27June1995

London: 27th June 1995
My dear folks,

I went downstairs yesterday morning clad in my cycling gear to set off for work but I found my bicycle gone. Some rascal had kicked in the small door of the understairs storage room where I kept it & nicked it. My neighbours in the basement appeared - to commiserate. They had heard a noise in the early hours but noises in the early hours are commonplace & they had thought little of it. I was very pissed off. However there was nothing I could do other than go to work by other means, so I dumped my helmet & set off on foot.

On Harrow Road I found a bus which took me half way & a second bus completed the journey. I felt somehow that it would have been an admission of defeat to take a taxi. I arrived barely 20 minutes late, in spite of a stop at the bike shop to order another bike. (I considered using buses for the next 3 weeks & obtaining a new bike on my return from Portugal at the end of July. But I am a cyclist, not a buslist, & the new bike can live indoors until a secure door is installed outside.)

Last night, I walked halfway home & took a bus the other half. I stopped off at the police station to report the theft. The elderly police reservist concerned decided that it had been a burglary, not a theft, & that a police visit to the site was necessary. Half an hour later 2 young constables rolled up. They were pleasant & sympathetic & in a mood for conversation. Over cokes in the lounge, we chatted & I learned a great deal about the local gangs of bike thieves & how they operate. I also learned of the low esteem in which the ranks hold some of their superiors & their utter contempt for the Criminal Prosecution Service (known to them as the Criminal Protection Service).

My one glimmer of satisfaction in all this is that there was a really vicious lock securing the back wheel of the bike to the frame at the time of the theft. Who ever stole it did not cycle away. The police said that in their experience the locks were virtually unbreakable, even with pneumatic equipment. But they had heard that professional thieves used gas to freeze the locks & then whacked them with a hammer.

All of the above disrupted my evening. I had meant to phone Mum (who had left home by the time I called this morning) & to fax down the Fig Jam recipe to Jones. All I got done eventually was the feeding of the basement cat (as the neighbours are away) & the ironing. The washing was churning away during our conversation & there were several items that had to be ironed damp so it was then or never.

My dear Jones, Maureen has carefully underlined several sections of the jam book that need to be either copied out or summarised. It needs an hour or two. I shall try to give you a buzz this evening. (I tried a.m., without success.)

The day had meanwhile confirmed reports that John Redwood, a member of the cabinet would mount a first-round challenge to Major for leadership of the party, confounding the PM's assumptions on that score. A whole new ball game, as they say! Swords are out & being plunged into whatever fronts or backs present themselves. The Tory party is rent asunder, whatever the outcome of the election to follow, and it's going to be a fascinating one. No need to tell you that we are up to our ears in politics & likely to stay that way for a week or two. Interesting times!