Cheeky

I am not a happy bunny. At the local police station were:

11 pairs of knickers
2 bras
1 bikini
1 swimming costume
2 pairs of trousers
1 pair of leggings
3 shirts
4 dresses
Any number of black socks/tights that I refused to pick up and identify.

All mine. My neighbour has obviously been a busy boy over the last six months, because there were 512 items of clothes spread out on tarpauling that filled an entire side wing of the police station. And all I could think was Oh Jesus Christ, I hope he took some of mine. Because how embarrassing would that be? My 40 year old male neighbour, who has the "hobby" (the policeman's word) of collecting girl's clothes from washing lines, not taking any of mine? It would be the ultimate insult. It would mean that even a 40 year old pervert doesn't like my fashion sense.

As it was, I am still extremely unhappy for the following reasons:

a) Out of 500 items, 25 pieces is not that many. I left my clothes outside for a very long time, frequently: he had ample opportunity to take more, and one might even say I was begging him to. Which means he didn't want to. Which was very rude of him.

b) The things he did take were unpleasant. I don't actually want them back, and I haven't got any room for them in my wardrobe because I've replaced them with nicer things. And now the police are going to make me have them, which is very rude of them.

c) He altered my trousers. He inserted a shorter elastic into the waistband. Which offends me for four reasons: i] because it means that he was obviously wearing them ii] because it means that he is slimmer than me iii] because his sewing skills are better than mine and iv] because now I can't get into them.

d) He forced me to go shopping all over again for my own bloody clothes. I don't like shopping. Especially not twice. And I wanted all the items that weren't actually mine instead.

e) I was forced to acknowledge the fact that out of 500 items of lacy, flowery, flouncy, pretty Japanese clothes, my checked shirts and plain cotton Marks and Spencers knickers were the least feminine, the least attractive and the least sexy of all of them. And then I was forced to admit to owning them in front of three nice looking policemen.

f) They made me take photographs with each item. I had to point at them while they danced around with an SLR. Except that nobody told me what facial expression I was supposed to be adopting - angry, bitter, relieved, hostile, disgusted, confused, insulted - so I ended up being photographed pointing at my own knickers and grinning inanely at the camera. At one point I believe that I tried to do the "Peace" sign. I do not know what they will do with these photographs, but they had better not end up in the local paper.

g) I had to buy cheesecake to get over the shock of it. And it was very expensive.

So, no: I am not a happy bunny in the slightest. This thief has made a mockery of me, with his fussy fashion sense and his alterations and his insinuations about my weight and hip size. And I have many nice knickers that he didn't take; many nice pieces of underwear that are not multipacks from Marks and Spencers. If he is reading this, I would like to draw his attention - for instance - to the polka dot Elle MacPherson bra he took. I have more of them. He should have just been a little more patient. I would have washed them at some stage.

If there's anything worse than a 40 year old thief with a penchant for the knickers of strangers, it's a 40 year old thief with only a penchant for some of them. I didn't see anything belonging to Baba, for instance. And - while I'm embarrassed that my knickers have now been seen by many, many strangers - I'm relieved that I was at least one of them.

Just.