The Pugsley has gone. They also took handfuls of power tools. As it happens, that bike and those tools are the easiest replaced and the least missed. I was devastated until I found five bike boxes hidden in the reeds behind the barn. All my favourites—hand built, far-travelled—were left behind. Similarly with the tools: the old wooden planes they left are much harder to substitute. The Surly is a thing of beauty and I’ll get another but I hadn’t really made any emotional connection with it yet.
Now, I’ve completed the work I was engaged in to make the workshop secure. As of tomorrow, a raid of that sort will be impossible. Just a few days grace and it would have been avoided. Last week, instead of completing the security doors, I travelled south to see if I could help Neil while Genave headed off to a family crisis the Philippines. An expensive way to show brotherly solidarity!
Kevin has been trying to help by specifying window-bars, shutters, alarms and such. I had to ask him to stop: winding Monica up further wasn’t helping and we don’t want to live in a prison.
Pity the poor thieves: the bike is so rare they’ll be spotted if they ride it; the tools are all engraved with my Australian licence number and have Australian plugs on them so, again, very easy to spot. All of them will be hard to fence.
The only lasting damage is the knowledge we now have, that someone has had a look around and may encourage others to have a go. We knew theft was more prevalent here than in Oz but were enjoying the delusion that Warland was off the beaten track. Hey ho.