Another one.

At about 3.24 this morning, my cellphone announced an incoming text. A call at that time is always a worry, and immediately raises panicky thoughts of daughters in trouble, accidents, and relatives passed on.  The sort of thing that one does not wait until morning to call about.  I checked it out.  It was a blank text from Llyod, a hydrological engineer colleague.  I assumed he was asleep on his couch with a cellphone in his pocket and so went back to sleep. But the phone rang again.  Same thing. Something possibly wrong?  I tried  to ring the number, but there was no answer.  Back to sleep, once more to be awakened by a third call.  It felt odd, but there was little I could do.  I had a colleague in NZ who did this all the time, usually when partying, so I did what I used to do then, and turned off the phone.  I slept in until 11.30 this morning.  Great. A decent sleep for a change, albeit broken. 

When I awoke, and had a coffee, I tried once more to ring Llyod, to see if he was OK and  to ask if he was hung over, but I was transferred straight to a Vodafone answer machine which said the number was "not available".  Interesting. 

A couple of hours later, I was sitting down to a very late (mid afternoon) brunch when Llyod himself arrived.  He produced a couple of beers and said he needed counselling.  I asked archly what he had been up to last night.  "Getting robbed"  he said.  Damn. I should have thought of that.  We had a beer as he told me what he found this morning, when he came downstairs – the front door open and his home ransacked. I told him what happened with the phone last night.  It must have been the thieves. His phone was among the things stolen of course. 

It appears that while Llyod was upstairs asleep, burglars removed some louvres on his window, slipped some small accomplice through the 7 inch gap  between the burglar bars, let themselves in, and made free with his property.  At the thought of being home while it happened, Lloyd was naturally disturbed and distressed.  Though I had not been home for my three, I know what he was feeling. Well.

He lost a laptop, and the work he had been doing over the week, and a camera, as well as cash and the usual other items. 

Shit. 

And yes, I have spelt his name correctly. 

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About Alan

Alone in a sea of spinifex.
This entry was posted in Life, don't talk to me about life!. Bookmark the permalink.

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