Saturday and trying not to be too blue

Yes, that's three men in blue sitting under the tree in our garden on a Saturday afternoon. It's the third visitation in six weeks and the second on a Saturday afternoon.

Why?

Because when we got home from the market, The Husband discovered that the shed had been broken into. Again. This time, they irreparably wrenched the newly installed bolt, took the padlock (sans key) and a few smaller but significant hand tools (the power tools are yet to be replaced). Significant because of what they're used for, leading The Husband and the police think that this is now personal. Perhaps a rejected wannabe worker or disgruntled former worker sending a fnck you message.

Ironically, on Friday night, there had been a major policing operation in the poorer part of the village and which, as I've mentioned before, is a haven for drug dealers. At least one known dealer and former felon, known to supply minors, was arrested. Spilling over from the larger urban centres, and when turf shrinks, the gangsters arrive in rural towns and villages like ours. People you know get caught up and their lives nearly ruined. I say this with relative authority because C (who works in our house) - her nephew - spent the last nearly six months of last year in hospital. Near death. Thanks to crystal meth.

He, mercifully, was so ill, he never wants to get that sick again. Also, he's bright enough not to have to repeat a year of school and is in his final year. He is not untypical. His mother is an addict. His father sends money but has no interest in him. He's been brought up by a caring, but ageing granny supported by his mother's two (very strong) sisters. I am hoping that their strength, commitment and support, with his determination and his cousins' influence, will break that cycle. He seems to want to. That is important.

How to think about all of this?

It's a question I/we have been asking for years and to which we have no real answer. The frustration of the (very nice) policemen is palpable. They, too, feel helpless. I have mentioned before, that one of the things about living in a small community is that one does get to "know" the habitual criminals. She who was arrested on Friday, is another case in point. Not only is she known and recognisable, but has no shame. As I have also said, and one of the policemen confirmed, yesterday, they just serve their sentences, get out of jail and, nine times out of ten, just rinse and repeat. In the same cabbage patch.

Some of the folk who have worked for The Husband are ex cons. And when they're good, they're good. When they're not, they're bad and they end up pushing his (almost limitless patience) to the limit. The question is whether one of these individuals is "behind" the break-ins. We don't know.

Conspiracy of silence

Then, discovering another relatively important detail, The Husband trundled down to the cop shop and bumped into our regular wood supplier. Who, because of two thefts, has not been able to deliver our most recent order. Twice. Because they stole his wood. He was at the police station to report that his child's bicycle - a gift from a friend of ours - had also been stolen. Nowhere and nobody is immune.

The two of them commiserated and Mr Woodman went on to vent his spleen sharing some intelligence. And. That he will not be informing the authorities because... of the link with an elected official - and respected community and church activist - in the area. With whom we are also familiar. And who has been in our home.

So we, too, become part of the conspiracy of silence. The stuff of movies and bad novels. Not real life.

Serendipitous happy finding

Yes, there was one. Firstly, because the despatch officer got our street number wrong, the policemen found a laptop and bag languishing on the sidewalk outside our neighbour's house. Their first question:

Has your laptop been stolen?

Umm....

No, I was just working on it.

Someone else must have been broken into, he surmises. Then, I say to him, perhaps not. It's so hot our brains are fried. Perhaps the owner just got out of the car and accidently didn't pick it up. Especially if it's outside that house and it could belong to the person who lives there.

Would you mind taking a photo and putting it on the crime WhatsApp group?

Of course I'd oblige and collect my phone and the policeman opens the bag, turns on the laptop. Nothing that would identify its owner - Windows wants code. Then, as he was closing up the bag, we saw some papers and one of them was a utility bill. And, guess what? Addressed to said neighbour outside whose house they found the black bag!

Our break-in and those mis-directions meant that her laptop was not permanently misplaced.

Looking on the bright side

One has to look on the bright side. Yesterday was a glorious, hot summer's day and the dusk was balmy and beautiful. A random photo dump follows:

Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa

Photo: Selma
Post script

If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:

• re-vamping old recipes. As I do this, I am adding them in a file format that you can download and print. If you download recipes, buy me a coffee. Or better yet, a glass of wine....?
• and "re-capturing" nearly two years' worth of posts.

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• Join Hive using this link and then join us in the Silver Bloggers' community.

Original artwork: @artywink

• lastly, graphics are created using partly my own photographs, images available freely available on @hive.blog and Canva.