Sinister: Harry Bollock had a rather unfortunate name...

[Robin Stout]

	Really, the standards of the criminal classes aren't like they 
used to be. I was sitting on a train on Wednesday, reading a book, 
when two chaps came along and sat at the table next to me. After 
fooling the ticket inspector into thinking they'd lost their tickets, they 
quickly launched into talk of how they were going to go to Leicester 
and burgle Debenhams.
	Burglar #1: "The more I think about it the better it seems. 
There's a tunnel underneath that means they can't find us, even with 
heat seeking cameras."
	Burglar #2 (nervously) "Ooh, I don't know..."

	Burglar number one, a loud, arrogant chap,  was apparently 
the leader and number two was his meek, nervous accomplice. It 
was terribly unoriginal. Number two would mumble an idea, then 
number one would practically shout his reply.
	Burglar #2 (conspiratorially) "But why do we have to go to 
Marks and Spencer?"
	Burglar #1 "To get a plastic bag they can't see through, 
stupid"

	I hid behind the pages of my book. They were rubbish 
burglars. I could hear every word they were saying. No idea at all.

	We were sitting on a bus last night when Legal Man came on 
the radio. It sounded pretty good, although it was hard to make out 
above the sounds of the bus's wheels and windows, buzzing like 
they do. Arantxa looked dubious. "Pastiche," she said. I rather liked 
it, though, but like someone said, it does sound like the theme to 
Eurotrash. Maybe the band will appear on Top Of The Pops, each 
wearing a pair of big plastic titties.

	I'm sitting in the university computer room at the moment, 
looking at a notice on the wall opposite. It says "In case of 
emergency, ring security on 3013." By some cruel twist of fate, 3013 
was my telephone number in the first year and I used to get 
desperate phone calls at two in the morning from people who were 
being attacked, burgled, or having a siezure. Is that how you spell 
siezure? I had to tell them, apologetically, that I wasn't in fact the 
police, but a rather weedy young boy who wanted to go to back to 
sleep. It was quite bewildering. I woke up one morning and there 
was a message on the voicemail from a bloke with a thick, foreign 
accent:
	"I.. I cannot alm ze bellyole security..."

	I was terribly worried that I might have unwittingly let an 
innocent man die a horrible death. I do hope he's okay.

	Arantxa went off to ATP this morning and I'm feeling pretty 
glum because I couldn't go. Hope you kids are having fun at Camber 
Sands, anyway. You'll have to show me the photos. It'll be like Ibiza 
Uncovered, but in paperback, and with more boobs.

	Bye!

		Robin x

	
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