"Burgle" is a wonderful word but only in the etymological sense for the experience of being burgled is anything but wonderful. So it is I have had much occasion recently to practise the paradoxical pleasures of that Middle English combination of consonants and vowels.
So it was that at some point on 23rd December crack-head commandos dedicated to the relief of mediocre or modest affluence raided and plundered my home - a flat I rent with two others. The effluence (or 'effluents'), trained in the school of hard knock knock jokes reeled from their rejection from the crappest of crappest crackers and sought relief in the pleasures of other people's things and, not least, security.
Just briefly I marvelled at the artistry of the trompe l'oiel broken doors of perception before it dawned on me that the jokers possessed no such talent. In a paranoid moment I suspected I was the victim of a valiant operation to sabotage an equally talentless blog - or rather, blogging on my part that has wrongly assumed the mantle of E17. Grim. Sorry E17, I promise I'll try to do better justice to you.
Well this is an appropriate and very close to home subject for a blog with 'psychogeographic' pretensions entitled 'lost and found in e17'. I doubt the assailants will be found although I am unhappily happy to report there appears to have been a slight loss of blood at the scene of the incursion. Perhaps it will provide more telling evidence as to the identity of the parasitic scum, who, going by the two hour wait for the (apologetic) police to arrive, have been very busy during the festive season.
My commiserations to the fellowship of the burgled in E17 and further afield.