'm afraid, sir. Drawers pulled out, clothes on the floor …"
I went upstairs and, sure enough, the room was a mess. The problem was it was my bedroom and my mess. In fact, it looked exactly as I had left it that morning.
There had been a burglary though because our TV, VHS recorder and a few other things were missing, never to be seen again.
In the five years I lived in that house we got burgled twice. The second time I actually saw the intruder come down the stairs and bolt up the road!
I also had my car – a Fiesta XR2 – stolen, followed a few months later by the attempted theft of its replacement (a later model XR2).
Fortunately on the latter occasion the thief couldn't get it started (a fault that bedevilled me too) so he smashed the rear window and took the spare wheel instead.
Burglars. Don't you just luv 'em?